Chapter 2: The Unexpected Distraction
1081 Words
Damian’s POV
Mornings were an exercise in control.
I liked control. I demanded it.
Everything had a structure—wake up at five, run six miles, shower, coffee, read the latest financial reports, and be at the office before anyone else. It was precise, predictable. Efficient.
Except today.
Today, I was stuck in my penthouse, gripping my phone with growing irritation while Graham, my old friend and an insufferable professor, reminded me of the worst mistake I had made in the past month.
"You promised, Damian," he was saying, voice too damn cheerful for this early in the morning.
I took a slow breath, staring at the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment. New York stretched beneath me, a jungle of steel and glass, filled with people I didn’t care about and meetings I didn’t have time for.
And yet, instead of handling anything useful, I was about to waste my morning standing in front of a bunch of college students who thought they knew everything about life.
"I didn’t promise, Graham. I agreed, which is not the same thing."
"Oh, shut up with your semantics. You agreed after I bribed you with that 1945 Château Mouton Rothschild. Which means you’re coming. No backing out."
"I have actual work to do—"
"This is work. Inspiration. Philanthropy. Giving back."
I snorted. "It’s a glorified PR stunt."
"Call it what you want, but if you don’t show up, I’ll tell the entire faculty that you used to have a bowl cut in high school."
I closed my eyes, exhaling sharply through my nose.
"Fine. But I’m leaving the second this circus is over."
"Deal." Graham’s voice was smug. "I’ll see you at eleven. And Damian? Try not to terrify them."
I hung up without replying.
Annoying bastard.
By the time I made it to my office, I had barely taken three steps inside before Nathan, my business partner and one of the few people I tolerated, was already talking at me.
"You need to hire an assistant, Damian."
I sighed. "Good morning to you, too."
"I’m serious." He leaned against my desk, scrolling through something on his tablet. "You’ve been running the literary production line like a control freak, and we both know you can’t do that forever. We need someone who actually knows what they’re doing. A damn good editor, someone who understands the market and how to work with authors. You can’t do everything yourself."
"I don’t trust people to do it right."
"Then find someone competent. Jesus, Damian, we publish bestsellers. You don’t have time to personally approve every single manuscript."
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
"Fine. I’ll handle it."
"Today."
I arched a brow. "Pushing your luck, aren’t you?"
"No, I just know how you are. If you don’t do it today, you’ll ‘handle it’ three months from now when you’ve burned yourself out."
I ignored him, glancing at my watch.
10:30 AM.
I still had time to regret every decision that led me to agreeing to this lecture.
By the time I arrived at the university, I was already irritated.
I hated these things. The grandstanding. The fake admiration. The scripted speeches.
I sat in the back room, half-listening as someone introduced me, rattling off a list of achievements I didn’t care about.
Then, finally, it was my turn.
Stepping onto the stage, I surveyed the room. Packed auditorium, students leaning forward, some excited, others bored.
Let’s get this over with.
I spoke. Gave them my wisdom. Told them what they needed to hear, not what they wanted to hear. Success wasn’t about passion or dreams. It was about strategy. Control. Sacrifice.
Some nodded along. Others scribbled notes.
Boring.
Then came the questions.
They were exactly what I expected.
"What’s the best advice you’d give to an aspiring writer?"
"What’s the biggest mistake new authors make?"
"How do you balance creativity and business?"
Routine. Expected.
Until one voice cut through the monotony.
"Would you say the ability to manipulate people is your greatest asset, or is that just a side effect of being born with too much money?"
The room went silent.
Slowly, my eyes moved to the source of the voice.
And there she was.
Blond hair? No. Brown. Light brown, with strands of gold that caught the light. Green eyes—strikingly green. A deep, intense shade that was impossible to ignore. Full lips, pink and parted slightly, as if daring me to answer.
She was wearing white jeans, a simple top, a hoodie—nothing particularly remarkable. And yet, somehow, on her, it looked undeniably good. Effortless. Understated, but alluring in a way that felt... dangerous.
She sat back in her chair, arms crossed, waiting.
The entire room was holding its breath.
I let the silence stretch, then leaned forward slightly.
"Wouldn’t that depend on whether or not I care about manipulating you?"
Her lips twitched, but she didn’t break eye contact.
"So you admit it."
"I admit a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific."
A few students chuckled nervously. But she just tilted her head, unbothered.
"Alright," she said, tapping a manicured nail against her notebook. "What’s the most valuable thing a writer can have?"
I gave her the expected answer. "Discipline."
She raised an eyebrow. "Not talent? Not passion?"
"Passion fades. Talent is useless without effort. Discipline is the only thing that guarantees success."
Her lips curved slightly, like she was waiting for that answer.
"Sounds exhausting."
"Success usually is."
A pause. Then, for the first time in a long time, I was intrigued.
After the lecture, I was in Graham’s office, finishing my obligatory social niceties, when the idea struck me.
"You mentioned needing an assistant," I said suddenly.
Nathan, who had been checking his phone, barely looked up. "Yeah?"
I turned to Graham. "The girl from earlier. The sassy one. What’s her name?"
His brows lifted. "Avena Cross."
Avena.
I liked the way it sounded. Sharp. Uncommon.
"I want her for the position."
Nathan blinked. "Wait. Her?"
"Yes."
Graham studied me for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair. "Interesting choice. She’s the best student I’ve ever had."
"Good. Then she’ll do."
"She writes books, you know," he added. "Has a mind for storytelling like I’ve never seen before."
That... was unexpected.
I glanced out the window, my mind already working.
Sassy. Smart. Unapologetic.
And she had no idea what she had just walked into.
This was going to be fun.
- Writer
