THE REWRITE
1091 Words
POV — Catriona
It’s an eight o’clock meeting.
Early to arrive at Reid Capital.
The first rule of corporate survival?
Never let them see you bleed.
The second? Never assume you’re the only one watching.
I learned the second rule the day Charles Laurent started noticing me.
It was the morning after Shawn Reid told me to be in his office at eight.
Opportunity.
The word still sat heavy in my chest as I stepped into the thirty-second floor conference room at 7:52 a.m., legal binder tucked against my ribs like armor. Reid Capital was quieter this early. The air smelled faintly of espresso and polished oak. Glass walls reflected ambition back at itself. I chose a seat near the far end of the table. Not invisible.
Not central.
Strategic.
“You’re early.”
The voice didn’t belong to Shawn. It was smoother. Silk over steel. I looked up. Charles Laurent stood near the head of the table, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, tie loosened just enough to appear human but not careless.
Early thirties.
Sharp features.
Eyes that missed nothing.
Senior Executive.
Board favorite.
Shawn Reid’s most efficient lieutenant. And rumored successor.
“I prefer preparation over apology,” I replied.
His mouth curved slightly. “That’s an expensive habit in this building.”
“I’m prepared to pay for it.”
That earned a soft exhale — not quite a laugh. He moved closer, stopping across from me rather than beside me. Distance maintained. Control preserved.
“You rewrote Mr. Reid’s acquisition proposal,” he said casually, as if discussing weather.
So word travels fast.
“Yes.”
“Bold.”
“Accurate.”
His gaze sharpened — not offended. Amused. “You’re aware most interns last here by blending in.”
“I’m not most interns.”
A pause.
Assessment.
Then he surprised me. “No,” he agreed quietly. “You’re not.”
There was something different about the way Charles watched me compared to Shawn. Shawn evaluated like a strategist studying a chessboard. Charles observed like a man studying a variable.
“You should be careful,” he said lightly.
“Of what?”
“Of being exceptional too quickly.”
The warning didn’t sound protective. It sounded informed.
“Is that advice?” I asked.
“It’s observation.” He leaned one hand on the back of the chair across from me.
“Shawn doesn’t mentor without motive.”
The words were gentle.
Measured.
Dangerous.
“I didn’t ask for mentorship,” I replied.
“No,” Charles said softly. “But you’ve been summoned.”
My spine stiffened slightly. So he knew. Interesting.
“And what do you think his motive is?” I asked evenly.
His gaze didn’t waver. “I think,” he said, “that powerful men are rarely interested in potential unless it benefits them.”
“And you?” I countered. “Are you interested in potential?”
A flicker — the first genuine crack in his composure. “Yes.”
The honesty landed heavier than expected.
The conference room door opened then. Conversations outside shifted. Footsteps approached — controlled, unmistakable. Charles straightened smoothly, stepping back as if nothing significant had passed between us.
But something had.
A line drawn.
A subtle alignment offered. Or perhaps a future rivalry implied.
Shawn Reid entered without raising his voice or his pace. The room adjusted around him. His gaze swept once across the table — cool, unreadable.
It paused on me.
Briefly.
Then shifted.
“Let’s begin,” he said. Three words. Command. Not suggestion.
As the presentation started and numbers lit up the screen, I felt it. Not just the pressure of performance. Not just the weight of ambition. But something else. Shawn watched outcomes. Charles watched people. And for reasons I didn’t yet understand— both of them were watching me.
My face.
My body.
My actions.
The terrifying part? I wasn’t sure which one posed the greater risk.
I kept my eyes on the slides, but my mind replayed every word. Shawn’s promise of opportunity. Charles’s warning about motives. Both men carried power differently. Shawn’s was absolute, the kind that bent rooms to his rhythm. Charles’s was quieter, the kind that slipped beneath the surface and waited.
I thought of my mother, of the sacrifices she made so I could sit here. I thought of the scholarship that covered only half my tuition, of the endless nights I spent memorizing case law while the rest of my classmates slept. I thought of the courtroom I intended to dominate one day. And I thought of the fact that survival here wasn’t about being invisible.
It was about being undeniable.
Still, undeniable came with consequences. Shawn Reid didn’t summon interns for opportunity without reason. Charles Laurent didn’t warn without calculation. And I was caught between them, a first-year law student with ambition sharp enough to cut but fragile enough to bleed.
The meeting stretched on, numbers and projections filling the air like smoke. I took notes, precise and efficient, but my attention kept flickering to the two men at the head of the table. Shawn’s questions were surgical, stripping away excuses until only results remained. Charles’s interjections were subtle, redirecting discussions with a flick of tone, a shift of phrasing. Together, they commanded the room like dual forces — one overt, one covert.
And me?
I was the variable.
The intern who rewrote a proposal.
The student who dared to speak of leverage.
The girl who refused to be average.
When the meeting ended, chairs scraped back and voices rose in polite chatter. Shawn dismissed the room with a nod, already moving toward his office. Charles lingered, his gaze catching mine for a fraction of a second.
No words.
Just acknowledgment.
I gathered my binder, my pulse steady but my thoughts racing.
Opportunity.
Motive.
Potential.
Risk.
The words tangled together until they felt indistinguishable.
As I walked out of the conference room, I knew one thing with certainty. I had stepped into a game far larger than myself. A game where ambition was currency, perception was weapon, and survival demanded more than preparation.
Shawn Reid tested ambition. Charles Laurent studied it. And both had decided mine was worth noticing.
The question wasn’t whether I could handle their attention.
Their every gaze.
Their every thought.
Their every smile.
The question was whether I could turn all of their hidden admiration into power.
Because in this building, power wasn’t given. It was taken.
And I’m willing…
And intended to take it.
- Writer
