✨Chapter Three: The First Test
1446 Words
AVA
The next morning, Ava walked into Blackwood Enterprises with a knot in her stomach and a fresh contract in her bag. Her heels clicked on the marble floors like a war drum.
She had spent half the night staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell she’d signed up for.
She wasn’t stupid. This job wasn’t about her skills or her résumé. It was about control. Proximity. Damien.
He wanted to keep her close. To watch her.
To own her.
She had to stay sharp.
The receptionist handed her a Blackwood security badge. “You’re now officially part of the executive team. Floor thirty-two. Mr. Blackwood wants you there by 8 a.m. sharp.”
“Thanks,” Ava said, adjusting the strap on her bag as the elevator doors opened.
When she stepped out on the thirty-second floor, a familiar face greeted her.
Sharp jawline. Impossibly high heels. A cold smile that didn’t touch her eyes.
Celine.
Damien’s assistant.
“You made it,” Celine said, her voice honey-slick but sharp enough to cut glass.
Ava gave her a polite nod. “First day. Wish me luck.”
“Oh, you’ll need it,” Celine said, turning on her heel and walking toward Damien’s office.
Ava sighed. Great. An office nemesis on day one.
She found her workspace — a minimalist glass-walled office just outside Damien’s. Sleek desk. Two monitors. An executive tablet. The whole thing screamed money and control.
She had barely powered on her computer when her office phone rang.
“Miss Carter,” Damien’s deep voice came through. “My office. Now.”
Of course.
She stood, brushed invisible dust off her skirt, and walked in like she belonged there.
Damien sat behind his massive desk, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened. He looked up slowly as she entered, gaze unreadable.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Punctual. I like that.”
He gestured to the chair across from him. Ava sat, crossing her legs, back straight.
“You’ve read the contract?”
She nodded. “Twice.”
“And you’re clear on your responsibilities?”
“Yes. Liaison between you and the PR department. Review press statements, monitor brand exposure, prep media responses, manage crisis communication—”
He held up a hand. “Stop reciting. You passed the test. I don’t need a robot.”
Ava inhaled slowly. “Then what do you need, Mr. Blackwood?”
His eyes glittered. “Someone I can trust. Someone who isn’t here to play games.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “You mean someone who didn’t sleep their way into this job?”
A flicker of something dark passed through his expression. “Careful, Ava. I won’t apologize for giving you what you’ve earned.”
She leaned forward. “I didn’t earn this. Not yet. But I will. And when I do, it won’t be because of one night you can't forget.”
Silence stretched between them like an invisible wire pulled tight.
Then he smiled. A slow, dangerous smile.
“I’m assigning you your first test.”
Ava arched a brow. “Already?”
“You want to prove yourself? Do it now.”
He opened a drawer and slid a thick file across the table. She opened it — press clippings, leaked emails, and a photo of a man in handcuffs.
“Elliot Crane. Blackwood’s former head of innovation. He’s being indicted for fraud and embezzlement. And the media is already sniffing blood.”
Ava scanned the documents quickly. “What did he take?”
“Intellectual property. And about $3.2 million in crypto.”
Her stomach turned. “Why wasn’t this in the news earlier?”
“We kept it quiet. But a journalist got a tip this morning.”
“And you want me to do… what exactly?”
“Craft the official narrative,” he said. “Prepare a press statement that acknowledges the arrest, distances the company from his actions, and re-establishes public trust.”
Ava blinked. “You want me to handle a potential corporate scandal on my first day?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No,” she said, rising. “It’s a challenge.”
Damien watched her with open amusement. “That’s the spirit.”
As she turned to leave, he added, “You have six hours.”
---
AVA
By noon, Ava’s desk was covered in color-coded drafts, industry keywords, and cross-referenced legal terms. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, her mind racing to stay two steps ahead of public backlash.
But Celine didn’t make it easy.
Twice, she appeared at Ava’s glass door with thinly veiled taunts.
“Just checking in,” she said with a smirk. “You sure you don’t need help? PR crisis is a big deal for a first timer.”
Ava didn’t look up. “I’m good. Thanks.”
Celine lingered. “Funny. Damien usually handles this kind of thing himself.”
Ava looked up. “Then maybe he’s finally learning to delegate.”
Celine’s smile faltered for a second before she left.
Petty. Predictable.
Ava went back to work.
By four-thirty, she had three versions of the statement ready. One formal. One bold. One human.
She chose the last.
At 4:58, she knocked on Damien’s door.
“Enter.”
She walked in and handed him the document. He skimmed it, brow furrowed. Then he read it again.
A beat of silence.
“This is… good,” he said slowly.
“Just good?” she teased, unable to stop herself.
He looked up, a glimmer of something sharp in his eyes. “Very good.”
She sat. “I know you have your legal team. But if you want the public to trust you again, they need to see transparency. Accountability. And a little vulnerability.”
He studied her. “You understand people.”
“Enough to know they can smell corporate lies a mile away.”
He leaned back, folding his arms. “You’re not just sharp. You’re dangerous.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
Their eyes held for a moment too long.
She stood. “If there’s nothing else—”
“There is.”
Damien stood and walked around his desk until he was in front of her. Too close again. Always too close.
“There’s a gala this Friday. A charity auction hosted by Blackwood. It’s high profile. Press, investors, board members.”
“And?”
“I need a partner on my arm who won’t embarrass me.”
She tilted her head. “You mean a prop.”
“I mean someone who can listen, observe, and charm.”
“And look pretty in a dress.”
His voice dropped. “That’s just a bonus.”
Her cheeks flushed despite herself. “Is this part of the job too?”
“Absolutely.”
She considered him. “Then I’ll go. But don’t expect me to smile unless I mean it.”
He smiled. “I’d never ask you to fake it, Ava.”
“Good,” she said, turning to leave. “Because I’m terrible at pretending.”
---
DAMIEN
When the door closed behind her, Damien stared at it for a long time.
He had expected resistance. Rebellion. Even anger.
But Ava had walked in and owned the day.
Her press statement was better than anything his PR team could have produced. And the way she’d handled Celine?
Flawless.
He didn’t hire her to impress him.
But she did.
And that was a problem.
Because the more she proved herself, the harder it became to keep his distance.
He still remembered the way she had looked that night — hair messy, lips swollen, nails digging into his shoulders as she moaned his name.
And now, she sat outside his office like temptation wrapped in a blazer.
He couldn’t touch her. Not again.
But wanting her?
That was becoming harder to hide.
---
AVA
That night, Ava collapsed on her couch with a half-empty bottle of wine and her laptop. Her inbox was already full of internal memos and press confirmations.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Damien: You did well today.
She stared at the message for a long time before typing back.
Ava: Was that praise? Should I frame it?
Damien: I don’t hand out compliments easily.
Ava: No kidding.
Damien: You earned it.
She didn’t know how to reply to that.
So she didn’t.
Instead, she closed her laptop, finished her wine, and tried not to think about the gala on Friday.
Because if today was a test…
Then Friday would be the real game.
---
- Writer
