First Day
1320 Words
By the time Elena returned from Chloe’s office with a neat stack of forms and a list of tasks scribbled in looping red ink, her legs already ached.
Damian hadn’t looked up when she left, and he didn’t bother glancing at her now as she hovered in the doorway of his office, waiting for acknowledgment.
Instead, he sat behind his desk in the same crisp suit, flipping through a folder as if her presence were a faint inconvenience.
“Done already?” he asked without looking up.
“Yes,” she said.
“I… assume I should start with—”
He finally raised his eyes to hers.
“You shouldn’t assume anything,” he cut in smoothly.
Elena pressed her lips together, then held out the papers.
“These are from Chloe. She said you’d need to sign off on the bottom page.”
He reached across the desk, took the papers, signed them without reading, and pushed them back toward her.
“You’ll deliver these to my lawyer before noon,” he instructed. “He’s downtown. You’ll also pick up a parcel from a lockbox at Union Square, cancel my lunch at twelve thirty, and have the new contracts drafted and printed for my two o’clock meeting. Chloe can explain the lockbox.”
She glanced at the list Chloe had given her, already scribbled full of things she didn’t understand.
“What about lunch for you?” she asked before she could stop herself.
That earned her a flicker of something she thought might’ve been surprise — or maybe amusement — in his eyes.
“I said cancel it,” he replied.
“I didn’t say replace it. I don’t eat lunch.”
Elena swallowed her retort and nodded.
“Yes, Mr. Cole.”
He gave the faintest nod — clearly done with her — and returned to his folder.
She let herself out quietly.
Chloe’s desk was an entire performance.
A vase of pale orchids sat next to a perfectly arranged stack of magazines she clearly never read. Not a single paperclip out of place, not a single smudge on her screen.
Chloe herself was perched behind it like a queen on a throne, her sharp manicure clicking against her tablet as she typed.
“Well,” she said when Elena approached, not bothering to look up, “how’s the boss treating you? Broken you yet?”
Elena tightened her grip on the parcel form.
“No,” she said. “Should he have?”
Chloe finally looked at her then — slow, deliberate — and smiled.
“Oh,” she murmured. “You really are new.”
Before Elena could answer, Chloe snatched the form from her hands, glanced at it, and set it back down.
“Lockbox 324, Union Square,” she recited, as if she’d done it a hundred times.
“Code is 8147. Do not open the package. Do not lose the package. Deliver it straight to Mr. Cole’s office the moment you return. If you’re late, he’ll know. And he won’t like it.”
Elena raised an eyebrow.
“And what’s in the package?”
Chloe’s smile widened, slow and satisfied.
“You don’t get to ask that, sweetheart.”
Then she waved her fingers in dismissal.
“Good luck.”
The lockbox building looked like a forgotten train station: chipped tiles, fluorescent lights that hummed faintly overhead.
Elena felt the weight of everyone’s eyes as she walked to box 324, as if somehow everyone already knew she didn’t belong.
When she entered the code — 8147 — and opened the door, her breath caught.
Inside was a single black envelope, thick and heavy. No name, no markings. It felt warmer than it should have in her hands — though she told herself that was just her imagination. She closed the lockbox, slipped the envelope into her bag, and left quickly, trying not to think about it.
By two-thirty she was back in the office, sweaty from the sprint between deliveries and the subway.
Damian didn’t even look up as she set the envelope on his desk.
But he did reach for it immediately, sliding it toward himself before tucking it into a drawer.
“Everything else done?” he asked without looking at her.
“Yes,” she said.
“Lawyer, contracts, canceled lunch. The client for two o’clock is waiting in conference room B.”
Finally — finally — he glanced at her.
His eyes were sharp, but there was the faintest curve to his mouth again.
“You’re faster than I thought,” he said.
“I try,” she replied, a little breathless still.
“You’ll need to do more than try,” he murmured.
“Go wait in the lobby. Chloe will brief you on tomorrow’s event. That’s all for today.”
Elena wandered out of the office and dropped into one of the leather chairs in the lobby.
Her feet throbbed.
Her head pounded.
And for the first time all day, she allowed herself to close her eyes.
“Careful,” came a voice.
Her eyes snapped open to find Chloe leaning against the wall, arms folded.
“Fall asleep in those chairs and he’ll have you replaced before you wake up,” Chloe added.
Elena sat up straighter.
“Does he go through assistants that fast?”
Chloe’s smile was sharp and bright.
“Sweetheart, you’re the fourth one this year. And it’s only May.”
Elena swallowed.
“What happened to the others?”
Chloe tilted her head, pretending to think.
“Burned out. Broke down. Disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
Chloe smirked.
“You’ll find out. Or you won’t.”
Then she straightened and handed Elena another folded sheet.
“Tomorrow night,” she said.
“Gala downtown. Black dress. Don’t embarrass him.”
At home that night, Elena collapsed on her bed and kicked off her shoes.
Her sister was asleep already — TV still glowing, one arm draped over her stomach.
Elena rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
Her first day was over.
She was alive.
But her pulse still hadn’t slowed.
And when she closed her eyes, all she could see was Damian’s pale gray stare — and the faint, inexplicable way his thumb had lingered on that white chess knight earlier.
The next morning, she was at her desk by 7:55.
Damian’s door was closed, but she could hear his voice faintly through the glass — low and clipped, talking to someone on the phone.
Chloe swept by at 8:00 on the dot, heels clicking like a metronome.
“Don’t just sit there,” she called over her shoulder.
“He likes his morning coffee waiting for him. You can manage that, right?”
Elena forced herself to her feet and headed toward the break room.
When he returned — careful not to spill this time — Damian was already seated behind his desk.
He didn’t look up as she approached.
“Coffee,” she announced, setting it down gently.
He finally glanced at her — just long enough to say:
“You’re late.”
Elena’s jaw tightened.
“It’s 7:59.”
That faint curve appeared again at the corner of his mouth.
“I prefer it waiting for me by 7:55,” he replied.
Before she could snap back, his phone buzzed.
He answered it without dismissing her, but his eyes stayed fixed on hers as he spoke:
“No. That’s unacceptable. Fix it.”
Click.
He set the phone down and leaned back in his chair.
“You’ll figure it out,” he said again, like a quiet challenge.
Elena held his gaze.
“I already am,” she said.
Something in his expression flickered — for just a second — before it hardened again.
He reached for the chess piece, twirling it absently between his fingers as he watched her turn to leave.
- Writer
