CHAPTER2
1201 Words
Mia didn’t remember much of the elevator ride down—only the flutter in her stomach and the echo of his voice still in her ears. “Next time, ditch the armor.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
She stepped out into the street and let the noise of Manhattan wash over her. Cabs honked, vendors shouted, and the scent of hot dogs clashed with fresh espresso from the corner cart. For a moment, the surreal nature of it all hit her like a wave.
She’d gotten the job.
She’d gotten the job.
Mia Carter, raised on hand-me-downs and student loans, had just landed a position at Sinclair Enterprises, working directly under the most feared CEO in the city.
It felt like a dream.
Or maybe a trap.
She shoved her doubts aside and focused on the practical. She needed clothes—better clothes. That blazer he’d dismissed was the nicest item in her closet, and now it was clearly not enough. She’d need to look the part, speak the part, be the part.
Because this opportunity? It wasn’t just about her.
It was for Lily. Her sister deserved the future she never had. And this job was the key.
---
By Monday morning, Mia was a different woman.
Gone were the scuffed heels and oversized blazers. In their place: sleek black pumps, tailored navy trousers, and a crisp cream blouse that hugged her curves without crossing the line into inappropriate. Her curls were pulled back into a soft bun, her makeup subtle but polished.
She walked through the lobby with confidence—or at least, a very convincing imitation of it—and headed straight to the executive floor.
The elevator doors slid open, and the air changed instantly.
It was quiet here. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that screamed money, power, and the absence of forgiveness.
A receptionist greeted her with a nod. “Ms. Carter. Mr. Sinclair’s expecting you. Office at the end of the hall.”
She walked the length of the corridor, her heels silent against the carpeted floor. The glass walls offered glimpses into sleek offices, everyone inside already busy with meetings, calls, and spreadsheets she couldn’t even begin to understand.
She reached the double doors at the end and paused.
This is it.
She knocked once.
“Come in,” came the cool voice from inside.
Mia pushed open the door.
Alexander Sinclair looked up from his desk. He wore a dark navy suit today, no tie, the top button of his shirt undone. Relaxed, but not really. Nothing about him was ever casual.
“You’re on time,” he said, sounding mildly surprised.
“I said I would be.”
He studied her for a moment, his gaze flicking over her from head to toe. She felt it—every second of it—like a touch without contact.
“Better look today,” he said simply.
She didn’t respond to the comment, just stepped forward. “Where would you like me?”
He gestured to a side desk adjacent to his. “You’ll work from there. Your email’s been set up, and your daily calendar is synced with mine. First task—sort the flagged items in my inbox by urgency. I want my day cleared by noon.”
She walked to the desk and sat, powering on the sleek MacBook that waited for her.
“And Mia?”
She looked up.
“Don’t ever book me a meeting before nine. I don’t function until I’ve had my first espresso.”
She smiled faintly. “Got it. Human, not a machine.”
That got a twitch at the corner of his mouth—something close to amusement.
“Barely,” he muttered, returning to his laptop.
---
The next few hours passed in a blur of emails, calendar updates, and learning the quirks of Alexander Sinclair’s universe. He didn’t talk much—only when necessary—but Mia quickly noticed things others probably missed.
He didn’t like when meetings ran over. He hated redundancy. He read every line of a document before signing, no matter how busy he was. And he didn’t drink coffee—he drank espresso, from one very specific Italian machine that only one intern was apparently trained to operate.
She made notes, kept her head down, and didn’t ask questions.
By noon, she had the flagged emails organized by priority, responded to three urgent scheduling conflicts, and stopped his 2 p.m. meeting from overlapping with a high-stakes investor call.
At exactly 12:01, she walked over to his desk.
“I’ve cleared your inbox, prioritized urgent items, and moved your call with Marquez to three o’clock.”
He looked up from his phone. “You didn’t ask.”
“You said clear your day. I figured you’d rather shift a marketing briefing than miss a potential acquisition.”
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “You figured right.”
A beat passed.
“Good work,” he said, almost like it pained him to say it.
“Thank you.”
“Take lunch. Thirty minutes.”
She nodded, turning toward the door.
“Wait.”
She turned back.
His eyes locked on hers again—steady, unreadable. “How much are they paying you?”
Mia blinked. “Excuse me?”
“HR. Your starting salary.”
“Uh… fifty-eight thousand.”
He nodded once. “That changes today. You’ll be bumped to seventy-five. "You’re not a temp assistant, and I don’t have time to lose someone decent over a paycheck.”
She stared at him. “That’s… generous.”
“It’s business,” he replied flatly. “You’re either an asset or a liability.”
Mia’s throat tightened. She wasn’t used to anyone seeing her as valuable. Not since her mother’s death. Not since she’d spent every ounce of energy just keeping her sister afloat.
“Then I’ll make sure I’m worth it,” she said softly.
His gaze lingered a second longer than necessary. “See that you do.”
---
Later that afternoon, as she was organizing files from his last board meeting, a new voice broke the silence.
“Well, well. You’re the new girl.”
Mia turned to see a woman standing in the doorway—tall, blonde, and dressed in a red sheath dress that probably cost more than Mia’s rent. She walked in like she owned the place, her hips swaying with calculated grace.
“Jacqueline Mercer,” she said, offering a hand. “Head of PR. And, occasionally, Alexander’s babysitter.”
Mia shook her hand. “Mia Carter.”
“Ah. The mystery hire.” Jacqueline’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No one gets hired by Sinclair without at least three rounds of interviews. But you? Straight to the top.”
Mia bristled. “I didn’t realize my hiring process was a public record.”
“Oh honey,” Jacqueline said with a low laugh. Everything is public around here. Watch your back.”
With that, she turned and sauntered out.
Mia stared at the door.
Welcome to the lion’s den, she thought.
And the king of it?
Was watching her very closely.
- Writer
