Strike One
1155 Words
Chapter 9: Strike one
"That would be me."
Of course she looked exactly like I imagined. Poised, elegant, and cold.
I forced a small smile. "I'm Reina Shaw."
"You're late. Five minutes late. We start at 8:00 a.m., not 8:05."
I felt the warmth drain from my face. Five minutes late and I was already on thin ice.
I blinked. "I got stuck in traffic—"
"There's always traffic." She cut in, finally turning her gaze to me.
"I left early. There was an accident on—"
"Shaw." Her tone sliced through the room.
"Let me offer you your first and only free pass."
She stepped toward me slowly.
"This would have been strike one. But I'm feeling… lenient. Don't count on that again."
I gave a nod, fighting the urge to defend myself. "Understood."
"Follow me."
She didn't even wait for me to catch up. She turned on her heels and strode briskly past rows of cubicles.
I hurried behind her, trying to keep up her pace. Damn, she was fast.
She stopped at a cubicle. Plain desk, office chair, monitor and not a single welcome in sight.
"Here. It's not glamorous, but neither is your probation."
I opened my mouth halfway, unsure of what to say.
"I prioritize two things in this department: punctuality and execution. Show up late, you're already losing. Miss a deadline, you're out."
My throat tightened, but I nodded.
She reached into a folder she was carrying and pulled out a printed packet, setting it on my desk.
"Your first task."
I picked it up.
| TASK: Draft a press statement about Veltrix's new partnership with Hearts United, a children's cancer support foundation.
| GOAL: Announce the partnership, highlight our CSR values, and stir public goodwill.
| DEADLINE: 1:00 PM today.
| AUDIENCE: Public release – Veltrix's official social handles and newsletter.
"You worked at a news station. For what? Three years?"
I nodded.
"Then you don't need handholding. I expect this back on my desk before one. Polished."
I slid into the chair as Helena vanished around the corner.
Probably off to remind someone else they were one mistake away from unemployment.
One o’clock.
I had just under five hours.
I stared at the task again, heart drumming loud enough to drown out the hum of nearby keyboards. It wasn't complicated, but it was… real. Public. My first stamp here. And she wasn't giving me training wheels.
This wasn’t an internship.
This wasn’t Metro News.
This was Adrian’s world. His empire.
I exhaled slowly, booted the monitor, and opened a fresh doc.
"Something clean and professional."
I was halfway through typing the first sentence when I heard it.
"—Didn't even interview."
It came from the cubicle across from mine. Two voices, hushed but still loud enough for me to hear.
"I checked the staff chat. No mention of any interview lately."
"Tasha said she came out of nowhere."
"You think she—"
"Not with Mr. Cavallo. God no. But maybe someone else high up. HR has its little loopholes."
"Maybe she’s a donor’s niece or something."
"She looks… lost."
A sharp flush crawled up my neck. The kind that no amount of concealer could hide.
I didn't turn around.
Didn't react.
My fingers kept moving just enough to pretend I hadn't heard anything.
So this is how it's going to be.
I was the outsider. The rumor. The weird newbie who worked her way in.
"Background noise," I whispered to myself.
They didn’t know.
They didn’t know what I sacrificed to be here.
What he’d taken to put me here.
I blinked back the sting in my eyes.
Fine. Let them talk.
I might have been shoved into this place…
But I won’t be the underdog for long.
---
I didn’t plan on taking a break, but my stomach had other ideas. It growled loud enough to remind me that coffee was not food.
The cafeteria at Veltrix was a different kind of jungle. Less noise, more gloss. Modern lighting, soft jazz humming from somewhere. It felt more like a hotel lounge than a workspace.
Clusters of workers filled the tables laughing, trading inside jokes, dissecting campaign stats.
Everyone seemed to belong to everyone else's world.
Everyone except me.
I settled for a turkey sandwich and iced tea, then slid into an empty corner booth by the window. It was quiet there. Safe.
Halfway through the sandwich, I picked up my phone and saw Naomi's name lit up the screen.
Naomi:
I know you're not ready to talk. I won't push. But Reina… we've been friends too long for me to pretend this isn't eating me up. Whatever's going on. I'm here. No pressure. Just love.
I blinked hard. Stared at the words like they'd cracked something open.
God, why did she always know exactly how to reach me without demanding anything?
She was the only one who stayed when the world collapsed on me.
When the news hit about the accident... when the world blurred into hospital lights and funeral flowers.
The only one who didn’t flinch. Didn’t run. Didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep.
And I never even had to ask.
Maybe one day I’d tell her everything.
But not today.
---
I clicked my phone off and stood, smoothing down my skirt.
Time to return before they had other reasons to hate me.
The cafeteria's noise faded behind me as I stepped back into the corridor.
I tightened my grip on the folder in my hand. My completed draft. Printed, proofread, and hopefully not embarrassing.
"Don't overthink it. Just walk in, hand it over, and breathe."
Still, my pulse ticked in my ears.
Her office was open. She sat behind her desk, eyes skimming over something on her screen.
I knocked lightly.
"If it's not urgent, it can wait."
Eyes still glued to the computer.
"I finished the draft you assigned."
That got her attention.
She turned her head, then her gaze flicked to the folder in my hand.
"Let's see it."
I handed it to her. She opened it, scanned a few lines her expression unreadable.
"No spelling errors," she said, setting it aside. "A miracle."
I couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or the closest I’d get to a gold star.
Before I could react, she reached into her drawer and pulled out another folder.
This one was thick, sealed, and labeled in bold.
LEGAL AFFAIRS. INTERNAL USE ONLY.
"Deliver this to Legal Department. Fifth floor, office 3B. Noah Hale.
Not a desk drop. Not an assistant. Him."
"And don't get lost. He doesn't like delays."
I held her gaze, nodded once more, and stepped out.
From the frontline of crime investigation to delivering files.
What a joke of a life.
Not an assistant. Not a desk drop. Him.
I didn’t know who Noah Hale was.
But something told me he wasn’t just another name behind a door.
- Writer
