Trapped Between Two CEOs

Chapter 5

Harlan clapped his hands together once, the sharp sound echoing off the glass partitions.

“All new interns, conference room B. Now.”

We stood up in unison. Elias closed his laptop with a quick snap. Naima tucked her leather notebook securely under her arm, while Leo followed behind without uttering a word. I grabbed my access badge from the desk and walked alongside them down the hallway.

The conference room was already prepped for us. A long, polished mahogany table sat in the center with chilled water bottles neatly aligned, and a large presentation screen at the front remained dark. We took the open seats near the far end. Harlan remained standing at the head of the room, adjusting his cuffs.

“You’ll each be paired directly with a senior analyst on your specific track,” Harlan began, his tone sharp. “Research stays directly with me for the first two weeks. Coordination reports to Ms. Sloane. You will not go above either of us under any circumstances without an explicit, urgent reason. Is that clear?”

A chorus of quiet, obedient responses filled the room.

He continued running through the ground rules strict deadlines, precise file-naming conventions, who to email, and who to leave completely alone. The standard first-day orientation drill. I wrote down the essential details in my notepad, desperately trying not to dwell on the commanding man who had walked past my desk just twenty minutes prior.

The heavy wooden door opened unexpectedly.

Mr. Montclair stepped inside, accompanied by one of the senior executives from the earlier walk-through. Conversation in the room died instantly.

He didn't take a seat. He simply stood at the head of the table, resting one hand in his suit pocket, and scanned the four of us like he was already calculating our individual net value to his firm.

“You’re here to work,” he said, his voice flat, deep, and unnervingly familiar. “Not to network. Not to try to impress me. Results are the only currency that matters here. If you can’t keep up with the pace, you won’t stay. Are there any questions?”

Dead silence. No one dared to speak.

His dark eyes moved slowly across the table. They passed Elias. Passed Naima. Passed Leo. Then they landed directly on me, lingering for a fraction of a second longer than on the others.

Not a single emotion showed on his structured face.

He looked away just as quickly as he had locked eyes with me.

“Harlan has the rest of your onboarding,” he added concisely.

Then he turned and left the room, the executive trailing right behind him. The door clicked shut.

I released a long, silent breath I hadn't even realized I was holding. He hadn’t recognized me. The black mask had done its job perfectly. It was just a wild, anonymous one-night stand. It was over. I could actually work here in peace without the ghost of that lounge sitting at the desk next to me.

Harlan wrapped up the final administrative rules and dismissed us. We walked back out to the bustling main floor. I sat back down at my assigned desk and reopened the competitor analysis file. The complex numbers suddenly looked much clearer now that the panic had receded. I highlighted three key lines of data and began drafting a concise executive summary.

Around noon, the floor grew significantly busier. Desk phones rang constantly, fast footsteps echoed across the tile, and a group laughed softly near the breakroom kitchen. I buried myself completely in the workload.

Later in the afternoon, Harlan stopped by my desk and set a printed data sheet next to my keyboard.

“Expand the regional market section,” he instructed smoothly. “I want the updated report sitting on my desk before you leave tonight.”

“On it.”

I pulled up the extra SEC filings on my screen and started typing at a rapid pace. Elias was deep in a phone call two desks over, while Naima walked past carrying a fresh stack of coordination folders. The workday was starting to feel almost completely normal.

Near five o'clock, I reached for my clutch bag to pack up my belongings for the evening. As I moved, the silk sleeve of my blouse brushed against the side of my neck, and the delicate scent of my perfume drifted upward light, warm vanilla and cedar, the exact same fragrance I had worn to the masked fundraiser.

I froze mid-movement for half a second, my heart skipping a beat, then forced myself to keep moving naturally.

A voice cut through the ambient office noise from directly behind me. Controlled. Deep. Devastatingly familiar.

“Whose perfume is that?”

I turned around slowly, my pulse instantly spiking into an overdrive.