Zayn's POV
Zayn Malik didn't believe in gut feelings.
He believed in numbers. Systems. Structure. Loyalty backed by legally binding contracts.
And yet… the moment she walked in, drenched in rain, fire in her eyes, sarcasm on her lips—
He knew she was going to be a problem.
A small one, maybe. But problems had a way of growing when left unchecked.
"She's late," he had muttered under his breath when his assistant buzzed in to say the girl had finally arrived.
Now, here she was; standing across from him, water dripping from the ends of her hair, clutching a folder that probably held a mediocre résumé, and looking at him like she wasn't the one who needed this job.
She looked like she dared him to say no.
He didn't like that.
No one ever looked at Zayn Malik like that.
Not board members. Not competitors. Not employees.
And definitely not broke girls who showed up late to interviews.
"You're late," he said, just to see what she'd do.
The way she stood straighter. The way her eyes narrowed slightly before she responded with that calm, almost smug tone:
"But you do hire people who fight to show up anyway, right?"
Zayn hadn't expected that.
Most people apologized, groveled, overcompensated.
This girl? She gave him a line that sounded like both a challenge and a fact.
His eyes scanned her again. Plain clothes. Cheap shoes. Sharp mouth.
Interesting combination.
He leaned back. "You're bolder than you look."
She didn't blink. "And you're colder than I expected."
And just like that, he knew it.
She wasn't just a problem. She was dangerous.
Not because she'd ruin the company.
But because someone like her… someone who spoke to him like a man, not a monster…
Could make him feel something.
And Zayn Malik had worked too hard to bury every single feeling he ever had.
Still, something in him said: Keep her close.
So he did the opposite of what he should've done.
He hired her.