Kayna’s POV

I woke before my alarm.

For a moment, I forgot where I was—the pale ceiling above me wasn’t the one I’d stared at in my cramped apartment for the last three years. The air smelled faintly of clean linen and fresh coffee drifting from somewhere below. Then it hit me.

Day two at Marshall & Co.

I pushed myself upright, my mind immediately flicking back to yesterday—the blur of onboarding, the carefully worded conversations with Damian Marshall, and the phone call.

That phone call.

A chill tried to creep into my chest, but I shoved it away. I didn’t have the luxury of letting fear dictate my day. If someone wanted to rattle me, they’d have to try harder than vague threats whispered over a bad connection.

I dressed quickly, choosing a fitted navy pencil skirt and cream blouse. Professional, but not the kind of “professional” that tried too hard. Damian Marshall struck me as the type who noticed when someone was pretending to be something they weren’t.

When I stepped into the office, the atmosphere was different. Not tense—more… humming. People were already in motion, phones pressed to ears, printers spitting out contracts, the low murmur of negotiations spilling from the glass-walled conference rooms.

And then there was him.

Damian stood at the far end of the hallway, his back to me, speaking to a man in a sharp charcoal suit. His stance was all control—hands in pockets, shoulders straight, head slightly inclined as he listened. Even without seeing his face, he exuded a kind of gravitational pull that made it hard to look anywhere else.

The man left, and Damian’s gaze flicked up. For one heartbeat, our eyes locked. His expression didn’t change, but there was an almost unexplainable pause—like he was taking in the fact that I was here, on time, ready.

“Ms. Scott,” he greeted as I passed.

“Good morning, Mr. Marshall.”

My voice sounded steady enough. My pulse, however, didn’t get the memo.

⸻

By mid-morning, I’d already organized his schedule down to the minute, flagged overlapping commitments, and cleared the last of the outdated files. The work was intense but strangely satisfying—it was like fitting together pieces of a puzzle that no one else had been able to make sense of.

Still, I couldn’t shake the awareness of his presence. He didn’t hover, but every time he walked past my desk, there was this subtle shift in the air. I could feel his gaze assessing, calculating, the way he might evaluate a potential investment.

And then there were the moments when I caught myself watching him too.

The way he rolled up his shirt sleeves during a call, revealing strong forearms dusted with dark hair. The way his jaw tightened when someone on the other end said something he didn’t like. The way he leaned back in his chair to think, eyes narrowing slightly, as though the rest of the world had fallen away.

It was dangerously distracting.

Just before lunch, he stepped out of his office.

“Ms. Scott.”

I looked up instantly. “Yes?”

“I need you in the Cosmo prep meeting. Bring your notes.”

I followed him into the conference room, where half a dozen department heads were already seated. Damian didn’t introduce me—he didn’t have to. The moment I entered at his side, every pair of eyes shifted to me, curious and appraising.

He took the head seat; I sat to his right. The meeting launched into rapid-fire figures and projections. My pen flew over my notepad, keeping pace with the volley of information.

Twice, I felt Damian’s gaze flick toward me—quick, subtle. Checking, maybe, to see if I could keep up.

By the time the meeting ended, my notes were meticulous, color-coded, and cross-referenced with tomorrow’s schedule.

We walked out together, the door clicking shut behind us.

“You kept up.” he said without looking at me.

I arched a brow. “Wasn’t that the job description?”

His mouth almost curved—almost—but then he stepped away into his office.

I couldn’t decide if I’d just passed a test or stumbled into the next one.

⸻

The rest of the day blurred. I barely had time to breathe between arranging travel details, finalizing meeting summaries, and forwarding urgent emails. But every so often, that unease from yesterday’s call surfaced, tugging at the edges of my concentration.

I told myself it was nothing.

It had to be nothing.

At about five-fifteen, Damian appeared at my desk again. “You’re staying late?”

“I’m finishing the Dubai report you asked for.”

He studied me for a moment, then gave a short nod. “Don’t make a habit of it. Your burnout doesn’t help me.”

The words might have sounded cold from anyone else, but from him, they carried something almost like concern. Not quite soft but not sharp, either.

By the time I finally shut down my computer, the office was nearly empty. The city outside glowed with early evening light, the streets buzzing with life.

As I stepped into the elevator, I couldn’t help glancing back toward his office.

The door was still open, light spilling out, and Damian was there—leaning back in his chair, one hand resting against his chin, staring out at the skyline.

For some reason, I had the sense he was thinking about something—or someone—he wouldn’t share with anyone else.

And for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely… I wanted to know what it was.