8:00 A.M. – Day Four in Corporate Hell
They say the first week is the hardest.
"They" have never worked under Diablo Von Bloodick.
I walked into Oblivion Holdings Inc. with a steaming cup of instant coffee and a face that said "I barely slept." My shoulders ached. My brain was mush. My soul had already packed a suitcase and left.
"Good morning, Mr. Evernight," the receptionist said with a weirdly knowing smirk.
"Morning," I muttered, dragging my feet past her. Her smirk widened. Weird.
I didn't think much of it… until I passed the break room and heard whispering.
> "That's him. The one the CEO hired on the spot."
"I heard he spilled coffee on his pants during the interview."
"No! I heard the CEO smirked at him."
I turned on my heel. "Hi," I said with a fake smile. "You all know the walls here are thinner than my paycheck, right?"
Dead silence.
I left them blinking like deer in headlights and headed to my desk, pretending I didn't care. (I very much cared.)
---
9:00 A.M. – The Morning Pile of Doom
I hadn't even sat down yet when a tall stack of folders hit my desk with a loud thump.
Diablo's voice followed like a whip: "Evernight. These need to be processed, organized, and summarized. By noon."
I looked up, nearly choking on my coffee. "A-all of these?!"
He didn't even glance at me. "Is there a problem?"
"No, sir!" I squeaked, snapping into action.
There was definitely a problem. There were at least fifty folders. Each the size of a small child.
As I scrambled to start, I noticed something else: Diablo's gaze lingered just a bit longer than usual. Like he was waiting for me to break.
---
11:30 A.M. – I'm Not Crying (I'm Just Leaking From the Eyes)
I was knee-deep in business terms, legal documents, and caffeine when the phone rang.
"Mr. Bloodick's office, Clark speaking."
"Come to my office. Now."
Click.
I groaned and stood, joints popping like bubble wrap.
When I stepped into his office, Diablo was behind his desk, flawless as always. His red eyes flicked toward me.
"You're behind."
"I—I'm trying, sir. You gave me a lot this morning—"
"I don't accept excuses," he said coolly. "Double-time it. Or do you want to spend the night here?"
I blinked. "…Is that an option?"
"It wasn't," he said. "Now it is."
---
2:00 P.M. – Office Gossip: Level 2
I returned to my desk with a full-blown existential crisis.
That's when I noticed a post-it note on my computer. It read:
> "Hope you brought pajamas – A."
No signature. No clue who "A" was. But clearly, the rumor mill was already in motion. Maybe they thought I wanted to sleep over. Maybe they thought I was into Diablo. (I wasn't. I mean, okay, he's hot, but I value my life.)
---
6:30 P.M. – Alone, Tired, Trapped
The building had emptied out, lights dimming except in the executive wing.
I was still typing. Still summarizing. Still trying not to scream.
My stomach growled. My eyes were burning. Diablo hadn't even offered food. Just more paperwork and one curt command:
> "If you finish early, I might consider letting you leave before dawn."
Gee, how generous.
At one point, I dropped my pen. When I bent to pick it up, I accidentally slammed my head into the underside of the desk.
"…Ow."
Somewhere down the hall, I could swear I heard a very soft chuckle.
Was he watching me?!
---
9:45 P.M. – A Surprise Visit
Just when I was about to cry into a spreadsheet, the office door opened.
Diablo stepped in.
He glanced at the paper mountain still on my desk, then at me — crumpled hoodie, coffee-stained shirt, and red-rimmed eyes.
"You're slower than expected," he said.
"I'm human," I muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. "That's obvious."
I froze. What was that supposed to mean?
He walked closer, leaned against the desk. "Do you always talk back to your superiors?"
"Only the ones who threaten me with unpaid overtime," I grumbled before I could stop myself.
There was a tense pause.
Then—
"I see." He pushed off the desk. "You'll stay until it's done. That's final."
He turned and left without another word.
---
12:00 A.M. – Still Here
The lights flickered as I typed the final summary.
I had bags under my eyes, an aching back, and the intense need to scream into a pillow. But I'd done it.
I wanted to storm into Diablo's office and throw the finished work in his face.
Instead, I emailed the files, slumped in my chair, and whispered:
"…I hate him."
But even as I said it, part of me felt something twist inside. Not affection — no. Not yet. But something strange.
Like I wanted to prove myself to him.
And that terrified me more than the idea of sleeping in the office breakroom.