Chapter 4: No repeat offenders
1306 Words
The stark glass walls of Thorne Industries shimmered beneath the morning sun, casting a cold reflection of the world outside. Inside, the temperature wasn’t much warmer—at least not for Aria. She stood silently in the elevator, her arms crossed, heels planted firmly on the glossy floor. Each ding as they ascended a floor made her chest tighten.
“Marketing department, twelfth floor,” the receptionist had told her with a polished smile.
She hadn’t paid attention to the woman’s face—too busy replaying the scene in Dominic Thorne’s office. His smirk, the way he leaned back like he had all the time and power in the world. That cocky “I-know-you” gaze.
And damn him, he did know her. Or at least, he knew the version of her from that night.
She was Clarke Mickelson now. She needed to stay Clarke.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.
A sleek open-plan office stretched before her. Chrome desks, glass partitions, and employees dressed in designer business wear filled the space. A young assistant with a buzzcut and an iPad greeted her.
“You’re the new intern, Clarke?” he asked brightly.
She nodded. “First day.”
“Great. You’ll be shadowing Marla Devine, Senior Marketing Executive. She’s in her office.” He pointed down a hallway lined with glass walls. “And…just a warning? She’s kind of a legend in this place. Don’t let her scare you.”
“I don’t scare easily,” Aria said, lips twitching slightly.
Not anymore.
⸻
Marla was every bit the force the assistant had warned her about—fierce lipstick, sharper eyeliner, and an attitude that brooked no nonsense. But Aria appreciated that. She didn’t want small talk or fake smiles. She wanted work. She wanted access. She wanted to get closer to the Thorne empire—and eventually tear it apart.
By midday, she’d already handled a mock presentation, reviewed marketing material for an upcoming charity gala, and made notes on social media outreach.
It was during lunch break that the interruption came.
She had just slipped into the employee lounge, grabbing a cup of coffee from the sleek black machine, when a shadow fell across her.
“Miss Mickelson.”
Aria didn’t have to turn. That voice? That deep, cocky hum? She could recognize it in her sleep.
She turned anyway. Slowly. Controlled.
Dominic Thorne leaned against the doorway, arms folded. His charcoal gray shirt hugged his biceps, the sleeves rolled just enough to show a silver watch glinting on his wrist. His eyes were that same searing gray-blue, narrowed with a knowing challenge.
“Stalking the intern already?” she said coolly, sipping her coffee.
He gave a half-smile. “I was in the building. Thought I’d check in. Make sure our newest addition was settling in.”
“Oh, I’m settling just fine.” She tilted her head. “Your marketing team is surprisingly competent.”
His brow lifted. “Surprisingly?”
“Based on my limited interaction with the upper management, I didn’t expect much,” she said.
He laughed—an amused, low sound. “Feisty. Still.”
“And you’re still insufferably arrogant,” she shot back.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Aria broke the tension first, walking past him with deliberate ease. “Some of us have actual work to do.”
But he followed.
“You know, Clarke—can I call you Clarke?”
“No.”
“Clarke,” he said anyway, undeterred, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous habit for men like you.”
He grinned. “You showing up here, applying for an internship at my father’s company after that night…bit suspicious, don’t you think?”
Aria’s heart skipped. For a second, she thought he might’ve seen through her. But no—his smirk wasn’t laced with suspicion. It was something else. Ego.
“You think I applied just to see you again?” she asked.
“Did you?”
“No.” Her voice was flat. “It was a coincidence. A very regrettable one.”
“Regrettable?” He stepped closer. “Because you left before I could get your number?”
She didn’t step back. Instead, she arched a brow, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Because you weren’t good enough for a repeat.”
His eyes flared with something between amusement and challenge. But then he tilted his head, studying her face with a seriousness that wasn’t there a moment ago.
“You’re not who I expected,” he said softly.
“Neither are you,” she replied. Then walked away.
⸻
The rest of the week passed with tense avoidance.
Dominic didn’t approach her again—at least not in the break rooms. But Aria could feel his eyes on her sometimes, especially during department meetings where he sat in as the company’s heir apparent.
She buried herself in work, absorbing everything, taking notes on the internal systems, memorizing access routes, passwords, and internal documents. She needed to understand how the company ran—where the dirt was hidden.
And then, she found her first thread.
A discrepancy in the donation reports for the last Thorne Foundation gala. On paper, it looked like a generous contribution to a children’s hospital. But the receipt trail? Sloppy. Funds moved through a shell company first—one registered in the Caymans.
Aria’s eyes narrowed.
Victor Thorne’s signature was at the bottom of every document.
She saved the files on a private flash drive she kept in her blazer pocket.
Step one: get in.
Step two: collect evidence.
Step three: burn him from the inside.
And if Dominic got caught in the fire?
Well, she wasn’t planning on saving him either.
⸻
Friday evening came fast, and the office was buzzing with talk about an after-work event—casual drinks at an upscale rooftop bar downtown. Aria wasn’t planning to go. The less she mingled, the safer she stayed.
But when she walked past Marla’s office, the woman called her in.
“You’re coming to the rooftop,” Marla said, not a question.
Aria hesitated. “I was thinking of skipping—”
“Nope. It’s a team bonding thing. You’re sharp, Mickelson. But if you want to make your way up in this industry, you’ve gotta be seen. You’ve got presence—use it.”
Aria nodded, not trusting herself to argue.
By 7 PM, she was sipping a glass of wine under string lights, the city skyline burning behind her. The air was light, the laughter real.
And then he arrived.
Dominic, in a black dress shirt open at the collar, no tie. Effortlessly hot. Confident. And heading straight toward her.
“You’re here,” he said, like it surprised him.
“Don’t you ever get tired of stating the obvious?” she said, sipping her drink.
He chuckled. “You’re growing on me.”
“Unfortunate. I’m toxic.”
“That’s what makes it fun.”
Their eyes locked, tension snapping between them like static. For a moment, the rest of the rooftop faded.
He leaned in, voice low. “You’re not just an intern. I don’t know what your angle is, but I’m going to find out.”
Aria’s pulse kicked. Not out of fear—adrenaline. Challenge.
She smiled, sweet and poisonous. “Good luck.”
He stood close, his scent — cedar and musk — curling around her. Her body remembered it too well.
Dominic brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, fingers lingering too long. “Tell me to walk away, Clarke.”
Her throat tightened. But her gaze didn’t waver. “Walk away.”
He didn’t.
And she didn’t stop him when he leaned down and whispered against her ear, “Not this time.”
- Writer
