Chapter Three
1288 Words
Aria.
The waves of release leave me trembling, breath uneven and heart racing. God, I needed that.
For a fleeting second, I imagine it’s Mr. Vale’s hand instead of mine — his mouth claiming mine, his voice low against my skin.
The thought sends a shiver through me.
I blink it away almost instantly. He’s your boss, Aria. Off limits.
Sighing, I reach for my phone and order Chinese takeout. Then I text Chloe, Hey girl, thanks for earlier.
A moment later, her reply pops up: Oh, come off it, babe. It’s nothing.
A smile tugs at my lips. Within minutes, sleep pulls me under.
***
The next day starts off better than expected— I’ve almost had a wonderful day until Marissa appears beside my desk.
Her arms are folded tightly, lips pressed in a perfect line. “Mr. Vale wants to see you,” she says, her eyes sweeping over me like I’m something stuck to her shoe.
Without waiting for an answer, she spins on her heel and leaves. She’s probably still mad I had my way during the interview.
“She’s the devil in heels,” Chloe mutters, leaning close.
I let out a quiet laugh. “Bet.”
I thought I wasn’t going to face that man today but here I am, five-thirty pm— going to his office.
The elevator ride to Xander Vale’s office feels longer than it should be. My reflection in the mirrored wall looks calmer than I feel… but inside, I’m rehearsing every possible reason he could want to see me.
When I reach his door, Marissa gives me a tight smile. “He’s waiting,” she says, her voice sugary but laced with venom.
“Thanks” I reply smoothly.
I knock once then push open the large mahogany door.
Xander Vale is standing by the window, jackets off, sleeves rolled to his forearms.
He turns as I step in.
“Miss Sinclair,” He says, not looking directly at me as he walks to his desk. His voice is cools and calm.
“Mr Vale.”
He sits and gestures towards the chair opposite his desk. “Sit.”
I obey, crossing my legs and setting my notebook in my lap. The room smells faintly of cedar wood and something clean, expensive.
His green eyes land on me with quiet precision. “You’re settling in well, I assume?”
“Yes, sir,” I answer, clasping my hands to appear composed.
“I hear you studied Public relations’” he begins. “Good foundation. But theory doesn’t always translate well here”
“I like to think I’m adaptable,” I reply. “Pressure tends to bring out my best ideas.”
His lips tilt, not quite a smile— more like curiosity. “Good. Then let’s see if that’s true.”
He picks up a file and opens it. “Our latest product launch isn’t performing as expected. I want you to tell me why.”
I blink, then lean forward slightly. “You mean the Caden line?”
He nods once.
“Simple,” I say, flipping through my mental notes. “The campaign is polished but lacks connection. The visuals scream prestige, but the messaging isolates everyday consumers. People don’t like being told they’re not worthy of a product.”
He studies me for a long moment. “Go on.”
“The market is shifting,” I continue. “People want brands that feel human, not flawless. The campaign looks beautiful but cold. If you want loyalty, you need warmth. You need a story.”
Xander closes the file slowly. “A story.”
“Yes,” I say, matching his gaze. “You can’t sell luxury anymore by making people feel small. You sell it by making them want to belong.”
He hums softly, eyes narrowing in thought. “So what would you change?”
“Tone,” I say immediately. “Imagery. Voice. Let’s highlight the craft, the legacy, but through real people. Not models but moments that makes them feel.”
His brow arches, intrigued. “You’ve given this thought.”
“I’m paid to think,” I say lightly, then add, “And to be right occasionally.”
That earns a ghost of a smile, quick but unmistakable. “You’re confident.”
“Occupational hazard.”
The air between us shifts— not heavy, just taut with awareness. His gaze lingers on me a second too long before, handing down the document.
“Alright, Miss Sinclair”.
His gaze flickers— brief, assessing, and something else entirely.
He picks up an iPad and walks over to me. Setting the iPad on the table in front of me, he leans in, the distance between us shrinks. My pulse trips over itself, though my face stays calm.
“You talk like someone who’s been in this field longer than you have,” he says. “How old are you?”
“Old enough to know a trick question when I hear one.”
The corner of his mouth lifts again. “Noted.”
He straightens up and points at a document on the iPad. His hands brushes against mine for a second and I feel a wave of electric current pass through me at the contact. I know for a fact he felt it too. I let out a soft sigh as I managed to keep it together.
He pauses for a moment before continuing—
“Review this. Rewrite the phrasing of the announcement draft. Keep it professional, not poetic.”
“I’ll try not to let my inner poet slip through,” I say, scrolling through the gadget.
“Do.”
“I’d have Marissa send it to your email.”
I stand, careful not to brush against him. “Anything else, Mr. Vale?”
His gaze lingers before he walks back to his seat. “That’ll be all for now.”
I nod and turn toward the door. Halfway there, his voice stops me.
“Miss Sinclair.”
I glance back. “Yes?”
“That was a good answer,” he says simply.
For some reason, it feels like more than a compliment. My heart skips once, just once before I smile faintly. “Thank you, sir.”
As I step out of his office, Marissa’s glare greets me like bad perfume, but I barely notice. My thoughts are already miles away, replaying every word, every look, and that tiny, treacherous brush of skin against skin.
It’s nothing. Just professional.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I bump into Ethan on my way back to my desk. He catches and stables me before I hit the ground.
“Thank you.”
“Are you hurt anywhere?” His face is wrought with worry.
“I’m perfectly fine, thanks to you.”
“Good.”
We both stroll to my desk.
The silence between us is loud until he speaks. “Have you had dinner yet?” He asks
“Not yet, but I’ll just order in when I’m home.” I reply.
“How about you join me?” He arches an eyebrow. “Nothing serious, just food.”
I’ve not even used up to a week here, lord help me.
“I’m sorry, I still have work to do. Maybe some other time”
“Sure, but you promise?”
I hesitate before responding “Yes.”
It’s not yet my first week and I’ve already gotten the attention of two of my bosses.
“Girl, what’s going on? You look depressed” Chloe asks me as I slump into my chair.
“Ethan Leybourn just asked me out for dinner.”
- Writer
