New secretary
852 Words
Annie ascended to the 32nd floor.
The expanse was vast, adorned with opulent and majestic decor.
Blackthorne Inc.’s presidential secretaries numbered several, each a cog in a well-oiled machine. At a glance, they were striking beauties, their faces etched with sharp intellect.
Annie drew a long breath, easing the tension coiled within her.
You Lili spotted her at once, approaching with a warm smile. “Greetings, are you Miss Annie? I’m You Lili.”
Annie clasped her hand courteously. “Hello, I’m Annie. I look forward to your guidance!”
“No need for such formality,” You Lili replied with a laugh. “I’m a friend of Lila Sterling’s—we’ll have plenty of chances to meet hereafter.” She marveled inwardly—Annie was astonishingly youthful. Photos had hinted at her age, but in person, she seemed even younger.
Pure and unblemished, the professional suit sat awkwardly on her frame, ill-matched to her air. Could this truly be the elite secretary honed by Cross?
The other four women exchanged hushed murmurs. Word had spread of someone poised to supplant You Lili as chief secretary—a figure said to be the sole survivor of a full year under Phoenix Inc.’s Cross, and one who’d resigned of her own accord. They’d envisioned a seasoned, formidable woman.
How did she resemble a mere university student?
Glances met in silent skepticism, their eyes appraising Annie with doubt.
“President, Annie has arrived!”
“Enter!” A deep, magnetic voice resonated, sending a jolt through Annie’s heart. That timbre—eerily familiar. A trick of the mind, surely…
Pushing the door open, Annie stepped in—and turned to stone!
This world had veered into the realm of fantasy!
Confound it! Fate’s cruel jests needn’t be this narrow…
“You?” Lucian’s eyes narrowed with a perilous glint, his thin lips parting to voice a dangerous query. In his wildest dreams, he hadn’t imagined the new secretary would be her, let alone that she was Annie.
Time itself seemed to halt!
Lucian’s chiseled features betrayed no emotion, his gaze inscrutable. She appeared so youthful—barely past her early twenties, her skin alabaster, her countenance pure, her eyes brimming with vibrant radiance.
To ascertain her caliber, he’d rung Cross himself. Upon learning Annie had joined Blackthorne Inc., Cross had wailed like a banshee, demanding Lucian compensate his loss. A talent forged through his grueling, perverse regimen, handed over to Lucian for naught—Cross was positively anguished.
This confirmed it: Annie’s prowess was unrivaled.
That this slip of a girl held the throne as London’s preeminent secretary was nothing short of miraculous.
So green, one might hesitate to take a bite for fear of the tartness.
Annie’s heart wept, a torrent of regret for her youthful folly seven years past!
Even if Lucian hadn’t exuded such commanding presence or icy severity back then, she oughtn’t have been so blind as to mistake him for a mere gigolo—worse still, to toss him fifty dollars as payment for his “services.”
Annie, you utter fool!
Should Lucian recall that mortifying blunder—or discover she’d secretly borne Aurora without his knowledge—she’d be done for, utterly ruined, with no grave to mark her end.
Could she still claim she’d entered the wrong room and flee?
What was that look of his? A beast remained a beast, his gaze glinting with predatory green. *Confound it, must you wear such a sinister expression?*
“Are you certain you’re of age?” Lucian leaned back, a lazy curve tugging at his lips. Why did this girl stand there like a statue—couldn’t she muster a shred of emotion?
Humiliation—utter, abject humiliation!
Curse it! Seven years ago, when you devoured me whole, did it not occur to you to ask if I was underage?
Annie seemed to forget it was she who’d taken the lead in that seduction.
“President Blackthorne, I am twenty-four and fully of age,” she replied with solemn composure.
Lucian arched a brow, his hands clasping beneath his chin, regarding her with a half-smile that slithered like a serpent.
A cold, clammy serpent.
Annie’s heart quaked with unease.
Did he truly not remember her at all?
Her pulse raced like a startled deer, a chill sweat prickling down her spine, her nerves taut as bowstrings. By all logic, a man of Lucian’s stature—duped and then insulted with a paltry fifty dollars—wouldn’t forget such a singular disgrace. It ought to be etched deep in his memory.
Unless… did Lucian endure such indignities so often that he’d grown numb to them, unfazed?
Annie’s wild conjecture left her mind a tangled mess, adrift in the wind.
“Miss You will brief you on the specifics of your duties. Since you’re reputed as London’s foremost secretary, let’s see your mettle. You may leave if there’s nothing else,” Lucian intoned, his voice as ever cloaked in frost.
His fathomless eyes betrayed not a flicker of sentiment.
“Yes, President Blackthorne!” Annie exhaled, relief washing over her.
- Writer
