Isabella Reed's hands were steady as she checked her reflection in the elevator's polished doors, but inside, her heart was trying to escape her chest.
Fifty-seventh floor. Blackwood Global. The most powerful company in the city, led by the most ruthless man she'd never met.
The elevator chimed, and the doors opened to reveal a reception area so pristine and cold it felt like stepping into another world. Everything was black marble, chrome, and glass. No warmth. No color. Just brutal, efficient perfection.
"Ms. Reed?" A woman with severe features and a tablet looked up from her desk. "Mr. Black will see you now. Third door on the left. Do not be late. Do not waste his time. And whatever you do—" She looked Isabella up and down. "—do not cry."
Isabella's spine straightened. "I don't cry."
The woman's lips twitched. "We'll see."
The walk down that hallway felt like marching to an execution. Isabella had researched Liam Black obsessively. Thirty years old. Took over his father's company at twenty-five and tripled its value in three years. Known for being brilliant, cold, and absolutely merciless. He'd fired six secretaries in the past two years.
Six.
The rumors said he made grown men cry in meetings. That he could destroy a competitor with a single phone call. That he had no weaknesses, no soft spots, no humanity whatsoever.
Isabella needed this job. Her mother's medical bills were drowning her, and Blackwood Global paid more than any other company in the city. She'd applied on a desperate whim, never expecting to get an interview.
She raised her hand to knock.
"Enter."
The voice was cold, commanding, and somehow worse than she'd imagined.
Isabella opened the door and stepped into Liam Black's office.
The room was massive, all glass walls overlooking the city, with furniture that probably cost more than her entire apartment. But she barely noticed any of it.
Because behind the enormous black desk sat the most devastatingly beautiful—and terrifying—man she'd ever seen.
Liam Black was tall, dark-haired, with features so sharp they could cut glass. He wore a three-piece suit that probably cost more than her car, and his eyes—cold, calculating gray eyes—didn't even look up from his computer screen as she entered.
"Sit."
It wasn't a request. It was a command.
Isabella sat in the uncomfortable leather chair across from his desk and waited.
And waited.
Five minutes passed. He didn't acknowledge her. Just kept typing, reading, occasionally making notes. It was a power play, she realized. Making her sit there, nervous and small, while he demonstrated exactly who was in control.
She refused to fidget. Refused to show nerves. Just sat with perfect posture and waited.
Finally, after seven full minutes, Liam looked up.
His eyes met hers, and Isabella felt the impact like a physical blow. There was no warmth in that gaze. No curiosity. Just cold assessment, like she was a piece of equipment he was considering purchasing.
"Tell me why you think you can work for me when six others have failed," he said flatly.
No greeting. No introduction. Just straight to the point.
"Because I don't fail," Isabella replied, keeping her voice steady.
"Everyone fails eventually." He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "What makes you different?"
"I don't have the luxury of failure. I need this job, Mr. Black. That means I'll work harder, longer, and more efficiently than anyone you've ever hired. I don't quit. I don't break. And I don't waste time."
"Confidence or desperation?" he asked, his tone bored.
"Both. And both are useful to you."
Something flickered in his eyes. Interest, maybe. Or amusement at her audacity.
"You're twenty-three years old," he continued, glancing at her resume. "You have a degree in business, but you've been working as a waitress for the past year. Why?"
Isabella's jaw tightened. "My mother got sick. I needed flexible hours and immediate pay."
"And now?"
"Now she's stable, and I need a real career."
"Stable," he repeated, his eyes sharp. "Not better?"
"Cancer doesn't get better, Mr. Black. It just gives you temporary reprieves between battles."
The words came out harder than she intended. More honest. She saw his expression shift slightly—not softening, but recalculating.
"If your mother has another crisis, will you abandon your responsibilities here?" he asked bluntly.
The question was cruel, designed to test her. Isabella met his gaze without flinching.
"I will manage my personal life around my professional obligations. If I commit to this job, I commit completely. That's non-negotiable."
"Everything is negotiable, Ms. Reed. You're naive if you think otherwise."
"Then I'm naive," she shot back. "But I'm also right here, in your office, asking for a chance. That takes more courage than cynicism ever will."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Liam stood abruptly, and Isabella's breath caught. He was even more imposing standing—well over six feet, all lean power and controlled danger. He walked around his desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms as he looked down at her.
"I'm going to give you a scenario," he said coldly. "I have a meeting in Tokyo in six hours. My current travel documents are wrong, my hotel canceled my reservation, and the presentation deck has critical errors. What do you do?"
"I fix the documents first—if you can't get into the country, nothing else matters. Then I contact three alternate hotels and negotiate the best rate while you're in flight. The presentation deck gets corrected during your travel time, and I'll email you the updated version before you land."
"The documents can't be fixed in time."
