Behind Closed Doors
996 Words
Ava barely registered the ding of the elevator as it vanished behind her, swallowing the echo of Liam Hawthorne’s footsteps as he led her down the private corridor. Her pulse was racing, her nerves raw with equal parts fear and adrenaline.
Completely loyal. Completely available.
She followed, silent, the click of his shoes striking the polished floors like a metronome counting down to a life she hadn’t expected. Every part of this floor felt different — quieter, colder, exclusive. No interns roamed here. No cubicles cluttered with coffee mugs or potted plants. This wasn’t just upper management — this was the tower's inner sanctum.
Liam stopped at the final door on the right. With one smooth motion, he pushed it open and stepped aside to let her in.
Ava hesitated — just for a second — before walking in.
It wasn’t the sterile boardroom or bustling assistant bullpen she’d expected.
This was his office.
Massive, sleek, and utterly intimidating. It looked less like a workspace and more like the command center of a man who owned the world. One entire wall was glass, showcasing the Manhattan skyline in full, dizzying glory. The other walls were charcoal stone, accented with abstract art and spotless black bookshelves. A leather couch sat beneath a minimalist chandelier, and a sleek bar cart gleamed near the far corner.
Ava took a careful step inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
“Sit,” Liam said, gesturing to the black leather chair across from his desk.
She sat, spine straight, legs crossed at the ankles like her mother had taught her to do in job interviews. But this wasn’t an interview — not anymore.
“I didn’t bring anything,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended. “Notebook. Laptop.”
“You won’t need them for what I’m about to say.”
Her eyes flicked up, catching his. He’d already removed his jacket, draped it neatly over the arm of a chair. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows now, revealing strong forearms, a simple luxury watch resting beneath his wrist. His gaze was unreadable — but intense. Like he saw through every lie she’d never told.
He sat across from her, fingers laced loosely, elbows on the armrests.
“I’m offering you something no other intern will get. Full access. Front row seat to the empire I’ve built. Do you know what that means?”
Ava nodded, cautiously. “Yes. I think so.”
“I don’t think you do.” His voice didn’t rise, but it tightened — as if he’d heard too many half-promises before. “It means discretion. Total availability. It means no leaks, no stories, no whispers in elevators. It means you keep your head down when it’s needed and raise it when I say so.”
“I understand,” she said quickly.
“Do you?”
Ava hesitated. “I want to.”
That answer, oddly, seemed to please him.
“You’ll handle my schedule, sit in on confidential meetings, communicate with people whose names you’re not allowed to repeat. You’ll be invisible — but essential. Think you can do that?”
Ava swallowed. “Yes.”
“Even if people talk?”
“Let them,” she said, surprising even herself. “They don’t know me.”
Liam smiled — just barely. Not warmth, not kindness. But interest.
“You’ll get paid. More than a normal internship. But make no mistake — I’m not easy to work for.”
She didn’t flinch. “I don’t expect easy.”
He stood and walked behind his desk, typing something into a sleek silver keyboard. A second later, a nearby printer hummed to life and spat out two sheets of paper.
“Non-disclosure agreement,” he said, walking over and setting it in front of her. “Sign it, and we begin.”
Ava picked up the pen he offered. Her hand trembled slightly as she read the small print. Standard clauses. Confidentiality. No personal recordings. No discussing business or private matters related to Liam Hawthorne or his affiliates.
She signed.
The second her name was on the line, Liam took the contract, scanned it briefly, then slipped it into a drawer and locked it.
“You start now.”
Ava blinked. “Right now?”
He tilted his head. “Why wait?”
“I— I don’t have a desk. Or instructions.”
“You’ll sit outside my office for now. I’ll have an assistant bring up a laptop, credentials, phone. Until then, shadow me. Every meeting. Every call. You don’t speak unless spoken to. You don’t interrupt unless it’s urgent. You listen. You learn.”
“Yes, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“Liam,” he corrected, surprising her. “You’re close enough to call me by name now.”
She nodded, her voice soft. “Okay… Liam.”
It felt wrong and too intimate, like she’d touched something fragile or forbidden. But he didn’t seem offended. If anything, he was watching her more closely now.
He stepped away and pressed the intercom on his desk. “Get a full PA setup to my office. Carter will need it within the hour.”
A voice crackled. “Yes, Mr. Hawthorne.”
He looked at her again, arms crossed. “Why journalism?”
She hesitated, caught off guard by the personal turn. “Because stories matter. And because people like me don’t always get to tell theirs.”
His lips curved, slow and calculating. “You’re not as naive as you look.”
“I’m not naive at all.”
“Good.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was… charged. Heavy with unspoken questions. She had the sudden sense that this wasn’t just about work anymore — that Liam Hawthorne had seen something in her he didn’t expect.
And maybe she had, too.
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She had no idea what she’d just stepped into.
But something told her she wouldn’t walk away unchanged.
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- Writer
