Under His Command
460 Words
Rosette's POV
The conference room buzzed with quiet energy as the senior team gathered for the campaign briefing. I sat near the middle of the long table, notebook open in front of me, trying to appear calm and professional. After yesterday’s encounter in the elevator, my nerves were still frayed. Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered the heat of Andrew’s body and the dangerous words he had whispered.
Andrew entered the room like he owned the very air itself. His tailored suit fit him perfectly, and his commanding presence immediately silenced the low murmurs. He took his seat at the head of the table, but his piercing gray eyes found mine instantly and stayed there.
“Today we finalize assignments for the flagship luxury campaign,” he began, his deep voice carrying effortlessly through the room. “This project will define our brand for the next five years. I expect nothing less than excellence.”
He outlined the strategy with precision, crediting various teams play members. Then his gaze locked on me again.
“Rosette Sinclair will serve as the Lead Designer,” he announced. “She will work directly under me on all major creative decisions. Daily check-ins. Late nights as needed. I want her concepts integrated into every aspect of this campaign.”
The words “directly under me” hung in the air with unmistakable weight. A few colleagues shifted in their seats, exchanging subtle glances. The tension in the room thickened noticeably making my cheeks warm despite my best efforts to remain composed.
I met his stare with as much defiance as I could muster, even as an unwanted thrill raced through me. Part of me hated how his attention made me feel seen and undeniably aware of him. The other part, the one still recovering from yesterday, knew exactly how dangerous this arrangement was.
“Any questions?” Andrew asked, though his eyes never left mine.
No one spoke. The meeting wrapped up quickly after that, but the knowing looks from my new colleagues followed me as they filed out. I lingered behind on purpose, gathering my things slowly, hoping to avoid further conversation.
My phone buzzed just as I reached my desk.
Andrew Voss: My office. Now. We need to discuss your… performance.
My stomach tightened. The double meaning was impossible to ignore. Anxiety warred with defiance inside me as I made my way back toward the executive floor. I was determined not to let him see how deeply he affected me.
This job was my lifeline. I would not let Andrew Voss turn it into something else.
But as I stood outside his office door, heart racing, I couldn’t deny the unwelcome spark of anticipation that flickered beneath my resolve.
- Writer
