Chapter 5: A Problem I Didn’t Expect
1106 Words
Damian’s POV
I had made a mistake.
A calculated risk that was now spiraling into something else entirely.
I should have hired someone boring. Someone predictable. Someone who followed orders, nodded politely, and did exactly what was asked—nothing more, nothing less.
But instead, I had hired her.
Avena Cross.
And now, I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to fire her or keep pushing just to see how much she could take.
The moment she walked into my office that morning, I felt it again.
That unwelcome pull.
She was dressed professionally—black slacks, a simple blouse—but somehow, she still looked effortlessly beautiful. Like she hadn’t even tried. Like it wasn’t something she gave much thought to, and yet… she still managed to stand out.
And that annoyed the hell out of me.
Because I noticed.
And I didn’t like noticing.
"Miss Cross," I greeted, watching the way she moved as she stepped inside. Confident, but wary. Like she was already bracing for a fight.
Interesting.
"Punctual," I noted. "That’s a good start."
"I try," she replied, her tone neutral but edged with something I couldn’t quite place.
She sat down, crossing her legs, back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it.
Smart girl.
"Do you know why I hired you?" I asked, watching for her reaction.
She didn’t hesitate.
"Because you enjoy torturing people?"
I smirked, but my mind was already working, breaking her down piece by piece.
She was testing me. Pushing the boundaries. She wanted a reaction.
And she wouldn’t get one. Not yet.
"Because I don’t like wasting time," I said smoothly. "And you struck me as someone who doesn’t waste time either."
Her brow arched slightly. "You gathered that from one conversation?"
"I gathered that from the way you didn’t hesitate to challenge me."
She held my gaze, her green eyes sharp, studying me right back.
Most people—hell, everyone—would have looked away by now.
She didn’t.
And that? That was a problem.
Because the more I looked at her, the more I saw.
She wasn’t just beautiful. She was stunning in the kind of way that sneaks up on you, that makes you second-guess yourself, that makes you want to look longer than you should.
And beneath that beauty? A mind sharper than most people I had ever met.
"Graham speaks highly of you," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Says you’re the best student he’s ever had."
For the first time, a flicker of surprise crossed her face.
"Professor Graham said that?"
"He also said you’re a damn good writer."
Her expression shifted, just slightly. A quiet kind of pride, but also something else. Something guarded.
I tucked that piece of information away for later.
"You want to be in publishing, don’t you?" I asked. "This is your shot."
I could practically see the war happening inside her head.
She didn’t want to accept that I was right.
But she knew I was.
Her lips pressed together before she finally exhaled.
"Fine," she said. "I’ll do it."
Victory.
Except… it didn’t feel like one.
Because now, I had to deal with her.
I hadn’t planned to throw her into the deep end on her first day.
But after just an hour of watching her work, I couldn’t stop myself.
She was too good.
Most new hires needed their hands held, needed to be told what to do, step by step.
Avena? She figured it out before I even had to tell her.
She skimmed through manuscripts at a ridiculous speed, absorbing information faster than I expected. Within two hours, she was already making notes—good notes. Notes that made me pause, that made me realize she saw things most junior editors wouldn’t catch in a year.
And that?
That was dangerous.
Because now I wanted to see just how much she could handle.
"Cross," I called from my desk, watching as she looked up from her laptop.
"Yes, sir?"
The way she said sir made my jaw tighten.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
"Come here," I said, ignoring the irritation curling in my stomach.
She stood, making her way over, stopping just short of my desk.
"I need you to analyze these manuscripts and compile a full breakdown of what works and what doesn’t. No bullshit, no sugarcoating."
She eyed the stack of papers. "For when?"
"By the end of the day."
Her lips parted slightly, just enough for me to see the protest forming on her tongue.
But then, instead of complaining, she smirked.
"Alright," she said, reaching forward and grabbing the stack. "But if I’m doing your job for you, I expect a raise."
I stared at her.
I should have been annoyed.
Instead, I laughed.
It wasn’t a full laugh, just the ghost of one, but it surprised me nonetheless.
She froze for a split second, like she hadn’t expected that reaction.
Neither had I.
"Get to work, Cross," I said, shaking my head.
She walked away, flipping through the first manuscript, already absorbed.
I watched her for a moment longer than I should have before turning back to my own work.
Hours passed.
And with each passing minute, I grew more impressed.
She didn’t just keep up—she excelled.
She worked faster than I expected, her notes thorough, insightful. Her ability to read between the lines, to pinpoint exactly what a manuscript needed? It was better than some senior editors I had worked with.
I wasn’t used to this.
I wasn’t used to being impressed.
But Avena Cross?
She was a problem I hadn’t anticipated.
And worse?
I was starting to like it.
By the time the day ended, she stood in front of my desk, her expression unreadable.
"Here," she said, placing a folder in front of me. "Breakdowns for all six manuscripts. No bullshit, as requested."
I flipped it open, scanning the first page.
Damn.
I looked up at her, and she knew.
She knew she had exceeded my expectations.
"Something wrong?" she asked, her voice perfectly innocent.
I leaned back, studying her.
"No," I admitted. "You’re better than I expected."
Her lips twitched. "Glad to hear it. So about that raise—"
"Don’t push your luck."
"Oh, I’ll push it," she said, already turning toward the door. "You’ll see."
And then she was gone.
And for the first time in a long time, I was left staring at an empty office, wondering what the hell I had just gotten myself into.
I smirked to myself.
This was going to be fun.
- Writer
