Chapter 9: The Rules We Break
1428 Words
Damien Blackwood wasn’t in a good mood.
Not that anyone would’ve dared to say it to his face. Not even James, who had spent nearly a decade interpreting Damien’s silences like a language only he could read. But even James kept unusually quiet on the way back to the executive wing.
They’d barely stepped into the private elevator before Damien pressed the emergency halt button.
James didn’t flinch.
Elle, however, looked up from her tablet. “Sir?”
“Leave us.”
It wasn’t a request.
Elle nodded and quickly exited, no questions asked. She knew better.
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hiss, enclosing Damien Blackwood and James Horton in silence.
James stood slightly behind his employer, hands clasped neatly in front of him, face impassive. Damien said nothing for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the brushed metal panel in front of them, as if the glowing floor numbers were personally offending him.
Then, in a voice that was flat and cool as stone, Damien said, “I want you to find out who’s challenging the company rules.”
He said it like a command. Like it didn’t already taste bitter in his mouth.
James didn’t need to ask which rule. He knew exactly what this was about.
Damien’s expression didn’t change. “Someone’s either ignoring it—or thinks they’re exempt.”
James nodded once. “I’ll look into it.”
No questions. No clarification. No visible reaction.
But behind the stillness of his gaze, James was already piecing things together.
He had seen the pause. The flicker. The tick in Damien’s jaw when they’d walked into the PR department.
He’d seen his boss’s eyes lock on the flowers—too elegant, too deliberate—sitting on that intern’s desk. And he’d seen the way Damien’s expression didn’t change at all.
Which, for Damien Blackwood, meant something had changed.
James knew better than to ask. That was never how their dynamic worked. Damien would never admit—least of all to himself—that something had struck a nerve. That a simple bouquet on an intern’s desk could stir something jagged beneath the surface.
But James knew.
Something had.
Damien didn’t repeat himself. He didn’t need to.
As the elevator continued its smooth descent to the executive floor, Damien remained stoic—one hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored slacks, the other resting at his side.
But James noticed it. That slight twitch in his thumb. The tension in his jawline.
There was no room for romance in Damien Blackwood’s world. No time. No tolerance. The rules weren’t just for show—they were law. No gossip, no relationships, no distractions. Blackwood Enterprises was a fortress of focus and control.
So why, James wondered, did one intern with a simple bouquet seem to shatter that control?
Damien gave no reply.
But James already knew.
This wasn’t about policy.
It was personal.
Meanwhile — Back in the PR Department
The office had returned to its usual hum of noise, but she couldn’t shake the way whispers followed her. Eyes slid her way when they thought she wasn’t looking. She tried to disappear into her work, to anchor herself in reports, drafts, tasks—but the tension clung to her like static.
People had definitely noticed.
Maya sat at her desk, her fingers twitching slightly as she fought to keep her nerves under control.
The flowers were still there.
The delicate white lilies and blue hyacinths stood tall in a pristine glass vase beside her laptop, the small card still tucked neatly in the bouquet. She hadn’t dared open it. Just looking at it made her stomach twist.
Harper had finally calmed down but kept sneaking glances toward the executive hallway.
“Do you think they’ll say anything?” Maya whispered.
“About the flowers?” Harper shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. You didn’t do anything wrong. But just in case, just tell them the truth.”
She didn’t get a chance to dwell too long, though. Minutes later, Trina appeared.
“Morning, ladies,” Trina said crisply. Her eyes flicked to the flowers, narrowed slightly, but she said nothing. “Maya, I’d like a word. My office.”
Maya’s stomach dropped.
Harper mouthed: Stay calm.
Maya stood stiffly in front of Trina’s glass-walled office, fingers curled nervously around the edge of her notebook. Her stomach still felt unsettled from earlier. The flowers. The looks. The hush that had fallen over the office like some unspoken cloud of suspicion.
She knocked lightly.
“Come in,” Trina called.
Maya stepped inside.
Trina didn’t look up at first, typing furiously on her laptop. Her office was as pristine as the rest of her appearance—every binder color-coded, every surface immaculate. It smelled faintly of vanilla and ambition.
“You wanted to see me?” Maya asked softly.
“Yes,” Trina said, finally lifting her head. “Sit.”
Maya did.
“I reviewed your notes from the pitch meeting,” she said curtly. “Unrefined, but sharp. You caught nuances others missed. You have potential, Thompson. Keep that up, and you might actually survive here.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll do my best,” Maya said quickly.
Trina closed the laptop. “But potential isn’t worth anything if you can’t stay focused. And focused means avoiding distractions.”
Maya’s heart skipped.
Trina stood, walking to the edge of her desk and resting one palm on it. Her tone turned clinical, but her gaze was cutting. “Word of advice? Office romance is not tolerated. So if I were you, I’d tell your boyfriend to keep the flowers private next time.”
Maya’s head snapped up. “What? I—I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Trina raised a brow, unimpressed.
“I swear,” Maya added. “I’ve only been here four days. Two in this department. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this.”
Something in her voice cracked slightly at the end, and she hated that it did. But it was true. She had worked too hard, sacrificed too much to land this internship. If a bouquet could ruin everything—
Trina narrowed her eyes for a beat, then stood, signaling the conversation was over.
“Good,” she said briskly.
Trina stared at her for a long moment, assessing.
“Then make sure that’s what people see,” she said at last. “Because perception here is just as dangerous as intention. You’re new. You’re being watched. Don’t give them something to talk about.”
Maya swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
Trina tapped the desk lightly. “You can go.”
Maya stood quickly, notebook still clutched in her arms like a shield. “Thank you.”
Maya’s ears burned as she nodded and slipped out of the office.
She didn’t understand what was happening. Or who had sent the flowers. Maybe it was a mistake. A mix-up. Or worse — someone playing a cruel joke.
But she didn’t have time to think about it. She had work to finish. And Jamie’s appointment tomorrow. And rent due next week. And tuition bills she still didn’t know how she’d pay.
This internship was her chance. Her way out.
She wouldn’t lose it. Not over something as stupid as a bouquet of lilies.
⸻
Back on the executive floor, Damien sat behind his massive desk, the city skyline behind him washed in cold morning light.
His fingers hovered over his laptop keyboard, not moving.
The image was burned into his mind.
White lilies.
Blue hyacinths.
That card.
Something inside him had… tightened. Not in anger. Not even jealousy, not exactly.
It was irritation. Disruption.
It made his skin crawl in a way he couldn’t explain.
He didn’t like surprises. He didn’t like feeling off-balance. And whatever that had been—whoever had sent that—it had touched something raw in him.
Something that had nothing to do with policy.
He pushed his chair back abruptly and stood, pacing once behind his desk.
This was why he didn’t tolerate mess. Distractions. Emotional clutter. It was beneath him. Beneath his empire.
And yet…
His gaze drifted toward his laptop again.
James would handle it. Of course he would.
Still, Damien sat back down and opened the internal dashboard.
He told himself it was for monitoring.
Performance. Efficiency.
Just to see if productivity in the PR department was where it needed to be.
Just business.
Just business, he told himself again. But even he didn’t believe it this time.
- Writer
