CAHPTER THREE: THE INTERVIEW(PART TWO)
1227 Words
I stood there like a deer caught in headlights. The hallway around me seemed to still, swallowed by the gravity of his presence. The man before me wasn’t just someone — he felt like something. Tall, sharp-suited, and commanding in a way that made my spine straighten involuntarily. His voice echoed in my ears long after he’d spoken.
“Watch your step.”
He didn’t smile. Not even the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips. Just cold, steely eyes and an expression carved from stone.
“Th-thank you,” I stammered, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly aware of how fast my heart was beating.
He didn’t respond. Just gave me one long, unreadable look, then turned and disappeared around the corner like he had never been there in the first place. And yet, even as the sound of his footsteps faded, the weight of his gaze clung to my skin like frost.
“Who was he?” I whispered to myself, trying to shake the chill from my arms.
By the time I reached the receptionist again, the butterflies in my stomach had turned into full-on chaos. I hadn’t even had the interview, and I already felt like I was in over my head.
“You can go in now, Miss Hart,” the receptionist said with a practiced smile. “Conference Room A. Mr. Delroy is waiting.”
I nodded, forcing my lips into a thin smile before walking toward the large glass doors. The name Delroy rang a bell, vaguely, but I didn’t have the luxury to recall where I’d heard it. My nerves were too shot.
The room I stepped into was sleek — too sleek. Stainless steel accents, cream leather chairs, and a massive rectangular table that could host a diplomatic summit. A man stood at the end of the room, tall, lean, and impeccably dressed, scrolling through his tablet as if it were an extension of his arm.
“Miss Hart,” he said without looking up. “You’re late.”
My stomach clenched. I wasn’t.
“— had trouble finding—”
“Save it,” he cut in sharply. “We’re on a tight schedule here. Sit.”
I did. Quickly.
This was Mr. Delroy — the manager. The one who, according to the job post, was in charge of onboarding and managing internal communication. He didn’t look much older than forty, but he carried himself with the kind of arrogance that made the air in the room heavier.
“You applied for the junior assistant role in the strategy and partnerships department?” he asked, flipping to a document on his tablet.
“Yes, sir.”
“Experience?”
I began listing my roles, the internships I’d juggled, the office assistant role that turned into more errands than actual skill development. I mentioned how I’d supported customer relations, handled documents, organized schedules. But his expression didn’t shift. Not once.
When I was done, he placed the tablet on the table and leaned forward slightly.
“You know what I see when I look at your file, Miss Hart?”
My throat was dry, but I managed, “What?”
“Mediocrity.”
It was like being slapped with words.
“You’ve floated between small-time jobs, no real specialty, no standout achievements. You’re—” he paused, “—forgettable.”
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
“I’m a hard worker,” I said quietly, gripping the edge of my seat to keep from walking out.
“That’s what everyone says,” he replied, standing up and moving to the window like I wasn’t worth his full attention anymore. “But hard work means nothing if you’re not exceptional. Bell Enterprises doesn’t run on charity.”
“I didn’t come here for charity,” I said, louder this time. My voice was shaky, but firm. “I came here for a chance.”
He turned around slowly, lifting a brow. A mocking smile curled on his lips.
“You’ll be on probation,” he said flatly. “One month. No promises. You’ll report to my office daily. You’ll do what you’re told, when you’re told, and you’ll stay out of the way. Understood?”
I swallowed the fire rising in my chest. I needed this job. More than my pride. More than anything.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he said, and just like that, walked out.
I sat in the room for a moment longer, feeling the sting of humiliation burn in my chest. My jaw clenched as I looked down at my hands. This wasn’t how I imagined my first day.
But it was what I had now. And I wasn’t going to let anyone—not even a smug manager with a superioritycomplexx, push me back into the shadows.
The days that followed were… exhausting. Mr. Delroy made sure of it.
He loaded me with mundane tasks — coffee runs, file organization, errands that had nothing to do with strategy or partnerships. Worse, he never addressed me by name. I was just “assistant” or “you.” He nitpicked everything, even how I stapled reports.
The other employees were… cautious. They spoke in whispers, eyes darting around whenever Delroy walked by. One young woman in HR, Talia, warned me gently during a coffee break.
“He’s driven three assistants out this year alone,” she whispered, eyes scanning the hallway. “You’re the fourth.”
I felt my stomach sink.
But I held on. I needed this paycheck. I needed a step forward. And somewhere deep down, I was determined to prove them all wrong.
On Friday morning, something strange happened.
I was walking down the hallway, a stack of documents in my arms, when I felt eyes on me. I turned — and there he was again.
Him.
The man from the hallway. The one with the steel-blue eyes and commanding silence.
He stood near the glass railing overlooking the office floor, arms crossed, watching. He wasn’t just observing. He was studying.
Our eyes met.
For a second, the noise of the office drowned out. It was just the two of us in some odd limbo. He tilted his head slightly, as if measuring something… then he turned and walked away again without a word.
The hair on my arms rose. My pulse picked up.
There was something in the way he looked at me — not like I was beneath him, but like I was a puzzle. And I had no idea why.
That night, as I walked home through the bustle of downtown LA, my phone buzzed.
One New Email
Subject: Re: HR Protocol Adjustment
I opened it lazily. Then froze.
From: Cassian Bell
To: Human Resources, CC’d to Me
Subject: Assistant Reassignments
Effective immediately, Calla Hart is to be reassigned to the Office of the CEOas aa temporary liaison assistant.
She will report to my office directly starting Monday.
I read it twice. Then three times.
I looked at the name.
Cassian Bell.
My knees felt like jelly.
The man in the hallway.
The one who watched me.
The one who barely spoke but somehow said everything with his eyes.
He was Cassian Bel, the billionaire heir of the Bell empire. And he just reassigned me to work for him directly
.
- Writer
