Terms and Conditions
804 Words
The next morning, Sophie arrived at Thorne Enterprises an hour early.
Not because she wanted to impress him, though she wasn’t opposed to that but because she hadn’t slept. Between her brother’s medication alarms, and the realization that she was now working for Damian Thorne, sleep had waved politely and exited her life.
She smoothed her skirt in the mirrored elevator, catching her reflection.
The elevator hummed softly as it climbed. Somewhere between the 20th and 30th floors, she thought of her father, of boardrooms, signatures, and the scandal that had reduced their family name to whispers. She pushed the memory away. That chapter was closed, she kept telling herself.
When the doors opened, the office was already humming a sleek machine of whispers and purpose. Everyone moved like they’d been programmed to avoid mistakes.
“Ms. Gray,” said a brisk woman with horn-rimmed glasses and a tablet. “Mr. Thorne’s waiting.”
“Already?” Sophie’s voice came out higher than intended.
“He’s always waiting,” the woman said without looking up. “Follow me.”
Damian’s office looked different in daylight and colder somehow. The skyline poured in through the windows, bathing him in white light as he reviewed a stack of papers. He didn’t glance up when she entered, only motioned toward a chair.
“You’re late,” he said.
“It’s 7:59,” she replied.
“Exactly.”
He looked up then, and the faintest curve touched his mouth, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one.
“You’ll learn my definition of punctuality soon enough.”
Sophie sat, setting her notepad on her lap. What would you like me to handle first?, she asked.
He pushed a folder toward her. “Review and sign this.”
She opened it, it was ten pages of legal language dense enough to sink a ship. Confidentiality agreement. Non-disclosure. Liability waiver.
Her eyebrows lifted. “You make all your assistants sign their souls away?”
“Only the competent ones.”
“Flattering,” she muttered, flipping to the last page and signing. “What exactly am I keeping quiet about?”
He leaned back, studying her. “Everything.”
There was something in his tone that made her heart race and a weight beneath the word.
It wasn’t just corporate secrets, It felt personal.
Before she could respond, his desk phone buzzed. He picked up, listened for a moment, then said, Send them in.
The door opened, and two men in suits entered, judging by their identical watches and identical smiles, they were investors.
Sophie stood instinctively, moving to the side. Damian gestured for her to stay.
He introduced her quickly, “My assistant, Ms. Gray.”
She nodded, polite but silent.
The men exchanged glances, the kind that said, so this is the new one. Sophie caught it and looked away, pretending to be fully occupied with her notes.
She was used to looks, like that of pity laced with skepticism. They never saw the girl who’d once been at the top of society’s guest lists, only the woman now clinging to its edges.
As the conversation shifted to merger details, she scribbled shorthand, half understanding, half guessing. Until one of the men, Mr. Cavanaugh, said lightly, “You know, Damian, investors prefer stability. Maybe it’s time you made things official with someone again.”
Her pen froze.
Damian’s jaw flexed, his tone cooling several degrees. “My personal life is not part of the merger discussion.”
“Of course not,” the man said, smirking. “But the tabloids think otherwise. That photo with Vanessa”
“That will be handled,” Damian said flatly.
Cavanaugh raised his brows, unconvinced. “Perhaps a fiancée would send the right message.”
The word fiancée hung in the air. Sophie felt it land somewhere deep in her chest, though she didn’t yet understand why.
The meeting ended. The men left. Silence reclaimed the room.
Sophie turned back to her notepad, heart still drumming. “Do you want me to schedule?”
“Cancel my afternoon,” Damian said abruptly.
She blinked. “Cancel it? You have…”
“I said cancel it.” He stood, walking toward the window. “And clear your weekend.”
Excuse me? Sophie frowned. “Mr. Thorne, I just started. I’m not sure I can”
“You can.” His gaze met hers across the room. There was an intensity there, quiet but unmistakable.
“You’ll be accompanying me to an event. Consider it part of your job description.”
She hesitated. “What kind of event?”
He paused, then said softly, almost like he was testing the sound of it, “A family engagement party.”
“Yours?”
He turned fully now, eyes unreadable.
“Not yet.”
- Writer
