The elevator doors whispered shut behind her, sealing off a world she didn't belong in. Arielle Hayes clutched her small purse tightly, feeling the weight of every pair of polished shoes that passed her. She didn't belong on the top floor—she knew that. Yet here she was, summoned not by mistake, but by him.
Damien Cross.
The man who signed her mother's paycheck, who had never so much as glanced at her the handful of times they'd crossed paths before. Now, suddenly, he was offering her water from crystal glasses, asking questions he had no business asking, and watching her like she was a puzzle only he could solve.
Arielle sat on the edge of the chair in his office, spine straight, hands folded in her lap. The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him stretched over half the city, but all she could focus on was him. His suit alone probably cost more than her family's monthly rent.
"So," he said, steepling his fingers. "You dropped out of college last year. Why?"
Her breath caught. "I didn't know this was an interview."
"It's not," he said coolly. "I'm just curious. You intrigue me."
And there it was. That subtle press of power. He could dig through her background without permission, ask personal questions with no consequence. His curiosity wasn't innocent—it came wrapped in authority, the kind she had no real way of pushing back against.
"I needed to work," she replied, keeping her tone even. "Tuition didn't pay itself."
His gaze flicked to her, sharp and unreadable. "Your mother never mentioned that."
"She wouldn't. She likes to keep her pride."
"I admire that," he said, but something about his tone suggested he liked knowing more than others. Liked having control.
There was a pause. Long enough for tension to bloom between them.
"I'm offering you an internship," he said, suddenly.
"What?" Her voice cracked.
"Marketing. One floor down. You'll be reporting directly to someone else, of course." A pause. "But I'll be watching your progress."
Of course he would.
Arielle felt the invisible strings tighten around her. She wanted to say yes. The opportunity was life-changing. But beneath the generous offer was a quiet hum of imbalance. He could lift her up—or crush her with the same hand.
And he knew it.
"I'll think about it," she said quietly, rising from her chair.
His smile was small, amused. "Do that. But don't take too long."
As she stepped out of his office, her heart pounded—not just from the offer, but from what came with it. Power wasn't just held. It was felt. And in that room, Damien Cross held all of it.