A Familiar Disrupt
592 Words
The office was quiet, just how Killian liked it.
No phones ringing. No voices. Only the soft hum of the city below and the light tapping of his own fingers against the glass desk as he skimmed through another resume. Page after page of predictable credentials. Ivy League degrees. Polished language. Useless ambition masked as confidence.
They all looked the same. They all wanted something.
“Final applicant is here,” Valerie’s voice came through his intercom. “Amira Vale.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. A soft knock came seconds later.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
She stepped in.
And for a moment—just a flicker—something in him paused.
Killian didn’t believe in déjà vu. But he knew instincts. His body always reacted faster than his mind. And right now, every nerve was alert. Her scent hit him first—faint, but familiar. Not perfume. Something simpler. Skin. Rain. And something else.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
She walked with controlled caution. Not too slow. Not too eager. There was an edge of tension in her shoulders, and her hands were clasped tightly in front of her. She didn’t try to smile. That was interesting.
“Sit,” he said, already watching her reactions.
She obeyed. Quiet. Straight-backed. Steady.
He liked that.
He glanced down at her resume, more out of habit than interest. Not Ivy League. Not even close. Local university. Good grades. Some gaps. No silver spoon. She’d worked as a delivery runner and assistant in small offices.
He raised an eyebrow, not looking at her yet. “What made you think you were qualified for this position?”
Her voice, when it came, wasn’t weak. “Because I can do the work.”
He looked up.
Their eyes met for the first time.
And something pulled—just a flash, deep in his chest, gone as quickly as it came. The color of her eyes. The tilt of her mouth. Something about her wrist when she moved to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear—
A butterfly tattoo.
Small, delicate, mostly hidden beneath the cuff of her sleeve.
His eyes flicked away fast, almost instinctively, but not before a fragment of memory slid through the wall he’d built:
A hallway.
Blurred lights.
A hand gripping his.
A voice—soft and shaken—asking, “Are you okay?”
No. He was mistaken. It couldn’t be.
She was just a girl applying for a job.
And yet… his mind refused to settle.
“I’ve had five secretaries in the last ten months,” he said, tone cool. “All of them thought they could ‘do the work.’ They were wrong.”
She didn’t flinch.
“Maybe I’m different.”
That made him pause.
He leaned back slightly, watching her. Not for her resume. Not for her experience. But because something about her made it hard to look away—and Killian didn’t like distractions.
“Fine,” he said finally. “You’ll start tomorrow. 7:30 a.m. Sharp.”
No welcome. No handshake. No smile.
She blinked once. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He turned back to his screen, pretending she no longer existed, even though he could still feel her presence as she stood and walked out.
The door clicked softly shut.
And Killian remained still, one hand resting lightly on his lips, as if they remembered something he couldn’t.
Something from a night he’d buried.
Something that was now walking back into his life.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD