Chapter 2
Alistair's POV
Raman's old car rattled along the city streets, each bump making me tighten my grip on the seat.
"Good luck, Alistair," Raman said, giving my shoulder a firm pat. "Show them what you've got."
I nodded, nerves twisting in my stomach. This was it—the Evans Industries secretary position. Months of interviews and rejection letters had led to this moment.
I stepped out of the car and looked up. The skyscraper gleamed under the morning sun, glass panels reflecting light like a diamond. A massive statue with the letters EV stood proudly in front, the symbol of the empire within. People moved in and out of the revolving doors, briefcases swinging, heels clicking against marble floors.
I inhaled deeply. This is your life now, I whispered to myself, straightening my tie.
Inside, the receptionist barely glanced at me. "Name?" she asked.
"Alistair Grant. I was appointed secretary," I said, handing over the documents.
Her eyes flicked to the clock. "You're late," she said flatly.
I blinked. Late? The memo said 9:00, and it was just 8:50. My stomach sank.
"Follow me," she said, leading me to the elevator. The doors slid open, and a man in his mid-forties waited. His posture was perfect, expression precise.
"Mr. Grant," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Jonathan. I'll show you around and explain the CEO's expectations. He doesn't tolerate tardiness or mess. Everything must be in order."
I nodded, trying not to let my nerves show. He guided me through the office floors, showing me conference rooms, the lounge, and finally—Mr. Evans's office.
The CEO's office was massive, pristine, and intimidating. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city below, and every desk, chair, and file was in perfect order. Mr. Jonathan gestured at me. "The CEO is particular about neatness. Straighten your tie at all times. This is how he notices the small things."
After the tour, he led me to my own office. Not huge, but comfortably professional. I sank into the chair, letting out a long breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
This was my new world—immense, precise, and unfamiliar. I had no idea that somewhere in it, fate had already begun its quiet, dangerous work.
---
The morning sunlight spilled across my desk as I arranged files and checked emails. My hands were steady, but my heart raced with the weight of responsibility. This wasn't just any job—I was now working directly under Mr. Evans, a man whose reputation preceded him.
Jonathan had briefed me well: neatness, punctuality, and attention to detail were mandatory. Mistakes weren't tolerated—not because he was cruel, but because Mr. Evans was practical. Every decision had a reason, every movement served a purpose.
By mid-morning, the CEO appeared. Hands in his pockets, suit perfectly tailored, hair flecked with silver, and a face that carried authority and charm in equal measure. He moved with precision, surveying the office with sharp eyes that seemed to measure not just competence, but character.
"Alistair Grant?" His voice was calm, deep, carrying a quiet command.
"Yes, sir," I replied, standing a little straighter than usual.
"I've been told you are punctual and attentive." He studied me for a moment. "Good. That will be necessary. My work is straightforward, but mistakes cost more than time—they cost results. Today, you'll be assisting with scheduling and managing communications. Keep everything organized. Nothing slips past me."
I nodded, mentally running through the tasks Jonathan had outlined.
"Follow me." Mr. Evans moved toward the main conference room. He didn't just sit in his office issuing orders; he worked alongside his team. Reviewing files, approving documents, checking numbers, and discussing reports. Every step was deliberate, efficient, and practical. Watching him, I realized why the company had grown so large—his methods were precise, effective, and unrelenting.
By lunch, I had settled into the rhythm. My desk was organized, emails answered, schedules confirmed. He didn't hover, but the occasional glance from across the room reminded me that my work was always under scrutiny.
Practical. Hands-on. Handsome for his age. Commanding without being overbearing.
I could see why so many respected him… and why so many feared him.
I left the office that day exhausted but exhilarated. I was learning fast, keeping pace, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like I belonged.
Little did I know, the next day would bring a different challenge—one far more distracting than any CEO could ever be.
----
The evening air was cool as Raman steered his old car through the city streets. "You are finally not an unemployed," he said, smirking. "I'd say that calls for a little celebration."
I laughed, loosening my tie. "I don't know about celebration. I barely kept up with Mr. Evans all day."
"Barely?" Raman raised an eyebrow. "You got the job . That counts as a win in my book."
We ended up at a small, cozy bar—one of those places with low lights and familiar faces, where the music hummed just loud enough to drown out the world. Raman ordered drinks for both of us and slid one across the table.
"To becoming the secretary of one of the richest man in the world," he toasted.
I clinked my glass against his, the ice tinkling like tiny bells. The warmth of the drink spread through me, loosening the tension I hadn't realized I'd been carrying.
We talked about everything else—old memories from school, college antics, things that didn't involve work. I laughed more in that one evening than I had all week.
By the time we left, the streets were quiet, the city lights reflecting off wet pavement from a light drizzle. I leaned back in the passenger seat, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.
"Thanks, Raman," I said softly.
He gave me a small smile. "Anytime. You earned this."
And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to feel proud.