EPISODE 4: PRESSURE POINTS😣
1618 Words
— Ava Sinclair —
8:59 a.m.
Ava stood outside the conference room, pulse steady, palms not so much. Her tablet was ready. Her slides were perfect. She had memorized every damn data point and strategy angle.
She looked like power.
Felt like fire.
So why did the air shift the moment Damon Blackwell walked in?
He entered the room like a storm in a suit — crisp black, no tie, cold eyes, coffee in one hand, silence in the other. Every executive in the room straightened like gravity just got heavier.
His eyes didn’t even scan the others. They landed on her — sharp, unreadable.
Great. He’s already in boss-from-hell mode.
“Begin,” he said. No greeting. No nod. Just that single word.
Ava took a breath and walked to the head of the table.
Her voice was calm. Her hands were steady.
Slide by slide, she delivered the pitch — clean, bold, fearless. Marketing projections. Target shifts. Cross-platform expansion. Her vision wasn’t just good — it was dominant.
And yet... not once did Damon react. Not a blink. Not a raised brow. Just silence.
Until the final slide.
“You missed something,” he said coolly, interrupting her wrap-up.
Ava froze for a millisecond. “I don’t think I did.”
He stood, slowly walking to the screen. He tapped the graph.
“This assumption,” he said, “relies on Q2 metrics. But Q3 data dropped at 6 a.m. this morning.”
Someone in the room coughed. Someone else tried not to smile.
A trap.
He’d set her up.
Ava’s jaw tightened, but her tone stayed calm. “We both know the Q3 data is too fresh to be reliable for campaign projection. Unless you’re suggesting I predict the future?”
Damon tilted his head, expression unreadable. “I’m suggesting that a true strategist is never caught off guard.”
The room was silent.
Then Ava smiled. Not fake. Not sweet.
Dangerous.
“Then I’ll be sure to include a chapter on psychic forecasting in my next report,” she said coolly. “Shall I call the press when I do?”
For half a second, Damon looked at her like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fire her… or kiss her.
“Dismissed,” he said sharply.
Everyone began packing up. But as she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
“Sinclair. Stay.”
Of course.
She turned around slowly, lifting her chin.
“Was that some kind of power play?” she asked when they were alone.
“No,” he said. “That was a test.”
“And?”
His eyes locked on hers. “You passed.”
Then he walked out without another word.
---
EPISODE 5: Close Quarters 😱
— Ava Sinclair —
The storm hit just after 8 p.m.
Thunder cracked the sky like a whip, and rain slammed against the windows of the Blackwell tower like nature itself had something to prove. Ava was still at her desk, running numbers and rewriting strategy notes.
She didn’t even realize she wasn’t alone until the lights flickered… and the office went black.
“Seriously?” she muttered, standing. The emergency lights kicked on, casting a pale white glow through the hall.
She grabbed her phone.
No signal.
Of course.
Of all the buildings in the city, she had to be in one that turned into a glass prison during a thunderstorm.
Then she heard it — the sound of footsteps approaching.
She turned, ready to tell off security, but the words froze in her throat when Damon Blackwell stepped into view.
No jacket. Shirt sleeves rolled up. That usual ice in his eyes now softened by shadows and low light.
“You’re still here?” she asked.
He stared at her. “So are you.”
A beat passed between them.
Something tight. Charged.
Too quiet for the air to feel normal.
Then he looked toward the rain-lashed windows.
“Elevators are down. No power. Building’s locked.”
Ava folded her arms. “So what, we’re stuck here?”
“Looks like it.”
She gave him a look. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’m never surprised,” he said. “I plan for everything.”
She smirked. “Except me.”
That pulled a reaction — barely, but it was there. A twitch in his jaw. A flicker in his eyes.
“You’re not something I can plan for,” he said quietly.
---
They ended up in the conference lounge — dim lights, a bottle of wine Damon casually opened from the executive stash, and enough silence to fill a novel.
Ava took the glass he offered and stared at him over the rim. “This is weird.”
