The second note burned in Lila's pocket like a live coal. You've been warned. The words echoed in her mind as she replayed the day's events. Someone clearly didn't want her working for Damian Blackwood, but why?
Back in her apartment that evening, Lila sat at her small dining table, the note spread out in front of her alongside the first. She'd planned to call her best friend, Kelly, for advice, but what could she say? "Hey, I just started a new job, and someone's threatening me to quit"?
Instead, she reached for her laptop, searching Damian Blackwood's name. His professional accolades filled the screen—one article after another praising his business acumen, his ruthless strategies, and his ability to turn failing companies into gold mines.
But there was little about his personal life.
No scandals. No exposés. Just a string of high-profile business deals and a reputation for being untouchable.
Her phone buzzed, breaking her concentration. It was a text—from an unknown number.
"Did you get my message?"
Lila's heart thudded painfully in her chest. She quickly typed back, Who is this?
The three dots indicating a reply appeared, then disappeared. No response.
She locked her phone and pressed her palms against her face. This was insane. She'd just started the job, and already her life felt like the plot of a bad thriller.
---
The next morning, Lila stepped into Blackwood Enterprises, her heart pounding. She'd barely slept, and the ominous call still haunted her.
Damian was already in his office when she arrived. The sight of him through the glass doors—calm, composed, and completely unbothered—made her stomach twist.
She knocked lightly before stepping in. "Good morning, Mr. Blackwood."
He glanced up from his laptop, his gray eyes sweeping over her. "You're here early."
Lila hesitated. "I wanted to get a head start on the Westfield contracts."
His gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than necessary, then he nodded. "Good."
As she turned to leave, Damian's voice stopped her. "Ms. Hart."
She froze, then turned back.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his tone softer than she expected. "You look... unsettled."
Lila hesitated, debating whether to tell him about the notes and the call. But something in his expression—a flicker of concern, perhaps—made her decide against it.
"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. "Just didn't sleep well."
He didn't look convinced but let it go. "Let me know if there's anything you need."
---
By mid-morning, Damian appeared in her doorway, leaning casually against the frame.
"Lunch," he said, his tone making it clear it wasn't a suggestion.
Lila blinked up at him. "Sorry, what?"
"Lunch," he repeated. "You and me. Today. 12:30."
She frowned. "Is this... work-related?"
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "If it helps you justify it, then yes."
---
Lunch with Damian was an exercise in restraint. They sat in a private corner of a sleek, upscale restaurant, and though the food was exquisite, Lila barely tasted it.
"I take it you don't do this with all your assistants," Lila said after a few bites, her tone light but probing.
"No," Damian said simply, setting his glass down. "But you're not like the others."
Lila raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Take it however you like," he replied, his lips curving slightly.
She studied him, searching for cracks in his polished exterior. "Why did you really bring me here?"
He leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "I like to know the people working for me."
"And do I pass your test so far?"
"That depends," he said, his gaze sharpening. "Are you hiding anything from me, Ms. Hart?"
The question hit too close to home. Lila forced herself to hold his gaze. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"
His lips quirked into a faint smile. "Touché."
The moment stretched, charged with unspoken tension. Lila couldn't decide if she was intimidated by him or drawn to him—or both.
---
Back at the office, Lila was buried in paperwork when the fire alarm suddenly blared. She grabbed her bag and joined the throng of employees heading for the exits.
As she descended the stairs, she spotted Damian a few flights below, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd with ease.
But something felt off. The fire alarm didn't smell like smoke—it smelled like an excuse.
Outside, the staff gathered on the sidewalk, murmuring among themselves. Damian was on his phone again, his expression hard.
Lila stayed back, watching him from a distance. A sleek black car pulled up to the curb, and Damian climbed in without a word.
---
That evening, Lila found another note waiting for her in her mailbox.
This one was different.
It wasn't a warning—it was a question.
"How well do you know Damian Blackwood?"