~Emily Pov~

The door let out its familiar screech of welcome as I shoved through the glass door into my modest office.

The drone of our sole air conditioning unit, working on the next room over, hardly masked the constant hubbub welling up from that general direction.

"Morning, boss!" chimed my secretary, Sarah, brightly from behind her desk.

Our junior designer, Jake, waved with a grin from his seat behind her.

I nodded to them curtly, trying and failing to fake even a pale facsimile of a smile. "Morning."

Their cheer was a grating note against the dull hum of my mood and just made me that much more unpleasant. I walked straight across to my office and shut the door quietly behind me.

I leaned back in my chair and let out a long sigh, finally allowing the tension of last night to seep deep into my bones. My desk was a mess with blueprints, sketches, contracts, and evidence of the daily battle I fought to keep this little company running.

I gazed back down at the scattered designs before me, clean lines and small details running into each other, as frustrations began to roil inside my chest. Why does it always have to be so very difficult?

I leaned back, my eyes going up to the ceiling as I ran in my head all of those steps leading up to this one. Late nights under dimmed lights with countless sketchbooks piled high, one on top of the other; emails from rejections so numerous some broke me; projects I could just keep up with while clients grudgingly trusted me due to my status as "too new" or "too small.".

Building Ross Designs had been uphill from day one. Now, just when I thought things were finally starting to go my way, it all threatened to slip through my fingers.

Last night was my chance, or so I thought. The gala was the opportunity to rub shoulders with the city elite, to show my designs to the kind of clients who could propel my struggling firm into something real.

I'd walked out with nothing but sore feet and the lingering memory of him.

The nerve of that man, to drag me into the shadows and treat me like some kind of criminal! His smirking face, the way he carried himself as though he had all the answers, just dealing with some annoyance, brought a clenching of hands into fists at the memory of his stupid and arrogant face.

I let out a frustrated groan, leaning forward to plant my head in my hands. Come on, Emily. You've dealt with worse.

Just then came a light rap on the door. "What?" I growled. It was much harsher than I'd intended for it to sound.

The door swung open and Sarah hovered in the entrance, face alight with excitement. Her eyes sparkled as she virtually bounced into the room, clenching an office phone.

"You're not going to believe this," she said, her voice hard put containing its glee.

“What?” I asked, exhaustion dulling my curiosity.

She held the phone out with a flourish. "It's a call, work-related and it's huge."

I sat up straight in my seat, my heart doing a little hopeful jump. "Who is it?"

"They said they're from Blaze Enterprises," Sarah repeated, practically quivering with excitement. "Blaze! Can you believe it?"

The name shot through me like an electric shock, Blaze Enterprises.

Every businessperson around town knew who those guys were. Not big but huge—the kind of companies that could make or break other firms with a single project. Their luxury developments were things of legend, setting skylines and trends in designs for years to come.

I took the phone from Sarah's hands and brought it to my ear with trembling fingers. "Hello?"

"Miss Ross," said a smooth professional voice on the other end, "this is Grace Marshall calling from Blaze Enterprises.

We've gone over some of your designs, and we feel that you may prove to be precisely the right individual for an upcoming project we're planning.

Would you be willing to come down for an interview tomorrow at 10 A.M.? Could we expect to see you there?"

My heart stopped. Did I just hear that right? Blaze Enterprises was calling me?

"Huh? Yeah," I stuttered, holding the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. "Yeah, I can be there."

"Great," the voice said. "We'll see you tomorrow. The address has been sent to your assistant's email."

The line dropped and I stood in stunned silence for a moment, staring at the phone.

"Well?" Sarah demanded, practically bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

"They… they want me to come in tomorrow," I said, barely above a whisper.

Sarah let out a high-pitched yell and flung her arms around me. “Boss, this is huge! You know how many people would kill for this opportunity?"

"Yeah," I muttered, still trying to wrap my head around what just went down.

It felt too good to be true. I’d heard stories about Blaze Enterprises. their ruthlessness, their unrelenting pursuit of perfection. Some even whispered about shady dealings behind the scenes, though no one dared say it too loudly.

But those were just rumors, right?

Doubt crept in, mingling with the flicker of hope that had lit in my chest. What if it was a scam? Or some elaborate prank? People like me didn't get calls from companies like Blaze.

But I couldn't let the possibility go. If this was real, it was the break I'd been praying for.

"I have to get ready," I said, more to myself than to Sarah.

"Yes, you do!" she said, already fussing over my office. "Oh, we have to make sure everything's just so. Your portfolio, your suit—"

I couldn't help but get caught up by her enthusiasm, and felt myself being pulled out of misgivings and into motion.

I didn't sleep that night. Nerves have a way of twisting together, like a knot in your stomach, as you lay out your best possible outfit—thought to be, at least a tailored navy blue blazer and matching skirt.

I checked, then double-checked, my portfolio, making sure that each design was correctly aligned.

By morning, I was running on little more than adrenaline and coffee.

I smoothed my blazer for what felt like the hundredth time as I parked my tiny hatchback in the lot outside Blaze's gleaming headquarters. The building rose above the city with an air of quiet authority, a masterpiece of glass and steel.

I stepped inside, my heels clickety-clacking off the marble floors, while clutching my portfolio like a life ring.

Like the outside, this lobby was intimidating: high ceilings, sleek furniture, and something in the air that just gave the general feeling of being swallowed whole by efficiency.

"Good morning," she said, smiling, as she set some papers on a desk beside me. "You must be Miss Ross. Go up the elevators to the twelfth floor, and then the meeting room is on the right-hand side of it."

My stomach churned as I stepped off the entranceway into the open elevator, just as each of the floor indications—each little "ding" that followed took their seat in my tummy as I counted to wherever I was waiting on top.

I stumbled as I arrived at the meeting room, smoothing my skirt for what felt like the final time before knocking.

"Come in," a low voice bellowed from the other side.

I shoved the door open, and my breath stuttered as my eyes locked with the man sitting behind the desk.

It was him.

The pompous, obnoxious man from the gala, the one who'd kissed me in the dark and left me seething with rage.

"You!" I screamed, and my voice echoed off the walls. "What are you doing here?!"

The smirk that spread over his face was infuriating. I didn't know him but—

Just like that, whatever shred of hope I'd garnered was thrown into the river.