The phone call came less than twenty-four hours later.
Aria had barely set her coffee on the chipped kitchen counter when her phone buzzed. She answered quickly, expecting Sophie's cheerful voice—but instead, a smooth, commanding baritone slid through the line.
"Miss Lane."
Her grip tightened around the mug. Damian Blackwood.
She almost hung up out of instinct. But curiosity kept her rooted. "How did you get my number?"
"You wrote it on your résumé," he said simply. "And I rarely waste time with small talk, so I'll get straight to the point."
Aria braced herself.
"I'm offering you the position," he said.
Her stomach dropped. "What?"
"You're hired. Executive assistant. Starting Monday."
She blinked, stunned. After years of struggling to prove herself, fighting tooth and nail for scraps of opportunity, the job she'd wanted most had landed in her lap. But instead of joy, unease slid through her veins.
"Why me?" she asked suspiciously. "You had dozens of candidates with more experience."
There was a pause, then his low voice curved like a blade. "Because none of them challenge me. You do."
Heat crept up her neck, though she forced herself to scoff. "You mean I argued with you. That's hardly a qualification."
"Perhaps not," he admitted. "But it makes you interesting. And in my world, interest is rare."
Her pulse raced. "So what—you hire people based on entertainment value?"
"I hire people who hold my attention," Damian countered, his tone firm. "And right now, that's you. Accept the offer."
Aria paced the tiny kitchen, torn between pride and practicality. Sophie would say she was crazy to even hesitate. This was the kind of opportunity people killed for—working under Damian Blackwood, CEO of one of the most powerful companies in the country.
But something in his voice told her this wasn't just business.
She swallowed hard. "And if I say no?"
There was silence, then a faint, amused chuckle. "You won't."
Her temper sparked. "You don't know that."
"Miss Lane," Damian said smoothly, "you need this. You wouldn't have walked into my office if you didn't. And I…" His voice dropped, darker now. "I don't often give people second chances. Refuse, and you won't get another."
Her breath caught. It wasn't a threat exactly—but it felt like one.
She closed her eyes, every nerve on edge. She hated being backed into a corner, but the truth was undeniable. She did need this. The paycheck alone could save her from drowning in overdue bills.
Still, she tried to sound steady. "Fine. I'll take it. But let's get one thing clear—just because you're my boss doesn't mean you get to control me outside of work."
Another pause. Then his reply came, quiet but laced with something she couldn't name. "We'll see."
The line went dead.
By Monday morning, Aria was a bundle of nerves wrapped in determination.
She'd chosen her sharpest outfit—a fitted navy pencil skirt and cream blouse—and pulled her hair into a sleek bun, determined to look the part of a woman who couldn't be rattled.
As the elevator carried her to the top floor, she repeated Sophie's advice in her head like a mantra: Stay professional. Keep your guard up. Don't let him get under your skin.
The doors opened, and she stepped into the lion's den.
Damian's office was as intimidating as the man himself—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a desk big enough to seat three people, and shelves lined with leather-bound books. He stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, radiating authority even in silence.
When his eyes flicked to her, something sharp and unreadable passed through them. He ended the call, then turned fully, his gaze lingering as though assessing every inch of her.
"You're punctual," he said.
"I plan to stay that way," Aria replied evenly.
He gestured toward a smaller desk positioned just outside his office. "That's yours. For now."
For now. The words carried weight, though she couldn't decide if it was a promise or a warning.
The first day was brutal.
Damian barked orders with military precision, tossing files onto her desk, demanding information at lightning speed. Aria worked twice as hard to keep up, refusing to let him see her falter.
When he dictated emails, his voice was so close she could feel his breath brush her cheek. When he leaned over her shoulder to scan her screen, his cologne—dark, woodsy, intoxicating—sent her pulse racing against her will.
By lunchtime, she hated herself for noticing.
"You've done better than I expected," Damian said at one point, glancing up from his computer.
Aria arched a brow. "Is that your version of a compliment?"
His lips curved faintly. "Don't get used to it."
She muttered under her breath, "Wouldn't dream of it."
But his smirk told her he'd heard.
By late evening, most of the office had cleared out, but Damian showed no signs of stopping.
Aria rubbed her tired eyes, gathering her things. "I should head out."
"Sit," Damian ordered without looking up.
Her jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"
He finally lifted his gaze, cool and unyielding. "We're not finished."
"I've been here twelve hours."
"You'll survive," he said, as though it were obvious.
Her temper flared. "I signed up to be your assistant, not your prisoner."
For a moment, something dangerous flickered in his eyes. Then, to her surprise, his expression softened. Just slightly.
"Tell me, Miss Lane," he said slowly, "why did you really take this job?"
The question caught her off guard. "Because I needed it."
"No," he said, his voice low and certain. "You could have gone anywhere. But you came here. To me."
Her breath hitched. "Don't flatter yourself. This is just a job."
Damian leaned forward, his gaze locking onto hers with unnerving intensity. "You and I both know it's not just anything."
The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken tension. For one dizzying second, Aria thought he might cross the distance between them.
But then he leaned back, dismissing her with a flick of his hand. "Go. Rest. Tomorrow will be harder."
Aria grabbed her bag, her pulse still racing as she stormed out.
Later, alone in her small apartment, she collapsed onto the couch, pressing her hands over her face.
Damian Blackwood was infuriating. Controlling. Impossible.
And yet, for reasons she couldn't explain, she couldn't stop thinking about him.
His voice. His gaze. The dangerous pull she felt whenever he was near.
She hated it. She hated him.
So why did part of her look forward to tomorrow?
Back in his penthouse, Damian poured himself a drink, his mind replaying every moment of their day.
Aria Lane was fire wrapped in silk—stubborn, fierce, and utterly captivating.
He should've kept his distance. She was an employee now. Off-limits.
But as he stared into the night cityscape, Damian knew one thing for certain.
He had no intention of keeping his distance.
Not when she had already become the one thing he couldn't resist.