Chapter Five
1085 Words
JESSICA
Jess wasn’t sure which part of her life choices landed her here. Maybe it was her inability to shut up at the right time. Or maybe it was the fact that she’d been cursed at birth with a mother who had mastered the ancient art of playful blackmail.
Because the only reason she was standing here, staring up at the skyscraper called Adams Corporation, was thanks to her mom.
It all started three days ago.
Jess had been dramatically flopping around the living room, moaning about how the universe clearly hated her, when she let it slip that she got an email from the company about the job.
She should have swallowed her tongue. She should have faked amnesia. She should have jumped out the window.
But no—she had to say, “They emailed me, but I’ll never take that job. It’s the bumper guy, Mom. The arrogant, unapologetic, soulless car murderer. Do you want me to suffer?”
And her mom, without missing a beat, had replied, “If you don’t take that job, I’ll disconnect the Wi-Fi and tell Liz you secretly cried during that cheesy rom-com last week.”
Jess had shot upright, clutching her chest like she’d been stabbed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would,” her mom said sweetly, already sipping her tea. “And I’ll throw in your stash of emergency chocolate while I’m at it.”
Jess had gawked at her. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment. You’re evil.”
Her mom only smiled. “Evil, but effective. Now, go earn a paycheck.”
And here she was, a few days later, walking into a building that looked like it ate little people like her for breakfast.
---
The lobby was all marble floors and glass walls, the kind of place that screamed money and intimidation. Everyone looked polished and efficient, like they’d been born in suits. Meanwhile, Jess felt like a walking accident in heels she still hadn’t mastered.
This is it. My doom. My funeral march. They’ll bury me with a broken stapler and half a coffee mug.
She tightened her grip on her bag and muttered under her breath, “Mom owes me for this. Like, big time. Lifetime supply of chocolate big.”
At the reception desk, the same perfect receptionist smiled at her. Jess wanted to ask if they gave employees a free Botox package to maintain such permanently pleasant expressions.
“Good morning, Ms. McWilliams,” the receptionist chirped. “Welcome aboard! Your desk is right outside Mr. Adams’ office. Let me show you the way.”
Jess managed a weak smile. “Of course. Right outside his office. Perfect. Because life isn’t cruel enough already.”
The receptionist either didn’t hear or chose to ignore that.
---
Her desk was exactly where they promised—front row seats to hell. It sat neatly outside two massive double doors that led straight into Andrew Adams’ office. The plaque on the door gleamed like it was mocking her.
Jess dropped her bag on the desk and sighed. “Great. Now I’m officially the gatekeeper to evil.”
She sat down, testing the chair. Too comfy. Suspiciously comfy. Like it was designed to trick her into thinking she belonged here.
She booted up her computer and tried to look productive. Within two minutes, she was already fighting with the printer. Again.
“Oh no. Not you,” she whispered at it, glaring. “We’re not doing this today. I already have one enemy in this building and I do not need another.”
The printer made a groaning sound, like it was laughing at her. Jess smacked it lightly. “Work, you oversized toaster!”
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By mid-morning, Jess was starting to think maybe the job wasn’t so bad. She had a desk. She had coffee. Nobody had yelled at her yet.
Then the doors opened.
She didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. The temperature in the hallway dropped five degrees. The sound of expensive shoes echoed like thunder.
Andrew Adams had arrived.
Jess kept her eyes glued to her screen, pretending she was doing something important. Like… filing. Or inventing a cure for printer rage. Anything that didn’t involve making eye contact with him.
But of course, fate had other plans.
“Miss McWilliams,” his voice cut through the air like a blade.
Jess froze a little. Oh great. The bumper slayer speaks.
She slowly looked up. There he was, tall and intimidating, in a suit that probably cost more than her entire car. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes were sharp. Like he could see every sarcastic thought she’d ever had.
“Yes, Mr. Adams?” she said, trying to sound professional while inwardly cursing him six different ways.
“You’re late,” he said flatly.
Jess blinked. “I’ve been here since eight-thirty.”
“You were late,” he repeated, as if his word was law and reality would just bend to it.
Her mouth dropped open. She shut it quickly, reminding herself that she needed this job. Her mom had Wi-Fi hostage.
“Yes, sir,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Won’t happen again.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment, then he walked into his office, closing the doors behind him.
Jess exhaled sharply, slumping in her chair. “And just like that, Satan has spoken.”
---
The rest of the day was a blur of small disasters. Jess dropped her pen three times. She spilled a tiny bit of coffee on a file (she prayed no one noticed). She answered the phone with, “Hello, this is Hell—uh, Adams Corporation.”
But somehow, she survived. Barely.
Every time those office doors opened, her heart jumped. Sometimes it was Andrew stepping out, sometimes someone else. But she always felt the pressure, the weight of being so close to him, of being under his radar.
By the end of the day, Jess leaned back in her chair and groaned. “If this is day one, I’m not making it to Friday.”
She packed her bag, muttering insults under her breath. “Bumper destroyer. Ego in a suit. Walking ice cube. Who even looks that good while ruining lives?”
As she left, she glanced once more at the polished doors of his office.
Her new reality. Her new boss.
Dear Lord, give me strength, she thought dramatically.
- Writer
