It was Monday morning, the sun just about to rise. I woke up, took a long bath, and slipped into my carefully chosen outfit — a black, fitted dress with matching heels. I tied my hair into a neat bow and added a swipe of pink lipstick. First impressions mattered, and I was determined to look like I belonged here. The "bar incident" was long gone from my mind. I'd never see that man again.
I made a quick sandwich to eat on the go — no way was I risking being late. Nina had already left for her out-of-town internship. I hailed a taxi and headed straight for the office.
The elevator doors slid open with a short chime, revealing the marble-floored lobby of Blackwell Enterprises. I tightened my grip on my tote bag, praying no one had heard about Friday night. My heels clicked confidently against the floor. I was here to stay.
"Morning," the receptionist greeted warmly.
"Morning, Mrs. Jacobs," I replied with a polite smile.
I headed toward where the other interns were gathered, but a sudden rush of voices caught my attention.
"Guys, look lively — the CEO is here today!" someone whispered urgently.
The energy shifted instantly. People scrambled to their workstations like they were under inspection from the president himself.
The elevator chimed again, and he stepped out.
A tall, devastatingly handsome man in a tailored suit, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. His hair was dark and sleek, and his expensive cologne reached me before he even crossed the lobby. He looked like he had walked straight out of a luxury magazine — a Greek god in his late twenties.
And then it hit me.
Wait… isn't that the jerk from the bar?
I froze, memories flooding back — the bump, the drink spill, the slap. Oh, no.
"Miss Harrison? … Miss Harrison!" Mrs. Jacobs called sharply.
"Huh? What? Did I… do something?" I blinked, panicked.
"Well, no. But Mr. Blackwell will be training all of you himself," she explained.
"Wait… what?" My stomach dropped.
"Is there a problem?"
"No, no problem at all," I lied quickly.
"Good. Now please head to his office — the other interns already followed him while you were… zoned out."
Embarrassed, I nodded. "Right. Sorry."
"If I were you," she added, "I'd move fast. The boss is short-tempered and respects punctuality."
I walked toward his office, unsure whether to knock or barge in. This was his territory now — and I needed this job. Plus, I was already not on his "good books."
I knocked twice, opened the door, and slipped inside. Everyone turned to look at me — except him. I kept my head down and joined the group, subtly hiding behind another intern.
He spoke with authority, outlining expectations, work ethic, and how we were to carry ourselves both inside and outside the office. Alexa, another intern, kept firing question after question, her voice sugary sweet, clearly fishing for his attention.
"Uh, sir, what do you mean by 'carry ourselves outside the office'?" she asked, tilting her head.
"I mean…" His gaze locked on me, his voice deep and unwavering. "Don't get wasted on Friday nights and go around slapping people. Right, Miss Late Comer?"
The room went still. My heart skipped a beat. I wished I could melt into the floor.
"Yes, Mr. Blackwell," I muttered, my face burning as I hid behind my notebook.
He continued his briefing for another thirty minutes before dismissing us.We were all about to exit his office, and I was relieved this ordeal was finally over. My hand was already on the door handle, freedom just inches away.
"Miss Late Comer… stay behind."
Every muscle in my body froze.
The others exchanged curious glances before slipping out, the door clicking shut behind them. The room felt suddenly smaller, quieter — and charged.
Slowly, he set his pen down, leaning back in his chair with a calm that felt more dangerous than shouting.
"Let's talk about Friday night," he said, his eyes locking on mine.
My stomach dropped. Oh, I was so doomed.