Lila Monroe had survived exactly one day at her new job without being fired, possessed, or publicly outed as a ghost whisperer. That, in her book, was a win.
She arrived at the office the next morning clutching her iced coffee like a shield and repeating her revised mantra in her head: "Don't talk to ghosts at the workplace. Especially not in front of emotionally constipated CEOs."
The elevator dinged open on the third floor, revealing the same gleaming lobby of Sterling & Co. The walls were lined with minimalist art that probably cost more than her college education. Everything smelled like lemon cleaner and capitalism.
As she stepped in, a familiar chill skimmed her arm.
"Morning, sunshine," came the unmistakable voice of Mr. Hawkins—the overly chatty ghost of a former accounts manager who insisted on haunting the third floor.
Lila clenched her jaw and smiled tightly without making eye contact. "Can't talk. Ghosts are on silent mode right now."
"Oh, so now we're ignoring each other?" he scoffed, floating beside her like a smug, translucent balloon. "Lila dear, you'll regret this when I vanish without giving you that stock tip."
"I'm investing in staying employed," she muttered under her breath, brushing past him like she didn't just walk through an exasperated spirit.
She speed-walked to her desk outside Victor Sterling's office and focused on organizing his schedule. Again. This time, with the discipline of a caffeine-fueled monk.
But even while she typed furiously and filed things that were already filed, she could feel it—the weight of a stare. Every few minutes, the subtle prickle on the back of her neck returned.
Victor Sterling was watching her. Again.
Cold. Calculated. Suspicious.
Victor had learned two things in life: efficiency was king, and unpredictability was a liability.
His new secretary? Entirely unpredictable.
Yesterday, she'd mumbled to herself, flinched at empty air, and rearranged files she had no reason to touch. Today, she had whispered something to the coat rack. The coat rack.
He narrowed his eyes behind his sleek glasses. She wasn't incompetent—if anything, she was surprisingly organized. But something was… off.
Maybe she's just quirky, he reasoned. Or maybe she's one of those chaos-driven creatives Andrea warned me about.
At 10:07 AM, the printer in the corner began spewing paper like it was possessed by a vengeful spirit—or an underpaid intern with a grudge.
Lila bolted up. "No, no, no—not again!" she hissed, rushing over in a panic and slapping the machine like it owed her rent.
"Please stop. You're embarrassing me," she whispered furiously to a particularly blank-looking sheet as she yanked it free.
To Victor—watching this entire episode unfold through the glass wall—she was now not only odd, but apparently capable of negotiating with hardware.
He stepped out of his office.
"Is the printer… talking back?" he asked dryly, one brow raised in mild disbelief.
Lila froze mid-paper yank. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.
"Uh. Just… jammed. You know how these things get. Mechanical poltergeist. I mean! Error. Mechanical error."
A beat of silence stretched long and tense. Victor's expression was unreadable—stone-faced with just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"Right," he said, then turned and walked away.
She stood there, crumpled paper in hand, feeling like a sitcom character who'd just tanked a live audition.
But out of nowhere, Mr. Hawkins floated past her desk and patted her airily on the shoulder. "You're doing great, kid."
"I hate everything," she muttered.
Later that day, Lila snuck up to the break room, hoping for five ghost-free minutes. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and the coffee machine sputtered out something that vaguely resembled espresso. She took a sip. It tasted like betrayal.
Instead of peace, she met Andrea—a stylish, sharp-eyed woman with perfectly winged eyeliner and the air of someone who always got early access to concert tickets.
"You must be the new secretary," Andrea said, barely glancing up from her phone. "Lila, right? I'm Victor's executive coordinator. And ex-secretary."
Lila straightened her spine. "Nice to meet you."
Andrea gave her a once-over, eyes sweeping from her coffee-stained sleeve to her mildly haunted expression. "You're… brave. Most people don't last long around him."
"Oh, I've survived worse," Lila said before catching herself. Like angry librarians. And haunted bathrooms. And my Aunt Patty's possessed cat.
Andrea smirked. "Is that so?"
Before Lila could answer, the overhead lights flickered once. Then twice. A cold wind slithered through the hallway like a ghostly draft.
Andrea looked up, frowning. "Do you feel that?"
Lila burst into laughter—too loud, too high-pitched, and absolutely not normal. "Haha! Just old wiring, right? Definitely not ghostly. I mean… drafty. Drafty old buildings!"
Andrea blinked.
Lila was toast.
Back at her desk, she tried to play it cool. She alphabetized file folders that didn't need alphabetizing. She adjusted the stapler like it was a crucial Feng Shui piece. She wrote "Remember to act normal" in her planner three times.
Evening rolled in like a slow wave of exhaustion. She was gathering up files when she felt it—that sharp prickle again.
She glanced up.
Victor was staring.
This time, he didn't pretend otherwise. He was leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on a folder, eyes locked on her like she was an equation he couldn't quite solve.
"You handle... unusual office malfunctions… quite gracefully," he said finally, voice neutral but low.
Lila blinked. Did he just compliment me or try to accuse me? Both?
She smiled lightly. "Just trying not to add 'broken printer' to my list of first-week disasters."
Victor's eyes lingered a moment longer, then he nodded once and returned to his papers.
As she turned to leave, she caught it.
Behind Victor—just over his shoulder—a tiny paper crane hovered mid-air. Suspended like it had a full-time job as a supernatural interior decoration. It didn't fall. It didn't flutter. It just… hovered. As if mocking gravity itself.
Victor didn't react.
Didn't see it.
But someone else did.
"Oh, this is going to be fun," Mr. Hawkins murmured from the corner with a ghostly grin. "You can call me Hawkins, by the way. Mr. Hawkins, if you're feeling formal."
Lila stifled a groan.