Chapter 4
916 Words
First Day from Hell
Camille’s POV
The morning sun streamed through the thin curtains, painting soft golden stripes across the room. I blinked against the light, groggy and buzzing with anticipation. Today was it—my first day as Nathaniel King's personal assistant. The beginning of something new. The start of the life I’d dreamed of when I boarded that plane with one suitcase and a heart full of ambition.
I stretched, rolled out of bed, and padded to the bathroom. My reflection stared back at me with wide, uncertain eyes. “You’ve got this,” I whispered to myself, forcing a small smile. I ran a brush through my hair, applied light makeup, and slipped into my neatly ironed outfit: a blush pink blouse tucked into black slacks, paired with a pair of low black heels.
In the kitchen, Jada was already making coffee.
“Big day,” she said with a grin, handing me a mug.
“You have no idea,” I murmured, blowing on the steaming liquid. My stomach was too tight for food, but I forced down half a piece of toast anyway.
She gave me a thumbs-up as I grabbed my bag and headed out the door. “Good luck!”
I laughed, nerves buzzing just beneath the surface.
---
The King Corporation building was just as intimidating in the morning light. Towering glass and steel, elegant and cold. I arrived early—half an hour early, to be exact—and still found people buzzing through the lobby like worker bees in tailored suits.
I took the elevator up to the executive floor, my hands clasped tightly around the strap of my bag. When the doors opened, the pristine space I’d briefly seen during the interview greeted me again. Sleek. Modern. Intense.
The receptionist barely glanced up as she pointed to the desk just outside Nathaniel King’s office. My desk.
I sat, powering on the company-issued laptop, flipping through the onboarding packet. It wasn’t even 8:00 a.m. yet, and I could already feel the weight of expectations pressing down on me.
And then—
“Ms. Hale.”
His voice hit me like a cold splash of water.
I stood quickly.
Nathaniel King was already dressed to dominate the day. Dark navy suit, crisp white shirt, black tie. His eyes were sharp and assessing.
“You’re early,” he said simply.
“I thought it would be best to—”
“Good. Let’s see if you can keep up.”
He turned without another word and disappeared into his office.
---
The rest of the day was a blur of chaos.
Emails. Calls. Calendar updates. Meetings. More emails. My fingers barely left the keyboard. He sent instructions without context, threw tasks at me with no lead time, and never once said “please” or “thank you.”
I messed up his calendar once—scheduled a meeting five minutes too close to a call. He didn’t yell. He didn’t even raise his voice. He just looked at me like I’d failed some kind of test.
“I don’t like mistakes,” he said. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.”
No emotion. Just frost.
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat and rechecking every other meeting three times.
He didn’t eat lunch. I barely had time to drink water. The only break I got was a six-minute bathroom trip, and even that felt stolen.
He didn’t speak unless necessary. Didn’t make eye contact unless he was criticizing something. It was like working for a machine—a cold, brilliant, relentless machine.
---
By 6:15 p.m., the office had emptied.
Except for me.
And him.
I stared at my screen, rereading the last three sentences of an email I couldn’t even process. My head throbbed. My back ached. My fingers twitched from overuse.
And still—he was in his office. Working. Like he could keep going until sunrise.
At 6:31, the door finally opened.
He stepped out, coat folded neatly over one arm.
His eyes landed on me. “You’re still here.”
“I wanted to make sure everything was in order before I left.”
A pause. A flicker of something in his gaze. Surprise? Approval? I couldn’t tell.
“Be here at seven tomorrow.”
Then he walked past me, silent as ever.
I sat there, stunned. Not a thank you. Not a smile. Just another demand.
---
By the time I got back to Jada’s apartment, my feet were numb and my shoulders slumped forward from exhaustion.
She greeted me with raised brows. “So?”
“He’s... a pain in the ass,” I muttered, dropping my bag and collapsing onto the couch. “He didn’t smile. Not once. I don’t even think he blinked.”
“That bad?”
I looked at her, then at the ceiling. “It was the longest day of my life.”
She offered me a bottle of water and a sympathetic look. “First days suck. You’ll get the hang of it.”
I nodded, too tired to argue.
I showered in silence, slipped into pajamas, and curled beneath the covers, staring into the darkness. My body ached in places I didn’t know could ache. My mind was fogged over, but one thought stood out clearly:
I survived.
Barely.
I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes.
Tomorrow would be worse.
But I’d still show up.
Because quitting wasn’t an option.
- Writer