“What?”
“You. Being… human.”
He chuckled. Actually chuckled.
“You assume I’m a monster.”
“I don’t assume,” she said. “You go out of your way to act like one.”
Another pause.
Then he turned toward her, serious now. “Is that what you really think of me?”
Ava met his eyes, steady. “I think you hide behind power because you’re afraid to be seen.”
That hit something. She could tell. His face didn’t move — but his guard did.
“That’s bold,” he said.
She shrugged. “So fire me.”
He stood up, walked to the window. The thunder cracked again.
“I don’t want to fire you,” he said.
She swallowed. “Then what do you want?”
He turned back. Slow. Controlled.
“To stop wanting you.”
The air vanished between them.
Ava blinked — once. Twice. Her heart was a drum. A warning. A dare.
And then—he stepped closer.
So close, she could feel the heat coming off his skin.
“I hate how you talk back,” he said softly.
She didn’t move.
“I hate how you challenge me.”
She lifted her chin.
“And I hate—” his voice dropped, raw “—that I can’t stop thinking about what your lips would taste like.”
Silence.
Then she whispered, “So stop thinking.”
And kissed him first.
---
EPISODE 6: The Morning After Everything Changes 🥺
— Ava Sinclair —
Ava barely slept.
Even after the power came back and Damon walked away like the kiss had never happened, her mind was a whirlwind of every second that led up to it.
The way he looked at her.
The way he said he hated wanting her.
The way he tasted like control finally breaking.
Now, as she stood in front of the mirror in the executive washroom, smoothing her blouse and tying her hair back tighter than usual, all she could think was:
What the hell do I do now?
---
9:00 a.m.
She walked into her office like everything was normal — laptop open, coffee in hand, fake calm painted all over her face.
But it wasn’t normal.
Not when she could still feel the ghost of his hand on her waist. Not when every blink flashed her back to how close they had been — lips, breath, everything.
She hated how much she remembered.
Worse, she hated how much she wanted more.
And then came the knock.
Three short, sharp taps.
She already knew.
“Come in,” she said, voice cool.
Damon walked in, suit perfect, expression unreadable. Ice had returned to his eyes — like the night before had been erased with the sunrise.
“Morning,” he said.
“Is it?”
He ignored the bite in her tone. “We have a meeting with the product heads at 10. I’d like you to present the restructure plan.”
She blinked. That was it? No mention of last night? No tension in his voice?
He was pretending. Acting like nothing happened.
“Fine,” she said stiffly. “Anything else?”
He paused. Just for a second. And in that second, something flickered in his eyes.
Want. Regret. War.
But then he turned. “That’ll be all.”
He walked out.
Left her standing there.
And just like that, Ava realized two things:
1. He regretted the kiss.
2. And she wasn’t sure if she did.
---
She spent the rest of the day trying to bury the storm inside her. Work helped — numbers, strategy, meetings. But every time Damon spoke to her in that calm, neutral voice, it scratched at something deeper.
He wasn’t neutral.
He was avoiding it.
Avoiding her.
And it pissed her off more than she could admit.
Because maybe, just maybe... she hadn’t just kissed her boss last night.
She had felt something.
Something real.
And now he was pretending it never happened.
---
That night, she stood in her apartment, staring at her phone. Her thumb hovered over his number.
She wanted to scream at him.
Demand answers.
Make him say it meant something.
But instead... she turned off the phone.
Because she knew one thing for sure:
If Damon Blackwell wanted to pretend it never happened—fine.
But one day soon, he would be the one who couldn’t forget it.
And she’d be right there, watching him fall.
---
> She laughed at another man’s joke.
Damon clenched his jaw.
“Careful,” he said, voice low, eyes locked on hers.
“Flirting with clients can get messy.”
Ava raised a brow. “What’s messier—flirting with clients, or kissing your boss during a blackout?”
He didn’t smile.
He stepped closer.
“You’re still on my mind, Sinclair.”
Too bad she was starting to enjoy driving him insane.
- Writer
