CHAPTER 3
1182 Words
Emma POV
The next few days at Winthrop Enterprises were not easy.
Every morning, I arrived before sunrise, and every night I left long after the sun had disappeared. My heels ached, my eyes stung, and my brain felt like mush from trying to keep up with a man who moved faster than lightning and spoke like he was made of ice.
Travis Winthrop didn’t yell.
But he didn’t smile either.
He barely looked at me. When he did, it was only to give orders. His eyes were like glass pretty, sharp, and distant.
"Get the Harding file."
"Coffee. Black. One sugar."
"No mistakes, Emma."
That last one stung the most.
No mistakes, Emma.
As if I was made of nothing but mistakes.
I kept reminding myself this job was important. It paid well. It could change my life. I could help my parents with rent. I could save up. I could dream again.
Still, his coldness made it hard.
Even Vanessa noticed. She’d smirk whenever he ignored me or corrected me in front of others. Once, when I dropped a pen during a meeting and scrambled to pick it up, she whispered under her breath, “Clumsy little mouse.”
I pretended not to hear her.
But it still hurt.
Then everything changed.
It was Thursday morning. I remember because the office smelled like cinnamon someone brought in donuts, though no one offered me one.
I was organizing Mr. Winthrop’s briefcase when Vanessa strutted over in a navy-blue dress and bright red lipstick.
“Meeting in the fifth-floor conference room,” she said. “Big client. Don’t mess it up.”
I looked up. “Am I going?”
“You’re taking notes, aren’t you?” she snapped. “Try not to embarrass him this time.”
I bit my tongue and nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, I followed Travis down the hall, my notepad clutched to my chest. He didn’t say a word to me. Not even a glance.
The client was already waiting in the room Mr. Dalton, the head of a global real estate group. He looked sharp, older, with silver hair and a dark blue tie. His two assistants sat beside him, flipping through a presentation folder.
Travis sat across from him with confidence. He crossed his legs and gave his usual nod. “Mr. Dalton.”
“Mr. Winthrop,” the man replied coolly.
I sat down quietly, trying to look invisible, scribbling the date and meeting title at the top of my notepad.
They began discussing terms project deadlines, costs, location permits. Travis explained things clearly, professionally. But halfway through, I noticed something: Mr. Dalton wasn’t smiling. He kept shifting in his chair, his lips pressed tight.
Finally, he leaned back and folded his arms.
“Mr. Winthrop,” he said slowly, “your numbers look good. But I have to be honest. I’m not convinced.”
Travis’s jaw tensed. “Not convinced?”
“Your company is impressive,” Dalton continued, “but there’s a lot of risk involved in this deal. A lot of money. I’m not sure I trust that you’ll follow through.”
There was a long silence. Cold and heavy.
Travis didn’t speak right away. His fingers twitched slightly, like he wanted to say something but was holding it in.
Vanessa looked nervous. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
And I I don’t know what came over me.
Before I could think, I stood up.
“Excuse me,” I said softly, my voice trembling.
Everyone turned to me.
Travis looked surprised. Shocked, actually. His eyebrows rose. Vanessa looked like she might explode.
I swallowed hard.
“I know I’m just an assistant,” I began, “but I’ve been working closely with Mr. Winthrop this week. I’ve seen how he handles details, how carefully he prepares for meetings like this. He doesn’t cut corners. He doesn’t waste time. He’s the most precise, focused person I’ve ever worked with.”
Mr. Dalton raised an eyebrow.
“I may not know much,” I went on, heart pounding, “but I do know this if he promises something, he’ll do it. No matter what. You won’t find a better partner.”
I sat down quickly, cheeks burning.
The room was quiet.
So quiet I could hear the clock ticking on the wall.
Then Mr. Dalton let out a soft chuckle. “That was… unexpected.”
He looked at Travis. “She’s new?”
“She is,” Travis said, his voice calm but firm.
Dalton nodded slowly. “Well. If even your assistant is willing to speak up like that, maybe I should give you the benefit of the doubt.”
He reached into his folder and pulled out a document.
“I’m willing to give it a shot. We’ll go with Winthrop Enterprises.”
I nearly gasped.
Did that really just happen?
The meeting ended with handshakes. I stood awkwardly behind Travis as they left, my hands still shaking.
When the room was empty, he turned to me.
I expected him to be mad. Furious, even.
But he just looked at me really looked at me.
“You spoke out of turn,” he said.
“I know. I’m sorry. I just…”
“You shouldn’t have done that in a meeting.”
“I know…”
“But you helped seal the deal.”
I blinked. “Wait..what?”
“You saved the contract.”
He didn’t smile exactly. But something softened in his face, like a crack in his armor.
“No one speaks to Dalton like that,” he added. “Especially not assistants.”
“I’m really sorry,” I mumbled again.
“Don’t be. Just… don’t make a habit of it.”
I nodded quickly.
He stared at me a second longer, then said, “Come. We have more work to do.”
From that day on… something changed.
He still didn’t talk much. Still didn’t joke or smile or ask about my weekend.
But he started saying “please” sometimes.
He started asking me for my opinion on simple things whether the calendar was too full, which restaurant the client might like, if a file looked better printed or digital.
Small things.
But they mattered.
Even Vanessa noticed. Her eyes narrowed every time Travis spoke to me with even a tiny bit of kindness.
And that made her colder than ever.
Later that evening, as I packed up my things, I reached into my purse to grab my wallet and saw the note again.
Be careful. He’s not who you think he is.
I stared at it, heart sinking.
Because even though Travis was treating me differently now, I still didn’t know who left the note…
Or what they meant.
That night, as I got ready for bed, a message popped up on my phone.
No number. No contact.
Just one sentence:
You think you’re safe. You’re not.
My breath caught in my throat.
I looked out the window, but the street below was quiet.
Still… it felt like someone was watching.
- Writer
