TAMING MR BLACKWELL

I'LL WALK INTO THE OFFICE AGAIN AND PROVE HIM WRONG

Adrian's POV

My gaze flickered to the empty spot where Ivy had just stood.

"Sort this out. I need a summarized report in an hour. No mistakes." That’s what I had told her.

And she had taken the file and walked away without a single question, without any sign of doubt.

Most of the others had needed clarification. Some had complained about the deadline, one had even cried.

Ivy just nodded. I wasn’t sure if that made her capable or dangerous. I exhaled slowly, running a hand down my jaw, I had no interest in history repeating itself.

Ivy would do her job. She would prove herself useful, or she would leave like the others. Either way, she wasn’t here to stay. I wouldn’t let her.

Lifting the cup of coffee once more, I took another sip, letting the bitterness settle.

Bitter. Strong. Unrelenting. Just like her, but she wouldn’t last. They never did.

And I’d make sure of it.

.................

The report she handed me was flawless.

I skimmed through the pages, my eyes scanning for mistakes, for any reason to point out a flaw. But there weren’t any, not even one. She was good.

I set the file down, keeping my expression neutral. Across from me, Ivy stood with her hands clasped in front of her, waiting with a proud look. Damn her.

“The formatting could be better,” I said coolly.

Her lips parted slightly, just for a second, before she forced them back into a straight line. “I followed the standard company format.”

I lifted a brow. “And yet, it could be better.”

She didn’t respond right away. But I caught the slight twitch in her jaw, the way her fingers tightened just a little.

Ah, there it was. Annoyance. She was trying so hard not to show it. Good, let’s see how long that lasts.

“You’re dismissed,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “For now.”

She exhaled through her nose, nodded once, then turned on her heel. The moment she walked out, I allowed myself a small smirk.

Let’s see how long you last, Miss Carter. Because I would make damn sure it wouldn’t be long.

..........

MIA'S POV

By the time I shut down my computer, my back was stiff from hours of sitting, my fingers sore from typing, and my stomach an empty pit of regret. I was supposed to clock out at six. I should have been home hours ago, curled up in my tiny apartment with a warm meal and a few moments of peace. But Adrian Blackwell had other plans.

Six became seven. Seven bled into eight. I packed my things in slow, deliberate movements, pushing down the frustration simmering just beneath my skin. The office was nearly empty now, except for the janitorial staff and a few workaholics who, unlike me, probably enjoyed this self-inflicted torture.

Adrian’s office door was closed, but I knew he was still inside, working late as always. His entire life revolved around work, cold, ruthless, and efficient. But at least he was getting paid enough to make it worthwhile.

Me? I was drowning in bills. By the time I stepped outside, the Chicago air was sharp against my skin, carrying the scent of the city, gasoline, faint traces of food from street vendors, and the underlying grittiness that never truly disappeared. The streets weren’t as crowded as they were during rush hour, but there were still enough people for me to disappear into the flow, just another exhausted worker heading home.

I reached the train station, swiping my transit card with muscle memory. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered, casting everything in a dull, lifeless glow. I leaned against a cold metal pole, the weight of the day pressing against my spine.

Skipping lunch had been a mistake. My stomach twisted in protest, but there was no point in thinking about it now. It wasn’t like I could afford to eat out every day.

The train ride was long, each stop taking me further away from the sleek glass towers of Blackwell Enterprises and deeper into the parts of Chicago that people like Adrian Blackwell never set foot in. When I finally reached my stop, the differences were glaring. The air was heavier here, thick with exhaustion. The sidewalks were cracked, the streetlights dim, casting long, eerie shadows against buildings that had seen better days.

My apartment building stood at the end of a quiet street, its brick exterior worn from years of neglect. The front door stuck when I pulled it open, the hinges creaking in protest. The stairwell smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and cheap takeout, and I took the steps two at a time, my feet knowing the path home without thought.

Inside, my studio apartment was exactly as I left it, small, cluttered, but mine. The window rattled slightly from the wind outside, and the old radiator made a low, groaning sound. My bed was unmade, blankets tangled from the rushed morning, and my kitchen sink had dishes I’d been too tired to wash last night.

I tossed my bag onto the tiny table near the entrance and kicked off my heels, sighing at the relief of being free from them. My feet ached, my muscles were tense, and all I wanted to do was collapse.

But first, food. I opened my fridge, already knowing what I’d find, next to nothing. A half-empty carton of milk, a few eggs, and some bread that was dangerously close to expiring. Payday was still a few days away, and rent had drained my account.

I settled for toast, barely warm, as I sank into the one chair that didn’t wobble. The exhaustion in my bones was more than physical, it was mental, emotional, a weight pressing down on me from every angle.

Adrian Blackwell had spent the entire day piling work onto my desk, barely giving me time to breathe. He never raised his voice, never outright insulted me, but his expectations were a silent punishment. The way he looked at me, like he was waiting for me to fail, only fueled my determination.

I refused to be another assistant he could break. Even as fatigue pulled at me, even as my body begged for rest, I knew one thing for sure. Tomorrow, I’d walk into that office again. And I’d prove him wrong.