Kayna’s POV

The moment I stepped into the executive conference room, I understood one thing:

I was definitely in over my head.

Twelve people sat around the sleek obsidian board room office table, all dressed in different expensive and exquisite shades of navy and black attires, their eyes sharp and impatient. A massive LED screen displayed spreadsheets and figures I hadn’t been briefed on. A man in a blue tie barely glanced at me as I walked in behind Damian.

“This is my new temp assistant, Kayna Scott,” Damian said without fanfare, taking his seat at the head of the table.

No “welcome aboard.” No introduction to the team. Just my name, dropped like a pin into a shark tank.

“Shall we?” Damian continued, already flipping open a binder.

I took the empty seat beside him, ignoring the judgmental glances being thrown my way. A few of the executives exchanged smirks—probably betting how long I’d last. Two days? Three?

Fine. Let them.

I clutched the company-issued tablet that had been handed to me ten minutes ago and quickly scrolled through the open documents. Profit breakdowns. Compliance reports. Anomalies in inventory orders.

Half the terms went over my head, but I’d survived college calculus with a broken laptop and caffeine-induced insomnia. I could survive this.

“Ms. Scott,” Damian said suddenly, “can you summarize the shipping discrepancy in document. You can find the details for Division 3 in the file.”

Every head turned toward me.

I froze—but only for a beat. My fingers flew over the tablet quickly, scanning charts, notes, cross-referenced times and figures.

I took a deep breath and tried to center myself before I jumbled my thoughts. I needed this job and couldn’t afford to mess this up.

“Division 3’s reported inventory from the Newark warehouse doesn’t match the supplier’s delivery log. The official report says the shipment arrived on the 12th, but the log shows it was delivered on the 16th, which is four days later.”

A short silence.

Then Damian nodded once but still kept a very blank and unreadable expression. “Correct. And what does that suggest?”

I hesitated. “Either a clerical error… or someone’s adjusting timestamps.”

Murmurs rippled around the table.

A man across from me wearing a blue-tie leaned forward, unimpressed. “You’re suggesting foul play on your first day?”

“No,” I said carefully. “I’m suggesting we shouldn’t assume the mistake is innocent.”

Damian didn’t smile, but something in his expression shifted. Approval? Maybe. Or maybe I imagined it.

“Continue the audit,” he instructed his team. “Cross-check supplier communications. I want answers by morning.”

“Yes, sir,” someone said, already scribbling notes.

The meeting pushed forward. I typed faster than I ever had in my life, taking notes, catching key terms, linking figures in my head. No one offered to slow down. No one explained anything.

And Damian? He never looked at me again—not once. But he didn’t correct me, either.

That felt like its own kind of win.

About forty-five minutes later, the meeting ended. People filed out with murmured words and tight smiles, none directed at me. I was barely even acknowledged.

I stood and quietly gathered the tablet and binders, unsure where to go next.

“Ms. Scott,” Damian said as he shut his laptop, “walk with me.”

I followed him back down the long corridor in silence. His strides were long and smooth, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze straight ahead.

“Why didn’t you lie?” he asked suddenly.

I blinked. “When?”

“When I said you were underqualified.”

“I figured it was a test.”

“It was.”

“And I figured you didn’t need another sycophant.”

His mouth twitched—just slightly. “You figured correctly.”

We reached his office. He pushed open the door, then turned to face me fully.

“You handled yourself better than expected.”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t say it was a compliment.”

My lips curved. “I’m choosing to take it as one.”

That earned me a long, unreadable look. “You’re different.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I haven’t decided.”

He turned away and sat behind his desk. The sunlight cast sharp shadows across his jawline, making him look like something carved from glass and war.

I stood awkwardly for a moment. “Should I… return to the front desk?”

“You’ll be seated outside this office from now on,” he said. “Ava will have your workstation set up.”

“Okay.”

“And Kayna,” he added, pausing briefly on my name for the first time, “you did well in there. But don’t mistake surviving your first hour for success.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He nodded toward the door. “Go get set up.”

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me again.

“And Ms. Scott?”

“Yes?”

He looked up, eyes unreadable.

“Don’t lie to me. Not ever.”

My spine straightened. “I won’t.”

I closed the door behind me.

And then I exhaled.

⸻

The desk outside Damian’s office was sleek, impersonal, and surprisingly empty. Ava handed me a company ID badge, a schedule template, and a stack of onboarding documents.

“Congratulations,” she said, though her voice lacked any warmth. “No one’s lasted longer than a week with him in the past six months.” She said slyly.

“I’ll try not to break the streak.” I replied with the same amount of sarcasm.

She gave me a dry look. “He works sixteen-hour days. He doesn’t take lunch. He hates noise. He expects absolute punctuality, including before-hours meetings. You’ll be screening personal calls and emails, scheduling meetings with people who think they’re more important than God, and somehow maintaining a calm tone through all of it.”

“Noted.”

“Oh, and—” she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “Don’t flirt with him.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I’m not saying you would,” she added, “but you’d be surprised how many women assume sleeping with Damian Marshall is a career move.”

“That’s not—no. I wouldn’t. Ever.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Good. Because once he gets bored, he doesn’t just cut you off—he erases you.”

Charming.

I walked to the HR’s office and signed the last of the forms before handing the folder back to the HR manager with a polite smile, ignoring how clammy my palms felt. She looked over the papers, nodded, and gave me a rehearsed smile.

“Welcome officially to Marshall & Co, Miss Scott.”

“Thank you.” I stood and tucked my chair in, fingers gripping the strap of my bag like it was armor.

As I exited the HR department and stepped into the gleaming corridor of the executive floor, the silence struck me again. Everything here felt… sharp. Clean. Watchful. Like nothing went unnoticed, and no one could hide.

Back at my desk, I slipped into the chair and powered up my computer to start cataloging Damian Marshall’s schedule for the week. The sheer volume of meetings was overwhelming, but my fingers worked fast, grateful for the distraction. Anything to keep my mind off his eyes—those unreadable, piercing blue eyes—and the way he watched me like he could see through me.

My inbox already had twenty-seven emails flagged as urgent. The first was from someone named Julian Cross, with the subject line: Update: security detail adjustment.

Security?

Before I could open it, my phone buzzed.

Not the office line.

My personal phone.

I blinked, fishing it out. No caller ID. My brows furrowed.

Odd.

I hesitated, thumb hovering over the green button. Against my better judgment, I answered.

“Hello?”

There was a flicker of static. Then a voice, low and unbothered, filtered through.

“Nice place you’ve joined.”

I froze. “I’m sorry… who is this?”

The voice laughed softly. Not amused—entertained.

“You’ve only just started, and already you’re in deeper than you realize.”

Something in his tone sent a shiver down my back. It wasn’t threatening—not directly—but it was unsettling, like I was being warned in a language I didn’t yet understand.

“Who are you?” I asked again, sharper this time.

A pause. Then:

“Just someone who knows things don’t always stay buried at Marshall & Co.”

Click.

Silence.

I stared at the screen. Call ended. No number. No trace.

My stomach twisted with unease. It could’ve been a prank. A wrong number. Some bitter ex-employee trying to rattle the new girl. But still…

“Things don’t always stay buried.”

I looked up instinctively, scanning the hallway beyond the glass. No one. Just muted reflections of the city skyline behind me.

I swallowed hard and locked my phone. Don’t overthink it, Kayna. You just got here. You don’t need drama, especially the anonymous kind.

Still, the words clung to me like static as the line went dead.