TAMING MR BLACKWELL

THE FIRST WEEK WAS BRUTAL

(Adrian’s POV)

The city was a blur outside my office window, streaks of red and white lights blending into the dark skyline. Chicago never truly slept, and neither did I.

The office was silent now, the usual hum of voices and ringing phones replaced by stillness. My employees had all gone home, well, except one.

I leaned back in my chair, rolling my wrist to check the time. 8:07 PM.

Miss Carter had finally left. The corner of my mouth twitched slightly, though it wasn’t amusement I felt. More like mild curiosity.

Ivy Carter

She had grit. She didn’t whine, didn’t beg for an early dismissal, didn’t fumble under pressure. She handled every impossible task I threw at her today without so much as a single complaint.

Of course, that didn’t mean she was perfect. She made mistakes, small ones. But I noticed them. I always noticed.

Her summary report had been on my desk within the hour, neatly compiled, no errors that stood out. Her handwriting was sharp, efficient. No unnecessary flourishes, she worked like someone who had something to prove.

I recognized that hunger, because I had once been the same. Still, I wasn’t in the habit of handing out praise.

A knock at the door broke the quiet. “Come in,” I said.

Nathan stepped inside, my head of security and one of the few people I trusted. He was dressed in his usual black suit, his stance relaxed but alert.

“You’re still here,” he noted.

I glanced at the untouched glass of scotch on my desk. “So are you.”

Nathan smirked. “Part of the job. You, on the other hand, need a reason.”

I ignored the comment and reached for the folder Ivy had left earlier, flipping through it. “She stayed late,” Nathan remarked, nodding toward the empty desk outside my office.

I didn’t reply.

Nathan chuckled. “You like testing her, don’t you?”

“She’s my assistant,” I said smoothly. “If she can’t handle pressure, she shouldn’t be here.”

Nathan shook his head, but there was amusement in his eyes. “If you say so.” I closed the folder, my gaze lingering on the clean, structured lines of Ivy’s work.

She had done well today, much better than I expected. But I wouldn’t tell her that.

Never.

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

(Ivy’s POV)

The first week was brutal.

The second week? Pure hell.

I had survived two full weeks under Adrian Blackwell’s relentless demands, and somehow, I was still standing. Barely.

He was the kind of boss nightmares were made of, cold, ruthless, and allergic to the word patience.

“Miss Carter, I need these reports reformatted. Now.”

“Miss Carter, reschedule my 4 PM. I don’t care if he flew in from London, he can wait.”

“Miss Carter, where’s my coffee? Do I look like a man who functions without caffeine?”

Every day was a test. He buried me in paperwork, assigned impossible deadlines, and called me into his office at the worst possible times.

Lunch breaks? A myth.

Leaving at six? A joke.

Most nights, I stayed until eight, sometimes later, trapped in the freezing glass-and-steel prison that was Blackwell Enterprises. My body ached from sitting too long, my head throbbed from staring at endless spreadsheets, and my stomach protested the lack of food.

But did Adrian Blackwell care?

Absolutely not.

He was unwavering, merciless, and infuriatingly composed through it all.

And yet, somehow, I was still here.

I adapted, I had to. Because I needed the money.

I memorized his schedule down to the minute. I learned the exact way he liked his coffee (black, strong enough to fuel a rocket launch). I figured out that he hated interruptions, despised incompetence, and had zero tolerance for excuses.

He wasn’t just demanding, he was unrelenting.

A single mistake? Red ink slashed across my reports.

A delay of even two minutes? A sharp glance that sent a chill down my spine.

The man ran his company like a battlefield, and I was just another soldier trying to survive.

But I wasn’t like the others. I wouldn’t break. And that must have irritated him, because he started pushing me harder.

One evening, just as I thought I’d finally finished my work for the day, his voice rang out through the intercom.

“Miss Carter, my office. Now.”

I clenched my teeth, forcing a neutral expression before heading inside.

Adrian sat behind his desk, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing strong wrists and veins that should not have been so distracting.

He barely glanced up as he slid a thick stack of files toward me.

“Reorganize these. The last batch was a mess.”

I blinked. “The last batch was.....” perfect. But I swallowed my protest.

“Yes, sir.” I scooped up the files and turned, but his voice stopped me in my tracks.

“And Miss Carter?” I turned back.

His gaze met mine, sharp and unreadable. “Next time, do it right the first time.”

My jaw clenched, but I nodded. “Of course, sir.”

By the time I finally packed up for the night, the office was nearly empty. The digital clock on my desk blinked 8:17 PM, two hours past my supposed “off time.”

I should have gone home earlier, should have eaten lunch.

But should-haves didn’t exist in Blackwell's dictionary.

I grabbed my coat, slung my bag over my shoulder, and stepped out of the towering skyscraper into the chilly Chicago night.

The city was still alive, cars honking, people rushing, neon signs blinking in the distance, but in my little corner of exhaustion, the world felt too big.

A bus rumbled past, and I sighed. No way I was affording an Uber on my paycheck.

I caught the next bus, settling into the worn seat as the vehicle lurched forward, carrying me away from the gleaming corporate towers and into the dimly lit, rough-edged streets I called home.

Home. That's if You Could Call It That. My apartment was… pathetic.

But I was grateful I had a roof over my head.

A tiny studio, squeezed between a laundromat and a liquor store, with walls so thin I could hear my neighbor’s TV blaring Fast & Furious for the hundredth time.

The heater barely worked. The fridge...... was empty except for expired yogurt and a bottle of water.

Bills sat stacked on the counter, unopened.

I kicked off my heels, tossing my bag onto the couch before sinking onto my lumpy mattress.

The exhaustion hit me all at once.

I was drained, starving, and overwhelmed, but I wasn’t giving up.

I had survived two weeks. I would survive two more.

Because if Adrian Blackwell thought he could wear me down, he was in for a surprise.

I wasn’t going anywhere.