Chapter 2 – Beneath His Gaze
1130 Words
The next morning, I arrived early — too early — because I couldn’t risk being late on my first real day as Ethan Blackwood’s secretary. The lobby was still half-empty, but the tension I felt could’ve filled the room.
Mark, his assistant, looked up when I entered. Calm, polite, unreadable — like a man who’d been trained never to show surprise. “You’re early, Miss Sinclair.”
“I like to start prepared,” I said, offering a small smile.
He nodded approvingly. “Mr. Blackwood appreciates punctuality.”
I wasn’t doing it for appreciation. I was doing it for control. Every second here mattered.
I spent the first hour organizing his schedule, answering calls, responding to messages he’d barely glanced at. The man was efficient — cold precision wrapped in charm. And even without seeing him, I could feel him. His presence had a gravity that pulled the entire floor around his orbit.
When his office door finally opened, I looked up instinctively.
Ethan stepped out — immaculate in a charcoal suit, sleeves slightly rolled, watch glinting against his wrist. His eyes flicked toward me, brief but burning. “Coffee. Black. No sugar.”
“Yes, sir.”
Two words. That was all he said. Yet my pulse tripped over itself like it had forgotten how to behave.
When I returned with his coffee, he was already back at his desk, speaking quietly to Mark. I placed the cup down carefully, but his eyes lifted at the sound.
“Thank you, Miss Sinclair.”
His tone was cool. His gaze wasn’t. It lingered — a beat too long — on my hands, then drifted upward, tracing my neckline before landing on my face again. He didn’t smirk or speak. Just watched.
And I hated that it made my stomach tighten.
“Will that be all, Mr. Blackwood?”
“For now.” He turned away, dismissive, though his jaw flexed — that small tell that betrayed he wasn’t as composed as he wanted me to believe.
The day moved fast — too fast. Meetings, calls, orders barked across the room that I followed without question. Ethan was demanding but sharp; he didn’t repeat himself, didn’t explain twice. When I kept up, he noticed. When I didn’t, he really noticed.
At one point, I caught him watching me through the glass partition. His hand rested on the desk, pen still, eyes heavy with something that wasn’t professionalism. Mark spoke beside him, but Ethan’s focus didn’t waver.
I pretended not to see it — the slow appraisal, the flicker of restraint in his expression.
By noon, the tension was almost tangible.
He called me into his office. “Close the door.”
I obeyed.
He didn’t look up immediately. Just signed a few papers, the sound of his pen scraping the only thing between us. Then — “You’re settling in well.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You learn quickly.”
“I try.”
His gaze lifted then, steady and unreadable. “You do more than try.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” His voice dropped lower. “Just keep it that way.”
Something about the way he said it made the air feel charged, thicker. He leaned back, studying me. I felt that stare everywhere — like it left fingerprints without touching me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked finally.
He blinked, slow and deliberate. “No. You just… remind me of something.”
“Something?”
He tilted his head, considering. “No. Someone.”
My throat tightened. If he ever remembered my father, the plan would end before it began. I forced a polite smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Mr. Blackwood.”
He didn’t smile. But his eyes dipped, just for a second, to my lips — and heat licked through me in response.
“Do that again,” he said softly.
“Do what?”
“Smile like that.”
My breath caught. “I wasn’t aware it was part of the job description.”
“Consider it an order.”
The way he said it — smooth, quiet, yet commanding — sent a shiver down my spine. I held his gaze, forcing composure, but my voice came out lower than I intended. “Yes, sir.”
He didn’t say anything else. Just leaned back again, eyes glinting like he knew too much.
When I left his office, my legs felt unsteady. Mark passed me in the hallway, offering a polite nod. “Everything all right, Miss Sinclair?”
“Yes,” I lied. “Perfectly fine.”
“Good,” he said mildly, though his eyes narrowed slightly — observant, careful. He saw more than he let on.
By late evening, most of the office was empty. Mark had gone for the day. I was finishing the last of Ethan’s correspondence when his voice broke the silence.
“Still here?”
I looked up. He was standing in the doorway, jacket off, tie loosened. The sight shouldn’t have done what it did to my heartbeat.
“I wanted to finish today’s reports before leaving.”
He stepped closer — not enough to touch, but close enough that his scent — leather, smoke, and something crisp — wrapped around me.
“Efficient,” he murmured. “I like that.”
My breath hitched. “Thank you, sir.”
His gaze flicked down again, deliberate, slow. “You keep calling me ‘sir.’”
“It’s professional.”
His lips curved faintly. “You think that word keeps things professional?”
I swallowed. “It’s respectful.”
He studied me for a beat longer. Then, quietly: “I’m not sure respect is what I feel when I look at you, Miss Sinclair.”
My pulse jumped. “Then maybe you shouldn’t look.”
“I can’t seem to help it.”
The words hung there — raw, unguarded, dangerous.
The office lights dimmed automatically as the clock struck eight, shadows slicing the room into gold and gray. I could see his reflection in the glass — standing too close, eyes fixed on me.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he said, “Go home, Ava.”
It was the first time he said my name. It sounded like a warning. Or a promise.
“Yes, Mr. Blackwood,” I whispered, forcing my legs to move.
As I walked out, I could still feel his eyes on me — heavy, unrelenting.
The elevator doors slid shut. My reflection stared back — flushed, shaken, alive.
I’d come here for revenge.
But every time he looked at me like that, I forgot what side I was supposed to be on.
- Writer
