TAMING MR BLACKWELL

JUST BITTERNESS LIKE THE MAN HIMSELF

IVY

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee followed me into Adrian’s office, a futile attempt to bring warmth to a place as cold as its occupant. I set the cup down carefully, watching the dark liquid ripple, trapped in its polished ceramic prison. No sugar, no cream, just bitterness, like the man himself. Placing it on his desk felt like setting down an offering to a silent god.

I stood in front of his desk, (that's if you could call the imposing steel-and-glass slab a “desk.”) straightening my posture, waiting for him to acknowledge me. But, as usual, he didn’t even glance my way.

Adrian Blackwell looked every inch the man his reputation promised. Dark suit, sharp jawline, and an expression so focused it could split atoms. His fingers moved across the keyboard with precise, deliberate keystrokes, his gaze fixed on the monitor in front of him.

I just hope I pass this first test, because I really need too.

When the silence stretched too long, I cleared my throat. “Your coffee, sir.” He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he finished whatever he was typing before finally reaching for the cup. Long fingers wrapped around the handle, bringing it to his lips. He took a sip, then stilled.

I caught the almost imperceptible twitch of his brow. He hadn’t expected it to be so strong, had he? His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his jaw tightening slightly.

“You made it black.” His voice was smooth, but I could hear the underlying edge of surprise.

“I read that plain coffee is good for the health Sir,” I said, tilting my head. “And, I assumed you didn’t take sugar.”

His gaze lifted, sharp and assessing. “You assumed correctly.” For a man who seemed to thrive on perfection, that felt like a victory. Not that I’d let it show.

Then, as if he hadn’t almost spit it out seconds ago, he took another sip. A longer one this time. I didn’t miss the way his fingers tapped once against the cup before setting it down, a silent tell. He liked it, maybe just a little. But, of course, he’d never admit that.

“Are you waiting for a medal, Miss Carter?” His voice cut through the moment like a blade, yanking me back to reality.

I inhaled sharply, forcing a neutral expression. “No, sir. Just waiting for further instructions.”

He leaned back in his chair, fingers placed beneath his chin as he studied me. Adrian Blackwell was impossible to read. His face remained impassive, unreadable, a mask of effortless power. But after just a few minutes in his presence, I could already tell one thing, when he was mad, it showed. In the tightness of his jaw. The way his fingers curled just slightly. The way the air in the room became suffocatingly heavy.

And right now, he wasn’t mad. He was testing me.

“You’re the twelve assistant I’ve had in fifteen months,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Do you know why?”

Because you’re insufferable?. I bit back the response and instead shook my head. “No, sir.”

“Because incompetence is intolerable,” he said smoothly. “And unfortunately, that seems to be the defining trait of my past employees.”

I straightened my shoulders, keeping my face blank and focused on him. “I understand Sir.”

His eyes locking mine, with a slightly raised eyebrow, like he was trying to gauge whether I was sincere or stupid.

“Do you?” It was a challenge. One I refused to lose.

“With all due respect, Mr. Blackwood, I wouldn’t have made it past the interview process if I were incompetent,” I said, my voice steady. “And since I’m standing here, it means I was the best candidate available.”

His lips curved slightly, not a smile, not even something close. “We’ll see.”

He reached for a file and slid it across the desk. “Sort this out. I need a summarized report in an hour. No mistakes.”

I took the file, my fingers brushing against the smooth leather surface. “Understood.”

Without waiting for dismissal, I turned on my heel, making my way toward my desk just outside his office. My heels clicked against the marble floors, each step echoing in the silence. I kept my head high, my back straight, even as I felt his gaze on me.

The second I was out of sight, and behind the safety of my desk, I let out a slow breath and allowed myself a moment to exhale. Working for Adrian Blackwell was going to be hell. But if he thinks I’d break as easily as the others, he had another thing coming. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. I'm here to stay.

I slid into my chair, flipping open the file. It was packed with data, numbers that swam before my eyes.

I had expected him to be difficult. His reputation had more than prepared me for that. But I hadn’t expected him to actively make my life miserable before lunch.

One hour!. For a file that was thick enough to be used as a weapon. I sat at my desk, flipping it open, my fingers skimming over rows and rows of numbers, financial statements, corporate dealings, projections, half of which weren’t even relevant to what he had asked for. The data was a mess of numbers and jargon, the kind of thing designed to send anyone running for the hills.

He was testing me, that much was clear. This wasn’t about efficiency. It wasn’t about getting the report done. It was about whether I would break. I clenched my jaw and pushed my sleeves up, grabbing a pen and a notepad.

He wanted to see me crack under pressure? Too bad. He’d be waiting a long time. I forced myself to focus, scanning through the information at lightning speed. Years of experience had trained me for this, pulling out the most vital points, filtering out the useless details, arranging everything in a way that was clear, concise, and perfect.

But just as I was getting into a rhythm, a sharp ding interrupted me. An email. From him. I clicked on it, and my eyes narrowed as I read.

Subject: Additional Tasks

Cross-check last quarter’s budget report and highlight discrepancies.

Draft a response to the legal inquiry from Henderson & Co.

Reorganize my schedule for the next two weeks.

I stared at the screen. Seriously?