HATE ME THEN HOLD ME 🥰

--- Chapter One: The Interview from Hell 🔥 — Ava Sinclair — The elevator doors opened with a sharp ding, and Ava Sinclair stepped out like she owned the building — even though she was only here for an interview. A make-or-break interview. She adjusted her blazer, the emerald one that made her brown skin glow and her hazel eyes seem like they could cut glass. She had worked too hard to get here. Five years grinding in a second-tier agency, building a portfolio that could rival most execs — all for this moment. The receptionist barely glanced up. “You’re here for the eleven o’clock with Mr. Blackwell?” “Yes.” Ava nodded, her voice firm. “Top floor. He doesn’t like waiting.” Neither do I, Ava thought but kept the comment to herself. The top floor of Blackwell International looked like it belonged to a Bond villain. Stark gray, glass everywhere, not a single speck out of place. Cold, sharp, intimidating — just like the man who ran it. Damon Blackwell. Billionaire. Ruthless. Brilliant. And by all accounts, a complete and utter ass. Ava had read every article, watched every interview. He didn’t smile. He didn’t charm. He built empires and crushed competition. And now, apparently, he needed a new Head of Strategy. She stepped into his office, and her heart thudded. There he was. Leaning against his desk, tall and painfully attractive in that cold, inapproachable way. Jet-black hair slicked back. A sharp jawline that looked like it could cut steel. Piercing gray eyes — already locked on her. He didn’t stand. Didn’t offer his hand. Just looked her up and down slowly, as if he were assessing a threat instead of a job candidate. “You’re late,” he said. Ava blinked. “It’s 10:59.” “Exactly. I don’t like people who just make it.” And there it was — the infamous Blackwell attitude. She smiled sweetly. “I thought you’d appreciate precision. My mistake.” His brow lifted. “You have a smart mouth, Miss Sinclair.” “And you hired me for an interview, not a charm contest.” He tilted his head. “Sit.” She did. Calm. Composed. Inside, her stomach was tightening like a vice. But she wouldn’t let him see it. No man — billionaire or not — would intimidate her out of this opportunity. He slid her resume across the desk. “Impressive. You ran campaigns that tripled revenue for Helix Group.” “I did.” “You took down one of my branches in that process.” “I outperformed one of your branches,” she corrected, meeting his eyes. “There’s a difference.” For the first time, something like amusement flickered across his face. Or maybe it was interest. Hard to tell with a man like him. “And now you want to work for me?” “I want to win. I figured it was time I did that from the top.” He leaned back in his chair. “You know I don’t play nice.” “Neither do I.” A beat passed. Tension rose — not the awkward kind, but the electric, sharp kind that made the air in the room feel heavier. Then he said, “You’re hired. On one condition.” Ava narrowed her eyes. “Which is?” “You report directly to me. No chains in between.” “That sounds more like a punishment than a promotion.” He smirked. “Consider it a challenge.” “I don’t flinch at challenges, Mr. Blackwell.” He stood, walking around the desk, stopping just a few feet away from her chair. “Good,” he said, voice low. “Then welcome to hell.” chapter 2 the devil's 👿 deck — Ava Sinclair — Ava’s heels clicked against the marble floors like a warning shot as she walked out of Damon Blackwell’s office — newly hired and already reconsidering her life decisions. Why the hell did I agree to this? Maybe because she needed the job. Maybe because part of her wanted to prove to herself — and him — that she could win even under pressure. Or maybe because, in some twisted, annoying way, Damon Blackwell had just become the most exciting challenge of her career. “Congrats,” the receptionist said flatly as Ava passed. “Nobody lasts more than three months with him.” Ava shot her a smile. “I’m not nobody.” The woman raised a brow, unimpressed. “Neither were the others.” --- Ava’s new office was sleek and glass-walled, just two doors down from Damon’s. She hated it instantly. It felt too exposed, too clean, too... him. A box of supplies sat on her desk, along with a single printed note in bold black ink: "Your first strategy pitch is at 9 a.m. tomorrow. No excuses. — D.B." She glanced at the clock. It was already 4:47 p.m. “No pressure, Ava,” she muttered, dropping her bag. “Just show up on day one and not suck.” --- An hour later, she was knee-deep in data reports, her laptop open, blazer off, and hair tied back as she worked through analytics and brand reviews. That’s when she felt it — his presence. She didn’t even hear the door. She just looked up, and there he was. Damon. Leaning against the frame like he owned her airspace, arms folded, those cold eyes scanning her from across the room. “You’re still here,” he said, voice smooth and unreadable. She didn’t look up from her screen. “Didn’t realize the office had a bedtime.” “It doesn’t.” He stepped inside. “But most people run after their first ten minutes with me. You’ve made it an hour.” “Would’ve stayed longer, but I was waiting for my trophy.” A corner of his mouth tugged — not a smile, but something close. “I don’t give out participation awards, Miss Sinclair.” “No need. I’m not here to participate.” She finally met his gaze. “I’m here to win.” He stared at her for a moment. “We’ll see.” There it was again — that underlying current, like something sharp beneath the surface of every word they said. Not flirtation. Not quite. Something hungrier. Then he turned and walked out, leaving nothing but the soft thud of the door and the heavy silence he always left behind. --- By the time Ava stepped out of the building, the sky had turned a shade of deep violet. The city buzzed with its usual after-hours energy, but inside her chest was a different kind of fire. She knew two things for sure: 1. Damon Blackwell hated her. 2. And she didn’t care. Because somewhere deep down, under all the cold, controlled arrogance he wore like armor — she had seen it. He noticed her. And one day soon, she’d make him see a lot more than that. Chapter Three: The Distraction I Didn’t Ask For 😠 — Damon Blackwell — He shouldn’t have hired her. Damon leaned back in his chair, staring out over the glittering skyline from the top floor of Blackwell International. The city pulsed beneath him — fast, ruthless, ambitious — exactly how he liked his world to be. Controlled. Predictable. Obedient. Ava Sinclair was none of those things. And that’s exactly why she was going to be a problem. The way she walked in, eyes lit like fire, attitude sharp enough to slice steel — she wasn’t intimidated by him. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t cower. She didn’t try to flirt or flatter or impress. She challenged. Worse, she smiled while doing it. God. Damn. Smile. He hadn’t seen that kind of spark in years. Most people in his orbit bowed before they even spoke. But she? She looked him in the eye like she was already planning to beat him at his own game. He should’ve turned her down. But when she corrected him — “There’s a difference.” When she leaned in with that quiet, stormy confidence… When she dared to say she wanted to win from the top... He didn’t just hear her. He felt it. And that made her dangerous. --- He stood and walked to the bar cart in the corner of his office, pouring two fingers of whiskey into a crystal glass. The burn in his throat wasn’t nearly enough to silence the thought circling in his head like a vulture. She’s not like the others. She’d already proven she could hit hard — that campaign she led for Helix wiped out one of his satellite branches in less than six months. No mercy. No mistakes. She was smart. Brutal, even. And now she worked for him. Worse still — he wanted to see what else she could do. How far she’d push. How close she’d get. He downed the drink and set the glass down harder than he meant to. A small crack split through the base. Control. He needed to remember who he was. Not some smitten intern with a crush. Not some i***t who forgot the rules. No distractions. No softness. No women. Especially not ones who smiled like sin and thought they could handle him. She’ll break first. He told himself that. Over and over. She’ll fold. They always do. But deep down, under all the armor, something in him whispered a different warning: This one won’t break easy. And if she doesn’t... I just might.