Chapter 2 – First Impressions Don’t Count… Or Do They?

I woke up the next morning feeling like a zombie with stilettos. My limbs ached, my brain was fried, and yet… somehow, I was excited. Game face, Catty. Two months. Two months to survive and win.

After a quick breakfast, I double-checked my reflection in the mirror. Hair—semi-perfect. Blazer—straight. Smile—plastered on like wallpaper. I’m ready.

The moment I stepped into the elevator, I tried not to think about him. But the thought slithered in anyway. Golden eyes. Perfect hair. Terrifying aura. I groaned. Why did Katty make him sound so… normal in her notes? He was not normal. He was a human icicle with legs.

The elevator doors opened, and my stomach did that weird flip again. There he was. Same desk, same intimidating posture. Same piercing gaze. Same perfect hair.

“Good morning, Katty,” he said, not even looking up.

I forced the smile again. “Good morning, sir.”

He finally looked at me. Just for a second. Then he arched an eyebrow. That one eyebrow raised? Oh no. That’s not good.

“Sit,” he said. Like a king dismissing a subject.

I sat. My legs felt like jelly, my palms sweatier than a marathon runner’s. I tried to act calm. Calm, Catty. Calm like your sister. Professional. Perfect.

Then came the first task of the day: helping him prepare for a meeting. I nodded, trying to remember Katty’s “secret system” of color-coded folders. My brain short-circuited. Red folder? Blue folder? Was the red folder urgent? Or was the urgent folder green? I panicked silently. Why didn’t I just stick to cake and naps like a normal person?

I picked up the wrong folder and handed it to him.

He looked at it, then at me. The stare. The golden-eyed death stare.

“This isn’t it,” he said flatly.

“Yes… sir,” I mumbled. I am already failing.

He sighed. And that’s when I noticed it: a tiny crease in his forehead, a hint of… annoyance? Frustration? Something human. My heart thumped weirdly. No, Catty. Don’t notice that. Don’t…

I fumbled with another folder, trying to act like I knew what I was doing. Of course, I knocked over a pen cup. Pens scattered across his desk like little soldiers fleeing battle.

He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He just… looked at me. And my knees almost buckled.

“You’re messy,” he said simply.

“Yes… sir,” I said again, chewing the inside of my cheek. I wasn’t sure if this was punishment or feedback, but either way, I was dying inside.

I spent the next hour frantically trying to make up for my disasters: color-coding folders, memorizing meeting schedules, trying to figure out what Katty would do. My brain felt like spaghetti. My hands felt like lead. And my pride… well, that had been obliterated by the pen incident.

Then the call came. A client meeting. He glanced at me. “You’re assisting me. Don’t embarrass me.”

I nodded so hard I worried my head would snap off.

“Take notes,” he added, his tone sharp.

I grabbed a notebook and pen, prepared to write down everything. But of course, I got one thing wrong: I missheard the client’s name and wrote “Mr. Johnson” instead of “Mr. Johnston.”

He caught it immediately. And I swear I saw a twitch in his eyebrow—the funny twitch that says he’s annoyed but secretly impressed you care enough to write it down.

I died a little inside.

The meeting started. He spoke first, confident, smooth, commanding the room. Everyone listened. And there I was, scribbling notes like a terrified schoolgirl.

Then he glanced at me once. And I felt it. That sharp-eyed scan that made my stomach do a flip and my cheeks burn.

Okay, Catty. Keep it together.

Halfway through the meeting, I accidentally leaned too close to grab a pen. My elbow hit his arm.

“Careful,” he said, dry, controlled, but… his gaze lingered longer than it should have.

I wanted to melt into the floor. But instead, I nodded, trying not to faint.

After the meeting, he gave me a stack of additional files. “Organize these. Prioritize correctly.”

I nodded. Prioritize. Correctly. Got it. I opened the first folder. Confusion swirled in my brain. What was “correct” according to Katty? According to him? According to sanity?

I made my decision and started organizing. Halfway through, he appeared behind me. I froze.

“You’re… ambitious,” he said. That one word made my chest thump. Ambitious? That’s… good, right?

I gave a small, nervous smile. “Trying my best, sir.”

He tilted his head slightly, then walked away. My legs wobbled. I think he… just noticed me. Did I just get a tiny point?

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of papers, emails, coffee spills (not mine this time—thankfully), and stolen glances. I was exhausted, humiliated, but… alive. And, dare I admit it, a tiny spark of something dangerous—excitement—tingled in my chest.

By the time I left the office, my head was spinning. I sent a quick text to Katty:

Day two. Alive. Barely. He’s… different from what you said.

Her reply came instantly:

Of course he’s different. That’s why it’s fun. Don’t screw it up.

I groaned, but I couldn’t help smiling. Two months. Pretending. Winning. Surviving. And maybe… just maybe… surviving wasn’t the only thing I would do.

Because if I was honest… he was harder to hate than I expected.

And that scared me more than anything else.