Chapter 3: A Flicker in the Periphery
942 Words
Damien Blackwood didn’t notice interns.
He didn’t need to.
Most interns weren’t even worth a glance—those rare few who managed to land the coveted spot at Blackwood Enterprises came through grueling university vetting, a token gesture from the company to maintain ties with elite academic institutions. Only one university was selected each year. Only one student given the opportunity. It was part PR, part power move. Let the schools brag. Let the students dream. It kept the illusion of outreach alive—while reminding everyone just how unreachable Blackwood truly was.
They never lasted.
They cracked under pressure, or folded the second they realized working for Blackwood wasn’t a fantasy.
He didn’t tolerate weakness.
He didn’t tolerate clutter.
He didn’t tolerate noise.
So he was confused—annoyed, even—when he noticed her.
It happened by accident.
He’d just returned from a two-week summit in Tokyo—exhausting, infuriating, profitable—and was storming through the 42nd floor toward his private suite when a flicker of motion caught the corner of his eye.
He didn’t know why he turned his head.
But he did.
She was seated inside one of the auxiliary offices—what used to be a storage suite, if he remembered correctly. The glass was slightly fogged from the morning humidity, but he could see her clearly.
A girl. Young. Slender. Head bent over a tablet, one foot nervously tapping beneath her desk.
Her blouse wasn’t designer. Her hair wasn’t professionally styled. And the shoes—he caught them just as she shifted—were scuffed at the toe. Worn out, like they’d walked too many miles for too many years.
She didn’t see him.
But he saw her.
And something about the image burned into his mind like a static shock.
Inside his office, Damien shrugged off his coat and dropped it on the couch. Ellie didn’t miss a beat, continuing her rundown as she trailed in behind him.
“The Zurich supplier issue could delay shipments by two weeks, but I’ve already escalated it to Calen’s team. Legal wants to revisit the indemnity clause on the Haven project. Oh—and the new intern arrived two days ago.”
He was halfway through unbuttoning his cuffs when that last part made him pause—barely, but just enough.
“Her name’s Maya Thompson,” Ellie added, scanning her tablet. “Twenty-five. On a full academic scholarship at Eastborough. Lives off-campus, no car, no known social media presence under her name. Coffee shop job in the mornings, night classes in business admin. Nothing flashy. No red flags. Just… quiet. Focused. I put her in one of the smaller rooms to keep her out of the way.”
He didn’t look up. Didn’t say anything.
Just moved around to the other side of his desk and sank into his chair like a man walking into battle.
The laptop in front of him blinked to life. Numbers. Contracts. A dozen meetings lined up like dominoes waiting to fall.
But he didn’t see any of it.
Not really.
His fingers hovered over the keys, but his mind—unwillingly, frustratingly—replayed the image of the girl in the glass room.
Quiet. Focused. Scuffed shoes.
His face remained cold. Blank. Detached.
But something inside him shifted.
A twitch. A ripple. Nothing visible, nothing he’d ever acknowledge.
He didn’t know why she caught his eye.
Didn’t care to understand it.
And yet, somehow, the name Maya Thompson now lived somewhere in the back of his head.
Uninvited.
Unwanted.
Undeniably there.
That night, Damien sat alone in his office long after the building had quieted. The skyline burned orange and gold through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, but he didn’t see it.
Her file sat open beside his untouched dinner.
Eastborough. Late scholarship. No disciplinary marks. GPA in the top percentile. Barista by necessity, not ambition. Caregiver to a younger brother. Orphaned at eighteen.
No ties. No scandals. No social reach.
Just grit. Raw, unpolished grit.
She didn’t walk like someone chasing attention. She walked like someone who no longer had the luxury of pretending. Her eyes held exhaustion—but not defeat. That innocence in her expression? It wasn’t soft. It was hard-won. The kind you fight to keep when life keeps trying to take it from you.
He didn’t know why it interested him.
Scratch that. It bothered him that it interested him.
He’d seen beautiful women. Slept with them. Dismissed them.
But her?
She was… untouched by this world. Not fragile. Just unreachable.
And now?
He couldn’t stop seeing her.
Ellie stood across from him, giving the end-of-day updates with her usual clipped efficiency.
“Board wants Q2 projections finalized by Friday. I told them to wait. PR flagged another influencer scandal—something to do with Nexus Tech’s ex-ambassador and—”
“What do you think of the intern?” Damien asked suddenly.
Ellie blinked. “Thompson?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated. “She’s… quiet. Obedient. Doesn’t get in the way.”
“That’s all?”
“She’s not here to make a splash. Probably just wants the credit to graduate.”
He nodded once. Thought for a moment. Then, calmly: “Move her to the west wing.”
Ellie straightened. “That’s close to the inner teams. PR, strategy—”
“I know where it is.”
She hesitated again, then softened her tone. “Understood.”
Damien turned back to his screen.
The girl with the scuffed shoes had just stepped closer to his world.
He didn’t know why.
But he was watching now.
And Damien Blackwood never watched without reason.
- Writer
