First Day
628 Words
Amira stood in the lobby of Cross Enterprises, dressed in the only clean blouse she owned that didn’t scream “part-time college student.” Her hands were cold despite the late morning heat. A knot of nerves twisted in her stomach, but she kept her face still. Calm. Unreadable.
It was better that way. Always.
The elevator dinged.
She stepped in alone and pressed the button marked 41.
The doors closed slowly, as if mocking her decision. There was no turning back now.
She replayed the interview in her head for the hundredth time. The way he’d looked at her—not lasciviously, not even curiously, just… sharply. Like she was a puzzle missing a piece. She couldn’t tell if it was interest or irritation. Probably the latter.
The scent thing was still bothering her. He’d looked up when she entered, like something had hit him. But he hadn’t said anything. Maybe she was imagining it. Maybe it was just nerves.
Ding.
The elevator opened to polished floors, glass partitions, and people who walked like they owned time itself. Her shoes felt too quiet on the tiles.
A receptionist smiled politely and pointed her toward the main hallway.
At the end of it was a sleek glass door. Killian Cross’s office.
But that wasn’t her destination yet.
To the left, tucked into a smaller nook near the window, was her desk. A silver nameplate had already been placed there:
Amira Vale – Executive Secretary
Her breath caught for half a second. It felt… surreal.
She barely had time to sit down before a voice clipped through her desk phone.
“Coffee. No sugar.”
Then a click.
No greeting. No ‘good morning.’
She stared at the receiver, tempted to stick her tongue out at it, then sighed and got up.
⸻
Inside the Executive Office
Killian didn’t look up when she knocked.
“Your punctuality is noted,” he said dryly, eyes fixed on the tablet in front of him. “Coffee?”
“I’m not a barista,” Amira replied before she could stop herself.
His gaze lifted—slow, sharp.
But instead of snapping, he just tilted his head slightly, eyes unreadable. “That’ll be all.”
She placed the mug on the corner of his desk and left.
Back at her station, she exhaled.
Working under him was going to be… intense.
⸻
Hours Later
Amira quickly learned what the others meant by “they don’t last long.”
Killian didn’t shout, didn’t curse, didn’t lose his temper like most powerful men. But he had a different kind of cruelty—a precise, cold efficiency that made you feel foolish with just one raised brow.
He gave instructions without context. Expected her to keep up with conversations she hadn’t been part of. Corrected her tone over email responses. Once, he handed her a folder and said, “Try using common sense this time.”
She bit back her response.
But what made it worse—what unsettled her the most—was how quiet the office was around him. Staff on the floor went stiff whenever he walked past. Conversations ended mid-sentence. People moved out of his path like he carried a storm with him.
And yet… underneath the pressure and clipped orders… there were moments.
Fleeting ones.
He would glance at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, brows ever-so-slightly drawn. His eyes lingered on her wrist once when she handed him a document, like something there bothered him.
She began wearing long sleeves after that.
By the end of the day, she was exhausted but not broken.
Her phone buzzed with a text.
Unknown Number: You’re still here. Impressive.
She blinked.
Killian?
She looked through the glass wall. He wasn’t even looking.
- Writer
