CHAPTER FIVE
1054 Words
Chapter 5 – Tension in the Air
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing the glossy, open-concept workspace of Kingstone & Co.’s creative floor. Everything gleamed—glass partitions, chrome accents, curated art on every wall. It was sleek, cold, and intimidating as hell.
Samantha stepped in slowly, heels clicking on the marble floor as if each step echoed a reminder: You don’t belong here.
“Hi, welcome,” someone said without really looking up. A woman in a slim-fit blazer handed her a thin folder marked “Welcome Pack” and gestured toward a corner desk. “That’s your station.”
Her desk, unlike the others, was oddly far from the main group. Not tucked away, just… isolated.
She gave a soft thank-you and walked over, her presence earning a few side glances. Whispers began as soon as her heels stopped clicking.
“Is that her?”
“Yep. The one he hired personally.”
“Must be nice to get the golden treatment.”
She tried not to react. She booted up her monitor, pretending not to feel the weight of a dozen eyes pressing into her back.
Lunchtime came. No one invited her. No one asked her to join the Slack group chat. Every question she asked was met with clipped answers or polite smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.
Her ideas during brainstorming were nodded at but not expanded on. When she spoke, it was like she was a foreign sound in a room that had already made up its mind about her.
*And she hadn't even met him again—*the man who hired her.
Two weeks passed, and though she was doing her best to prove herself, the air in the office didn’t shift. Not even a little.
That night, she slumped through the door of the apartment and threw her purse onto the couch like it had betrayed her.
Ariana peeked from the kitchen with a tub of ice cream. “Sooo... how was the big girl job today?”
Samantha plopped down, shoes off, head tilted back.
“I don’t even know what to say. I think I’m in the middle of a corporate cult. Nobody talks to me unless they have to. They all think I got the job by… by sleeping with someone or something. And the stares? Bruh.” She groaned into a throw pillow. “This was not what I expected.”
Ariana offered the spoon.
“You wanna quit?” she asked.
Samantha stared at the ceiling. “I want to... but the paycheck hits like a miracle. And for once, it’s not a scam or a creep with a hotel room.”
Ariana grinned, pointing the spoon like a wand. “Then endure. Do what you always do—survive, slay, and secure the bag.”
Samantha chuckled weakly. “Easier said than done.”
---
A few days later, an email popped up in everyone’s inbox:
> “Kingstone & Co. Bi-Monthly Formal Dinner – Two Fridays from today.”
Attendance is mandatory for all full-time staff. Dress code: Business formal.
Location: Whitestone Skyline Lounge – 7PM sharp.
Samantha didn’t know whether to be nervous or relieved. A company dinner sounded terrifying but also… like her one chance to be seen beyond the rumors.
When the night came, the skyline glimmered like liquid silver. She wore a soft blush-toned dress that hugged her figure with elegance, her curls pinned to one side, gold hoops catching the light. Ariana, true to form, had helped her get ready like it was prom night.
The venue was straight out of a Pinterest board—tall glass windows, rooftop lighting, live jazz in the background. Staff members mingled with champagne flutes, laughter floating around like confetti. She stepped in, smiled politely, and tried to keep her hands from trembling.
Everywhere she turned, it felt like someone was watching her.
No. He was watching her.
She hadn’t seen Liam since that first meeting in his office. No direct contact. Only the occasional memo signed with his initials. But tonight… he was here.
And when their eyes met across the room, it was instant.
Everything blurred.
His dark eyes locked on her like she was a puzzle he intended to solve, and for a brief second, the noise dimmed. He stood beside a few board members, dressed in a sharp navy tux, drink untouched in his hand. His jaw was set, his posture composed—but his gaze? Undeniably focused.
She glanced away.
Then back.
He hadn’t moved.
And when he finally did—stepping away from the executives with measured strides—her breath caught.
He walked past several people, each of whom straightened up or attempted small talk, but he ignored them. His eyes never left her.
By the time he reached her, the crowd felt nonexistent.
Neither of them spoke.
Not at first.
There was no cheesy line, no awkward greeting.
He simply stood close—too close—the smell of his cologne sharp and clean and expensive. His hand gently reached for her glass, holding it for her without asking. She looked up, startled, heart racing.
Their faces were inches apart now. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin.
He leaned in slightly, but still didn’t say a word.
She didn’t either.
The music swelled behind them. A saxophone solo hummed in the background, and the city glowed beyond the glass.
But in that moment, it was just them.
Everything else faded.
And just as her lips parted to say something—anything—
A voice from across the room interrupted.
“Mr. Devereux, your car is ready.”
He didn’t move right away.
Just glanced at her again, as if memorizing something.
Then, with that same quiet intensity, he gave a small, knowing smile… and walked away.
Leaving Samantha frozen in place, her heart hammering like it was trying to catch up with everything she wasn’t ready to feel.
Her hand trembled slightly as she took her glass back.
Ariana, who had been watching from a distance, approached.
“Okay… what was that?” she whispered.
Samantha didn’t answer right away.
Her voice was barely above a breath.
“…I don’t know.”
But deep down?
She knew everything had just changed.
- Writer
