TRICIA

“Melody, remember what I told you,” I crouched down, smoothing her curly hair back. She looked at me with her big brown eyes, blinking innocently.

“Be a good girl. No opening the door for strangers. Stay with Mrs. Lopez until I come back.”

Melody nodded with exaggerated seriousness and hugged her teddy bear. “Yes, Mommy. Good luck!”

Her tiny words filled my chest with both strength and guilt. I kissed her forehead and straightened, thanking Mrs. Lopez again before rushing down the old apartment stairs. My heart raced faster with every step. This was not just an interview. This was Blackwell Group.

By the time I reached the skyscraper, my palms were sweaty. The building was intimidating—glass shining under the sun, stretching so high it felt like it could scrape heaven. People in sharp suits brushed past me like I was invisible, all moving with purpose.

At the reception, I gave my name. The lady behind the desk smiled politely and handed me a visitor’s badge. “Someone will escort you to the 15th floor. Please wait here.”

My legs bounced nervously as I sat down, clutching my resume folder like it was my lifeline. You can do this, Tricia. Think of Melody. Think of rent. Think of food.

Minutes later, I was led into a large office room where several candidates sat waiting. The atmosphere was tense. Some looked confident, others terrified. I tried to steady my breathing when suddenly, two employees burst through the glass doors, whispering heatedly.

“I told you, if we don’t find a way to present those quarterly numbers differently, the investors will pull out!” one of them hissed.

The other sighed, rubbing his temples. “We can’t fake data. We just need someone who can analyze and present it properly.”

The words slipped out of me before I could stop them. “Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt, but… have you tried filtering the data set by client regions instead of lumping everything together? That way, you can highlight the strong-performing branches to balance the weaker ones.”

The room went silent. Every head turned to look at me. My cheeks burned, but I forced myself to go on. “It’s not lying, it’s… reframing. It gives a clearer picture without scaring investors.”

The first man blinked at me, surprised. “Who are you?”

“Tricia Alvarez,” I said quietly, clutching my folder tighter. “One of the interview candidates.”

He exchanged a glance with his colleague, then whispered something before leaving the room. My stomach sank. Maybe I spoke too much. Maybe I ruined everything.

But ten minutes later, the same man returned with a stiff smile. “Miss Tricia, come with me. The CEO would like to see you.”

The CEO. Damon Blackwell.

I swallowed hard as I followed him through endless halls and up another elevator. My heart beat like a drum against my ribs. Everyone knew Damon. America’s most ruthless CEO. Smart, cold, untouchable. Men envied him, women dreamed of him, but he was always out of reach.

When I entered his office, the first thing I noticed was how big it was. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a desk the size of my whole apartment, and bookshelves lined with leather-bound files. But none of that mattered because sitting behind the desk was him.

Damon Blackwell.

He didn’t even look up when they introduced me. He sat there in his navy suit, broad shoulders filling the chair, dark hair perfectly styled, eyes fixed on a file in his hand. His jaw was sharp, his movements precise, and the aura around him was… cold. So cold I felt my skin prickle.

“Sir, this is the Miss Tricia,” the man announced.

“Mm,” Damon muttered without sparing me a glance. “She’ll be the assistant.”

Just like that. No questions. No interview.

The others left, and suddenly it was just the two of us. Silence stretched in the air until he finally stood, towering over me like a giant. Without a word, he picked up a thick pile of documents from his desk and pushed them towards me.

“Go through these,” he said curtly. His voice was deep, commanding. “Send me the necessary details by email before five. Your office is outside, to the left.”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, struggling to carry the papers.

He didn’t reply, didn’t even glance at me again. He just continued typing as if I were invisible.

I slipped out quietly, my cheeks flushed. My first thought was not about the documents. It was about him. Damon Blackwell was even more intimidating in person. His shoulders looked carved out of stone. His presence filled the room like a storm cloud. And God help me, I almost drooled when he leaned forward.

Shaking my head, I hurried to my new desk and got to work. It didn’t take me long to organize the files and pull out the needed details. Years of late nights in the library had prepared me for this. By four, I hit “send” and exhaled in relief.

At lunch, I decided to sneak out quickly for something cheap, but before I could grab my bag, Damon appeared at my doorway.

“Get ready,” he said flatly. “You’re coming with me to a meeting.”

I blinked, confused. “A meeting? But I thought—”

“Now.”

The rudeness stung. My lips twitched before I muttered under my breath, “Would it kill to be nice even for once. A little please won’t hurt.”

I froze when his footsteps stopped. Slowly, Damon turned back, his dark eyes narrowing. Before I could move, he stepped closer, pressing me against the wall. His body towered over mine, his scent sharp and clean, his gaze locked on me. This man was definitely a full feet taller than me, and I was wearing heels!

My breath hitched. My pulse went wild.

He leaned close, his voice low and chilling. “Please… shortcake.”

The word rolled off his tongue like ice and fire at once.

Then he stepped back and walked out of the office without another word, leaving me plastered against the wall, stunned.

I stayed frozen for a good ten seconds, my heart pounding like I had just run a marathon. My palms were sweaty, my cheeks burning. Did he just—?

Snapping out of it, I grabbed my bag and hurried after him, trying to shake the scene from my head.

The ride in his sleek black car was silent. He sat beside me like a statue, eyes fixed on his tablet. I kept stealing glances at him, remembering the heat in his eyes when he had called me shortcake. The silence was suffocating.

By the time we arrived at the other company, my nerves were frayed. A man in an expensive suit greeted us at the reception with a wide grin. His eyes, however, slid to me in a way that made my skin crawl.

“Well, well. Damon Blackwell finally brought company,” the man drawled, smirking. His gaze raked over me slowly, shamelessly. “Pretty assistant you’ve got there. How much does she cost for the night?”

My cheeks flamed with humiliation. My fists clenched, ready to defend myself, but before I could open my mouth, Damon stepped forward.

His voice was sharp, cutting through the air. “Careful. For someone whose company is about to go under, a woman's worth should be the least of you worries. And unlike you, she’s priceless.”

The entire room went silent. The man’s grin faltered, his face reddened. Even I, stood frozen, my mouth falling open. Damon’s words had sliced through the insult like a blade, leaving everyone stunned.

He had defended me.

No one ever had before.

For the first time since meeting him, I saw something behind that cold mask—a flicker of fire that made my chest tighten.