Miss Secretary
1244 Words
Emma's POV:
As the elevator ascended, I counted the seconds.
Floor thirty-two.
Floor thirty-eight.
Floor forty-two.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open as it made an abrupt stop at my destination.
The executive floor was nothing like the lobby. It was quieter, more refined. The walls were a cool shade of gray, the air scented faintly with something crisp that screamed cedar and wealth.
A glass corridor stretched ahead, leading to a row of doors. At the far end, Dominic Steele’s office loomed like a throne room. The blinds were half-drawn.
I didn’t look directly at it.
A woman in a cream blazer approached me, tablet in hand. Tall, sleek, eyes like a lie detector test.
“Cynthia Donovan,” she said briskly.
“Follow me. I’ll show you your desk and run you through protocols. Mr. Steele’s in a meeting.”
I nodded once. “Of course.”
"So, Miss Grey," Cynthia began, her voice crisp and controlled, "this is the executive floor where you'll be working as Mr. Steele's secretary. I'll advise you to always be at your best behavior because you'll be the most junior staff in this sector."
"Yes, ma'am," I nodded attentively, taking every little observation into detail.
Her stride was fluid, precise. Every step oozed elegance and authority the kind that came from years of mastering her place in this empire. If Cynthia was any indication of what it took to survive here, I had my work cut out for me.
“Legal team’s on the left, production's on the right. That door leads to the executive boardroom. You won’t need to go in there unless summoned.” She moved quickly, gesturing briefly to different departments and offices as we passed, her words clipped but clear.
Summoned? Like an offering.
Every inch of this floor was built to intimidate. Quiet halls. Closed doors. No mistakes allowed.
“And this,” she said, halting in front of a minimalist desk tucked just a few feet away from a large frosted-glass office door, “is where you’ll be attending to all the paperwork and Mr. Steele’s needs.”
His needs? Just wow!
It was smaller compared to the other open-plan spaces, but it was sleek, modern, and comfortable enough for what I needed to do. Just close enough to the lion’s den to feel the heat from it.
“Emma…” Cynthia’s voice softened a little.
I turned to her as she paused beside me.
She placed a firm hand on my shoulder and gestured toward the desk with the other. “Mr. Steele can be… difficult and demanding. But I need you to be strong and smart, okay? It'll take a little while, but you'll get through this.”
Strong and smart? Nobody told me I was going to war. But from my years of studying Dominic Steele like a school curriculum. This should be the least of my worries.
I gave a small nod. “I can handle it.”
She studied me for a moment longer and gave me that sisterly reassuring smile. Then she stepped back and handed me a slim tablet. “Calendar, emails, appointments. You’ll sync everything through this. Mr. Steele is in a meeting now, but he’ll call you in when he’s ready.”
"Good luck," Cynthia said before taking her leave.
All I could do was murmur a "thank you". I felt alone now and more comfortable to start re-strategizing my plan. There was no time.
The closer I got to succeeding, the more tense I became.
I sat down slowly, hands hovering over the tablet as I looked toward the closed door ahead.
Beneath that glass… was the man I’d been waiting years to face.
* * *
Emma's POV:
I had barely started organizing the files Cynthia left on my tablet when the door behind me clicked.
I froze.
“Miss Grey,” Cynthia’s voice came through my earpiece a second later. “Mr. Steele is ready to see you. Now.”
The tablet screen went dark as I locked it, inhaling slowly to steady myself. My palms were dry, but my chest was tight.
This was it.
I rose to my feet, straightened my blouse, and walked the few feet towards the glass marble door.
Breathe in... out.
I knocked once.
“Come in,” came the voice. It was unusually low, calm, and absolute.
I stepped inside.
His office was massive. All luxury designers and commanding shadows.
A floor-to-ceiling window stood behind his desk, drenching the space in daylight and skyline. The gold tag that lay on his table displayed his name in bold, shiny print 'Dominic Steele, CEO'. There were no personal photos, no warmth, no homely feeling.
And behind that desk sat Dominic Steele.
He didn’t look up immediately. He was signing something, precise strokes of a pen on thick paper.
But I saw him.
Tall, tailored, motionless except for his hand. The man hadn’t aged since the last time I saw him on TV five years ago except now, the weight of power sat heavier on his shoulders.
I cleared my throat hoping to get his attention while I just stood like a chess piece.
“Miss Grey,” he said, finally glancing up.
His eyes met mine and paused.
I wondered if he saw it. The tension, the storm, the fear. Because I swear I saw a sly smile at the corner of his lips.
But all he said was, “Close the door.”
I did.
“You’ll be managing my schedule, screening my calls, and ensuring my time isn’t wasted,” he said, his voice even but laced with steel.
“I don’t tolerate lateness, excuses, or sloppiness. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Steele.”
"I'm sure Cynthia must have given you a brief tour of the sector. You don’t have business elsewhere unless on special requests. Your only appointment is to make sure my workload is reduced and efficiently managed."
His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Have you worked under an executive before?”
“No,” I said honestly. “But I’m a fast learner, sir.”
He paused, something flickered in his gaze, just for a second.
“I expect discretion and silence outside these walls. You’re here to observe, absorb, and execute, not make friends. I won't forgive any lapses. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I muttered.
He leaned back, folding his arms, then scanned me from head to toe. That evil smile, again!
“Why did you apply for this job, Miss Grey?”
My heart stopped, but only for a second.
It was a loaded question but I kept my voice steady. “Because I've always wanted to work for the number one tech company in the country.”
"That's good."
That brief pause again, followed by the eye movements.
"Have we probably met before, Miss Grey? You look pretty familiar."
"Um. No... n... No, that's not even possible, sir." I waved my hand in dismissal trying to cover it up with my fake chuckle.
I can't be caught. Not now.
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“No problem about that. Let’s hope you can keep up. You're dismissed.” He concluded without glancing at me twice. His focus was back on the documents on his desk. But I saw him mutter something, a world that was too familiar not to notice. 'SteeleTech' or should I rather say 'Grey Tech'.
- Writer
