Chapter 7
1370 Words
The hallway of Blackthorne Enterprises buzzed with its usual morning rush, heels clicking, phones ringing, and voices trading business jargon.
But for Lila Carter, the world felt oddly muted.
She clutched her tablet to her chest, nervously smoothing a wrinkle on her pale-pink blouse as she stepped out of the breakroom.
Her shoes were new and pinching her heel, and her hair had refused to behave no matter how much she begged it in the mirror this morning.
She hadn’t slept well. Not after the coffee incident.
“I’ll pay for the dry cleaning,” her voice from yesterday echoed in her mind. God. Why did I say that?
She shook her head, trying to smile it off. It was a new day, she told herself. She hadn’t been fired. That had to count for something… right?
But just as she turned the corner toward the elevators, she slowed.
There was a group of women standing near the window, glossy hair, flawless makeup, and perfectly tailored outfits.
Lila recognized one of them as the assistant from the finance department, Tori, she thought. The others looked familiar too, though she didn’t know their names.
They were chatting, laughing softly, too absorbed to notice her at first.
Until she heard her name.
“Well, did you see the way she spilled that coffee?” one of them whispered, her voice laced with mock sympathy. “Three days in and she’s already staining Mr. Blackthorne’s suit like it’s a thrift store T-shirt.”
“I know,” another said with a snicker. “I heard he didn’t even yell. Just stared at her like she was a fly on his sleeve. And she just… stood there! Babbling about paying for it.”
“Oh please,” a third voice chimed in, “She probably cried the second she got to the bathroom. There’s no way she lasts a full week.”
Lila froze.
Her grip on her tablet tightened as the words hit her like a slap.
They didn’t say it loudly, but it didn’t matter. Every word stuck. The laughter sounded louder than it was. The judgment clearer than it should’ve been.
She took a small step back, trying to act casual, like she hadn’t just overheard her own obituary being written in office gossip.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
She took a deep breath and walked forward, eyes on the floor, forcing her lips into the best smile she could manage.
The group fell quiet as she passed, and though they turned away, she felt their stares on her back like burning pinpricks.
When she finally reached the elevator, she hit the button and leaned against the wall.
They’re just people. They don’t matter, she told herself.
But her stomach churned, and her confidence, already fragile, felt like it was cracking around the edges. The memory of Damien’s cold eyes, the soft stain on his crisp shirt, the way everyone stared—it was all piling up.
And suddenly, her cheerful energy felt like a sweater that didn’t fit right anymore.
The elevator doors opened, and she stepped in.
She straightened her back.
If they were waiting for her to break, they were going to have to wait a long time.
When Lila got to her office sat at her small desk in the assistant bay, trying her best to focus. Her hands danced nervously over the keyboard, fingers typing but eyes drifting.
The sting of the gossip still lingered in her ears, but she pushed it away. She had a job to keep, no matter how hard the past few days had been.
The spilled coffee incident played on loop in her mind. Every time she blinked, she could still see the dark stain blooming across Mr. Blackthorne’s suit, the way his jaw ticked, the silence that followed, and how she'd blurted, “I’ll pay for it,” like a fool.
She tried to shake it off, refocusing on the spreadsheet in front of her.
“Carter,” a sharp voice snapped from the doorway.
Lila flinched and turned to see Natalia, the senior assistant, in her pristine cream blouse and pencil skirt, standing like she owned the building. Her expression was unreadable, lips pursed and arms crossed.
“Mr. Blackthorne wants to see you. Now.”
Lila’s stomach dropped. Her worst fear was coming true.
She stood up so quickly her chair rolled back and nearly hit the wall. “Wh-why?” she asked without thinking, voice high-pitched.
Natalia’s eyes narrowed like Lila had just asked if the sky was purple. “Excuse me?”
Lila's cheeks flushed. “I—I mean... nothing. I’m going.”
Natalia stared at her for a heartbeat longer, then turned on her heel and strutted off, heels clacking on the floor. Lila gulped, wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, and followed, legs feeling like jelly.
The walk to his office felt endless. When she got to the tall double doors, Natalia held one open and gestured without a word.
Lila stepped inside slowly. Damien Blackthorne sat behind his massive glass desk, back straight, dark hair perfect, and eyes cold. He looked like something out of a high-end magazine—too beautiful to be real, and ten times more terrifying up close.
Her breath caught in her throat.
“Natalia,” he said without looking away from Lila, “give us a moment.”
Natalia hesitated. “Sir, are you sure—?”
Damien looked up sharply. One single glance.
That was all it took.
Natalia swallowed, nodded once, and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Now it was just them.
Lila stood there awkwardly, hands clutched in front of her, trying not to fidget. The office was massive, but it suddenly felt too small. His gaze pinned her in place, like he could see right through her.
God, he was so handsome. It wasn’t fair.
Her mind betrayed her with thoughts she shouldn’t be thinking, about his sharp jawline, the way his sleeves clung to his forearms, how intense his eyes were. She quickly shook her head. Stop it. You’re here to get fired, not fantasize.
“You made a mistake,” Damien said, voice low and cool.
His tone made her flinch, but she forced a smile anyway, that bright, sunny Lila smile she wore like armor.
“I know, sir. I’m really sorry about the suit. I didn’t mean to—”
“It was an expensive mistake,” he cut her off. “One that should have cost you this job.”
Her heart plummeted to her feet.
She stood there frozen, trying not to cry, nodding slowly.
But he didn’t continue. He just stared at her, lips pressed in a flat line.
Lila blinked. “So… are you firing me?”
Damien tilted his head slightly, his eyes dark and unreadable.
The silence stretched.
Lila suddenly felt ten inches tall under his gaze.
Then his lips quirked—barely. Not a smile. Something sharper. Colder.
“I’m not.”
Lila stared at him. “You’re… not?”
He didn’t answer. He just gave her a look that screamed don’t push it, and she immediately shut her mouth.
But then, because she was Lila—her face lit up again, bright and cheerful like sunshine after a storm. “Thank you, Mr. Blackthorne! I promise I’ll be better—I’ll be careful—I won’t even go near the coffee machine again, I swear—”
He raised one brow, and she stopped rambling.
“Go,” he said simply.
She gave a little nervous curtsy—did I just curtsy?!—and hurried out the door.
As it shut behind her, Damien leaned back in his chair.
He wasn’t sure why he didn’t fire her. He had before, for less.
Maybe it was the way her eyes had gone wide with fear, or the ridiculous way she tried to scrub the stain off his suit like it would magically disappear. Or maybe it was the way she smiled like she hadn’t just been seconds from unemployment.
He didn’t know.
But he did know one thing.
Lila Carter was going to be a distraction.
- Writer
