Enthrall

Chapter 8

First Impressions

Liam

By Saturday evening, David, Marcus, and I were settled into a furnished apartment near Manchester's city center. It was temporary accommodation, but it would do for the duration of our stay. The apartment had three bedrooms, a decent kitchen, and large windows that let in plenty of light – important for the long days I suspected we'd be working.

Sunday morning, George gave us a tour of the Enthrall headquarters. The building was impressive – seven floors of modern office space in a prime location. As we walked through each floor, I found myself mentally cataloging improvements and efficiencies.

"The manufacturing floor will need better ventilation," I noted, making annotations in my leather notebook. "And these workstations aren't ergonomically optimal. We'll have repetitive strain injuries within six months if we don't address this."

"I'll have that sorted immediately," George assured me.

When we reached the executive floor, I was immediately drawn to the corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. "This will be mine," I said, not bothering to frame it as a question. The space felt right – large enough for meetings, positioned to oversee the entire operation, with enough natural light to avoid feeling like a cave.

"Of course," George agreed. "Evelyn's office is just down the hall."

I glanced toward the other corner office. It was slightly larger than mine, with an even better view. "The president?"

"That's right. Though she won't be using it much initially. She prefers a more hands-on approach during launch phases."

Interesting. Most executives I knew would have claimed the best office and rarely left it. This woman was already defying my expectations.

That evening, I reviewed the employee files George had provided. Most of our staff were young – recent graduates eager to prove themselves in the fashion industry. The accountants were fresh out of university, the designers were portfolio students from local art schools, and the manufacturing team was a mix of experienced workers and apprentices.

It was exactly the kind of energetic, inexperienced team that could either achieve amazing things or crash spectacularly. My job was to make sure it was the former.

Monday morning arrived grey and drizzly, typical Manchester weather. I was at the office by 7:30 AM, having completed my usual morning run through the city center. The building was already buzzing with activity – new employees arriving early, eager to make good first impressions.

I went straight to my office and found a woman waiting outside my door. She was impeccably dressed in a black blazer and skirt, her dark hair pulled back in a professional chignon, holding a tablet and a coffee.

"Good morning, sir. My name is Victoria Wright, and I'm your new personal assistant." Her smile was bright and professional, the kind that suggested she'd practiced it in the mirror.

I nodded and unlocked my office door. "Good morning, Victoria. I was told I'd have both an assistant and an intern. Where's the second person?"

Victoria followed me into the office, already pulling up what looked like a daily schedule on her tablet. "Late, I suppose, because I'm the only one here."

Lateness on the first day was never a good sign. I was about to voice this opinion when my office door suddenly burst open and a blur of blonde hair and casual clothing practically tumbled through the doorway.

The woman righted herself quickly, but not before I'd taken in the full picture: faded jeans, white trainers that I immediately recognized as Jordan Diors – our competition – and a navy hoodie that looked like it had come from a university gift shop. Her blonde hair was escaping from what had probably started as a neat ponytail, her cheeks were flushed pink from either cold or exertion, and she was slightly out of breath.

She looked like she'd just rolled out of bed and run to work. Which, given her tardiness, was probably exactly what had happened.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, sir. My name is Evelyn Jones, and I'm your intern." She stood there catching her breath, apparently unaware that she looked completely inappropriate for a corporate environment.

Before I could respond, Victoria's voice cut through the silence. "Wait a second, aren't you Evie Jones? You have like twenty-five million followers on t****k and YouTube."

The intern looked distinctly uncomfortable but answered honestly. "Yes, I am actually."

A social media influencer. Of course. George had saddled me with a social media influencer who thought she could learn business by showing up late in casual clothes and hoping her follower count would impress people.

I'd seen this type before – young women who'd stumbled into internet fame and thought it qualified them for serious business. They were usually more interested in taking selfies in the office than actually learning anything useful.

"First of all," I began, my voice sharper than I'd intended, "you're late, and it's your first day on the job. Second, you're now working for a clothing company, and wearing our competitors' shoes sends the wrong message entirely. Third, I don't tolerate incompetence, and neither should Victoria. How are you going to assist me if you can't even manage basic time management and professional appearance standards?"

I paused, letting that sink in. The girl's face had gone from flushed to pale, but I wasn't finished.

"Go home. Change into something appropriate for a business environment. Come back tomorrow, and we'll try this again. Assuming you can figure out how to set an alarm clock."

I turned to Victoria without waiting for a response. "I'll email you my schedule for the week. There isn't much happening yet, but I want you to review it and familiarize yourself with my preferences. I take my coffee black, and I want it on my desk every morning at exactly eight o'clock. Not a minute late."

With that, I walked into my office and closed the door firmly behind me.

Through the glass wall, I could see the blonde girl – Evelyn – standing frozen for a moment before quietly gathering herself and leaving. Victoria was already at her desk, looking professional and competent.

A bloody social media person. George really had outdone himself this time.