Chapter Four: The Woman From Last Night
883 Words
The sun was high now, casting sharp shadows across the pavement as Melinda stepped out of the building, her thoughts still tangled in the whirlwind of the interview.
Her heels clicked against the concrete, but she barely heard them. Her mind was replaying every question, every answer, and every flicker of expression on the interviewers’ faces. Had she said too much? Not enough? Did she seem confident or desperate?
She didn’t notice the man striding toward the entrance, flanked by two sharply dressed associates, until it was too late.
They collided.
Hard.
Melinda stumbled back, her bag slipping from her shoulder and landing with a soft thud on the ground. Papers fluttered out like startled birds. She gasped, immediately crouching to gather them. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said breathlessly, not even looking up.
The man didn’t move at first. He stood there, tall and composed, his tailored charcoal suit unwrinkled, his expression unreadable. His steel-gray eyes narrowed slightly as he looked down at the woman who had just crashed into him.
The woman from last night!
He recognized her instantly.
Not from the tabloids or the glossy photos that occasionally circulated in the business world. No, this was something else. Something deeper. Something that tugged at a memory he couldn’t quite place.
Her face was flushed, her hair slightly windblown, and her blouse slightly askew from the impact—but her eyes, when she finally looked up, were striking. Wide, amber-flecked, and utterly unaware of who he was.
That was the surprise.
She didn’t recognize him.
Not even a flicker of acknowledgment crossed her face. No stammering, no wide-eyed awe, no breathless “Mr. Grey.” Just a polite, hurried apology and a frantic scramble to collect her things.
“I’m really sorry,” she said again, standing upright and brushing her blazer. “I lost track of my path.”
Morrison Grey raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Clearly.”
She gave a sheepish smile, nodded once, and turned on her heel, walking briskly down the sidewalk without another word.
He watched her go, his gaze lingering on the sway of her stride, the way she moved like she was trying to outrun something or someone.
His expression, momentarily softened by curiosity, hardened again into its usual mask of cool detachment. He turned to his assistant, Robin, who had just stepped out of the building behind him.
“Find out who she is,” Morrison said, his voice low and clipped.
Robin blinked. “Sir?”
“The woman who just walked into me. I want a name, a file, and a reason she was in my building.”
Robin didn’t ask questions. “Right away, Mr. Grey.”
Morrison stepped into the private elevator, the doors sliding shut with a soft hiss. As the car ascended, he leaned back against the mirrored wall, his mind replaying the moment. The way she’d looked at him, like he was just another man on the street. It was… refreshing, infuriating, and intriguing.
By the time he reached the top floor, his curiosity had sharpened into something else—interest.
He walked into his office, a sleek expanse of glass and steel that overlooked the city skyline. The view was breathtaking, but Morrison barely noticed. He poured himself a glass of water, sat behind his desk, and waited.
It didn’t take long.
Robin entered with a slim file in his hand. “Her name is Melinda Brooks. Twenty-one years old. She applied for a secretarial position in the administrative department. She just finished her interview on the seventeenth floor.”
Morrison took the file, flipping it open. A photo paper-clipped to the top showed the same woman, less disheveled, more composed, but unmistakably her.
Her résumé was modest. A few internships, a part-time job at a bookstore, and a glowing letter of recommendation from a community center director.
He read quickly, absorbing the details. She was the 1st daughter of the Brooks family but had recently moved into the city.
His eyes narrowed.
There was something about her. Something raw and unpolished, but not weak. She had fire. He’d seen it in the way she held herself, even in her apology. She wasn’t meek. She was surviving.
He closed the file with a snap and set it down on the desk.
“Approve her application,” he said.
Robin nodded. “For the admin pool?”
“No,” Morrison said, his voice like steel. “She’ll be my secretary.”
Robin hesitated. “Sir, that position is currently...”
“Vacant,” Morrison interrupted. “As of now.”
Robin gave a short nod. “Understood. I’ll make the arrangements.”
As she turned to leave, Morrison added, “And Robin?”
He paused.
“Make sure she starts tomorrow. First thing.”
“Yes, Mr. Grey.”
When the door closed behind her, Morrison leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. He stared at the file for a long moment, then at the skyline beyond the glass.
Melinda Brooks.
She had no idea what she’d just walked into.
And he had every intention of finding out every damn piece of information about her life.
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- Writer
