CHAPTER2
1242 Words
Elise Hart had worked under pressure before.
But not like this.
Not with Damien Blackwell’s voice constantly slicing through the air like a scalpel. Not with the tension of high heels clicking past her desk—each one belonging to a different woman who left his office looking flushed and smug.
And certainly not with the memory of him, half-undressed, brushing past her like she was a speck on his path.
She sat stiffly at her desk, typing out a contract clause, but her fingers froze when she heard laughter again. Feminine. Familiar. The same woman from last night.
This time, Elise didn’t turn to look.
She didn’t need to.
She already knew what she’d see—Damien’s door barely shut, the low hum of seduction inside, and her stomach twisting with something she didn’t want to name.
Jealousy? No.
Resentment? Maybe.
Worse—interest.
---
“File this,” Damien’s voice snapped as she stepped into his office hours later.
He didn’t glance up from his laptop.
Elise walked forward, her heels quiet against the marble floor, and took the stack of papers from his desk.
Then paused.
Her eyes dropped to the couch behind him.
A crimson lipstick stain still clung to the rim of a champagne glass.
She clenched her jaw.
Damien noticed.
He looked up, slowly. “Problem, Miss Hart?”
“No,” she said. “Just wondering if I should add cleaning services to my job description.”
A pause.
Then something sharp flickered behind his eyes.
“Careful.”
“I’m just trying to be efficient,” she replied, coolly.
His gaze locked on hers.
Long. Icy.
Then he said, “Get out.”
She turned without a word.
---
In the bathroom, Elise splashed cold water on her face.
This was madness. She’d survived under arrogant bosses, sexist boardrooms, even backstabbing assistants. But none of them crawled under her skin like Damien Blackwell.
And none of them made her pulse stutter with just a glance.
She stared at herself in the mirror.
You can’t be one of them.
One of the women who melted the moment he crooked a finger.
But then—why did it bother her so much that he hadn’t even tried?
---
Later that evening, the office emptied out like usual. The click of stilettos faded. Elevator doors sighed shut. Only a few scattered lights stayed on, including hers.
Elise was sorting through a budget proposal when the elevator dinged again.
She didn’t look up.
Until she heard her voice.
High. Sweet. Too sweet.
“Elise, isn’t it?”
Elise turned. A curvy brunette in a sleeveless silk dress was standing by her desk, a diamond choker flashing beneath the lights. It was the same woman from the other night—the one Damien had kissed like he owned her.
“Yes?” Elise said, forcing a professional tone.
“I just wanted to thank you for the flowers.” The woman smiled. “They were from the company, right? After my… ‘meeting’ with Damien.”
A sharp edge laced her voice.
Elise blinked. “I didn’t send any flowers.”
“Oh,” the woman said, lips curling. “Well. Must’ve been someone else cleaning up after him.”
She walked off, hips swaying, heels echoing down the corridor.
Elise’s fingers clenched into fists.
---
By the time Damien called her into his office that night, Elise’s nerves were frayed.
She stepped in. He was alone. Shirt sleeves rolled up. A single desk lamp casting shadows across his jaw.
He didn’t look tired.
He never did.
He looked... untouchable.
“I need you to reschedule the Zurich call,” he said. “They’re panicking. Tell them they’ll get what I promised, just not when they want it.”
She nodded and turned to leave.
“Elise,” he said.
She stopped.
His voice dropped.
“You have something to say.”
It wasn’t a question.
She turned back, lips pressed tight. “No, sir.”
“Try again.”
Her eyes flashed. “I’m your assistant, Mr. Blackwell. Not your maid.”
He stood.
Slowly.
And crossed to her, closing the distance between them in five quiet steps.
Her breath caught. Not out of fear—but something stranger. Hotter.
His voice was a low rasp. “If you’re uncomfortable with the way I run my office, you’re free to leave.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” she said, chin high. “I’m disgusted.”
His jaw twitched.
“You think you’re better than them?” he said, voice colder now. “The ones who beg to be on my calendar? Who’d trade dignity for five minutes of my time?”
“I think I have self-respect,” she shot back.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
“Elise,” he said softly. “Respect won’t get you far in this building. Obedience will.”
She didn’t flinch. But her heart thundered.
“Then maybe I’m in the wrong building.”
A dangerous pause.
Then—he smiled.
It wasn’t warm.
It was wicked.
Like he’d just found a new game to play.
“Maybe,” he murmured. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
---
The next day, Elise arrived early. Earlier than usual. Determined to show up, shut up, and do her job.
But when she opened her inbox, her stomach dropped.
You’re invited.
A company event. Gala-style. Mandatory attendance. Black tie. At the Rosemont Hotel, Saturday night.
Elise groaned.
The last thing she wanted was to watch Damien drape himself over another glamorous woman while she poured wine over awkward small talk.
Still, she’d show up.
Professional. Perfect.
Invisible.
---
Saturday night arrived.
Elise wore a sleek black gown. Not too flashy. Not too dull. Her hair swept into a low knot, a touch of red on her lips—not the same red Damien told her to avoid. A quieter red. Her own.
The ballroom was already packed when she entered. Champagne flowed. Laughter bounced off crystal walls. And there, across the room, Damien stood with a woman clinging to his arm—a redhead in a barely-there dress.
He didn’t look at Elise.
Didn’t even blink.
But the redhead noticed her. Whispered something in his ear.
He chuckled.
Chuckled.
Like Elise was a joke.
She turned, her throat tight, and headed toward the catering table, pretending to check her phone.
Then she heard it—his voice, low and direct.
“Elise.”
She froze.
Turned slowly.
He was alone now. The redhead was gone.
Damien stood in front of her, hands in his pockets, jaw sharp.
She lifted her chin. “Sir?”
His eyes flicked down to her dress. Then back up. “You clean up well.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
A pause.
Then, to her shock, he stepped closer and whispered, “Don’t let them corner you. They’ll try to pry. About me. About how I treat my staff.”
Her brows lifted. “You care about rumors now?”
“I care about you not becoming one of them.”
For a heartbeat, she stared at him. Unsure if that was a threat—or a warning.
Then, just like that, he was gone.
Back into the crowd.
Back to his world.
And Elise stood there, breathless, confused, and dangerously aware of one thing:
Damien Blackwell saw her.
And that was more terrifying than being ignored.
- Writer
