Her new Boss
1244 Words
Scarlet
His piercing green eyes locked onto mine, and the smirk that spread across his face made my stomach drop.
“Well, well,” he drawled, voice dripping with mockery. “If it isn’t Scarlett Black. To what do I owe this… unexpected pleasure?”
I froze, my brain scrambling to make sense of the situation. Of all the people, in all the places, why him? My pulse thundered in my ears as I forced myself to stand tall, straightening my spine even when my legs threatened to buckle.
I need this job. I will be professional. I kept repeating the mantra in my head, a desperate anchor against the rising storm of emotions threatening to break free.
“Mr. Vanderwood,” I said, voice even, forcing calm into my words. I need this job more than my pride.
His smirk only widened. He leaned forward, elbows resting lazily on the desk, every bit the predator toying with his prey. “Mr. Vanderwood now, is it? That’s new. I suppose I should call you Miss Black to keep things professional. Right, Red?”
I hated that nickname. Hated how it rolled off his tongue with mock familiarity, twisting my name into a jab. My nails bit into the strap of my bag, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he rattled me.
“I’m here for the internship interview,” I said firmly, keeping my voice steady. “So can we get on with it?” The words came out sharper than I intended, and I bit the inside of my cheek. Stay calm. But it was him. Damien always had this ability to make me lose my grip. He made me see red—ironic, right?
His brows lifted, and then he laughed. Low. Mocking. Sharp enough to slice through my skin.
“You? An internship? In my company?” he repeated like the idea was absurd.
My stomach twisted, but I refused to let him get under my skin. Not this time.
“Yes,” I answered, chin lifted. “Technically, your father’s company. But yes.”
The smirk dimmed just slightly. His gaze shifted, sharper now, no longer playful but calculating. The air seemed to shift, thick with tension.
Leaning forward, he whispered darkly, “Careful, Scarlett. You might just regret stepping into my world. You don’t want to play with fire.”
A chill slid down my spine, but I didn’t flinch. I met his gaze head-on, heart pounding.
“Try me.”
The tension crackled like a live wire between us, his smirk tugging back into place, dangerous and infuriating.
I refused to be intimidated. No matter where I went in this town, the pack’s wealthiest families controlled everything. I couldn’t let them break me. This internship could help with my family’s finances—enough to cover some of our household bills and ease the burden on my parents. It mattered more than whatever game Damien thought he was playing.
He sat back, spreading his arms wide like some self-satisfied king.
“Alright, Red. Let’s see if you’re as determined as you act.”
The interview should have been a twenty-minute conversation. But of course, Damien turned it into a spectacle.
First came the impossible questions. Pointless inquiries meant to trip me up. “Explain how you’d increase profit margins on a product you haven’t seen before.” Or, “If you were to manage a business with zero resources, how would you turn it into a success?”
I kept my answers clear. Logical. Professional. Prepared. I refused to let him rattle me, even when he arched a brow like my words were somehow amusing him.
Then came the tasks.
“This internship isn’t for the weak,” he said, sliding a stack of papers my way. “You’ll need to prove you can handle pressure. Finish this report on market analysis and return it by morning. You’re dismissed.”
Morning? It was already late afternoon.
I nodded, biting back the retort that bubbled up in my throat. I wouldn’t break. Not for him. Not when my family needed this.
The week that followed was pure hell.
Damien assigned me the kind of tasks designed to break anyone with less resolve. Hours of data entry with unrealistic deadlines. Pointless errands—like delivering papers across the entire building when an email would’ve sufficed.
But I did it. Every single task. On time.
Not for him.
For me. For my family.
We weren’t rich like the Vanderwoods.
My parents worked two jobs each, scraping by just to keep food on the table and pay the pack’s absurdly high protection fees. The stipend from this internship could make a difference—groceries, bills, maybe even some savings for once. I wasn’t going to let Damien, with his stupid smirk and entitled attitude, stand in the way of that.
By the fourth day, I could feel his eyes on me more. Watching. Testing. Waiting for me to break.
I wouldn’t.
The final straw came when he handed me a stack of documents thicker than my arm.
“Summarize these,” he said, voice silky. “By tomorrow.”
I stared at the mountain of paperwork, exhaustion weighing heavily on my shoulders. I knew what he was doing—trying to push me until I quit.
So I squared my shoulders. Met his eyes. And took the papers without a word.
“Is that all, Mr. Vanderwood?” I added, just to twist the knife.
He blinked. The smirk twitched but didn’t quite return.
“Dismissed.”
I could feel his gaze burning into my back as I left the room.
He thought he could break me.
He was wrong.
On the fifth day, he finally gave in.
The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to choke on. I could feel the heat of Damien's gaze as I stepped forward, the completed reports clutched tightly in my hands.
My fingers trembled slightly, but I masked it, determined not to let him see how exhausted I was. Five days of endless tasks, impossible deadlines, and his constant scrutiny along with school had brought me to this moment.
And I wasn't about to break now.
I set the stack of meticulously prepared documents on his desk with a controlled, deliberate motion. The papers landed with a satisfying thud, louder than necessary in the deafening silence of his office.
Damien leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly as he studied me. His emerald eyes narrowed, calculating as if weighing every inch of me for cracks. His long fingers steepled under his chin, the picture of calm authority, but there was something else in his gaze—something almost reluctant.
For a heartbeat, the silence stretched too long, tension crackling like a live wire between us. Then, with a slow, measured breath, he spoke.
“Fine,” he said, voice low, almost grudging. “You’re hired.”
Relief flooded through me, but I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let him see how much I needed this win. Our eyes locked an unspoken challenge lingering in the air.
Then, his lips curled into that infuriating smirk, the one that made my blood boil.
“Welcome to your personal hell, Red.”
The words slithered through the air like a promise, dangerous and taunting. But I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze head-on.
“Bring it on, Vanderwood.”
- Writer