"Then I call the Japanese embassy directly, explain the situation, and expedite temporary clearance. If that fails, I reschedule the meeting to give us time to fix everything properly, because showing up unprepared is worse than a brief delay."
"The client won't reschedule."
"Then I find someone who can go in your place, or I arrange a video conference. There's always a solution, Mr. Black. Always."
He stared at her for a long moment, those cold eyes boring into her.
"I'm in a meeting," he continued, his voice hard. "My ex-wife calls, hysterical, demanding to speak to me immediately. What do you do?"
"I tell her you're unavailable and ask if it's an emergency. If it is, I interrupt you discreetly. If not, I take a message and tell her you'll call back when possible."
"She threatens to call the media and destroy my reputation if I don't speak to her immediately."
Isabella didn't hesitate. "I tell her that threatening you is the fastest way to ensure you never speak to her again, and that if she contacts the media, your legal team will respond accordingly. Then I notify your lawyer."
"Cold," Liam observed. "What if she's genuinely in crisis?"
"Then her crisis is being used as manipulation, and enabling that behavior helps no one. If she needs help, I direct her to appropriate resources. But I protect your time and your company first. That's the job."
Liam's expression remained unreadable, but something had changed in his posture. He was paying attention now. Really paying attention.
"I demand loyalty above everything else," he said quietly, dangerously. "Absolute discretion. I don't care if the building is on fire—my business stays confidential. Can you promise that?"
"Yes."
"I work eighteen-hour days. I expect you to match that. Weekends, holidays, three AM calls—if I need you, you answer. Can you handle that?"
"Yes."
"I have no tolerance for emotions in the workplace," Liam continued, his voice dropping to something almost threatening. "No tears. No drama. No personal problems bleeding into your professional performance. Emotions are a liability, Ms. Reed. They make you weak. They make you useless. Leave them at the door, or don't come through it at all."
Isabella stood slowly, meeting his eyes with a directness that seemed to surprise him.
"I'm not here to be your friend, Mr. Black. I'm here to do a job. I'll be loyal, discreet, and efficient. I'll work every hour you need me to work. I'll solve every problem you throw at me. And I'll do it without complaint, without drama, and without burdening you with anything personal." She paused. "But I'm not a robot. I'm a human being who happens to be very, very good at separating what matters from what doesn't. And right now, what matters is proving I can handle anything you throw at me."
The silence stretched between them, tense and electric.
Then Liam smiled.
It wasn't a warm smile. It was the smile of a predator recognizing worthy prey.
"You're hired," he said simply. "Start Monday. Seven AM sharp. If you're even one minute late, you're fired. If you disappoint me, you're fired. If you bring emotions into my office—" He leaned closer, and Isabella could feel the cold radiating off him. "—you're fired. Am I clear?"
"Crystal."
"Good." He returned to his desk, already dismissing her. "My current secretary will train you for two days, then you're on your own. Don't waste this opportunity, Ms. Reed. I don't give second chances."
Isabella turned to leave, her heart pounding, her mind reeling. She'd done it. She'd actually done it.
"Ms. Reed?" Liam called just as she reached the door.
She looked back.
His eyes had returned to his computer screen, his expression already distant and cold again. "I'm not an easy man to work for. Most people can't handle it. Most people break." He didn't look up. "Try not to be one of them."
It wasn't encouragement. It was a warning.
"I won't," Isabella said firmly.
She stepped out of his office and closed the door, her legs suddenly shaking, her professional mask finally cracking just slightly.
She'd done it. She'd gotten the job that could change everything. The job that could save her mother, could build her future, could—
"Hey," a voice whispered nearby.
Isabella turned to see two senior executives—expensive suits, gray hair, the kind of men who'd been at Blackwood Global for decades—standing by the water cooler, watching her with poorly disguised pity.
"She made it through the interview," one murmured to the other.
"They all do," the other replied with a sad shake of his head. "He chewed up and spat out the last three. Let's see how long this one lasts."
"Two weeks," the first one said. "I'll bet you fifty dollars she doesn't make it two weeks."
"You're on. I give her ten days."
They walked away, still chuckling, completely unaware that Isabella could hear every word.
Ten days. Two weeks.
Isabella looked back at the closed door of Liam Black's office, at the frosted glass with his name written in stark, unforgiving letters.
She thought about her mother in that hospital bed, fighting for every breath. About the bills that never stopped coming. About the life she was trying to build from nothing.
And she thought about those cold gray eyes, that merciless voice, that warning disguised as advice: Try not to be one of them.
Isabella straightened her shoulders and headed for the elevator.
They thought she'd break in ten days?
She'd show them exactly how wrong they were.
But as the elevator doors closed and she finally allowed herself to breathe, one thought echoed in her mind—a whisper of something she didn't want to acknowledge, something dangerous and impossible:
Liam Black was the most terrifying man she'd ever met.
And something about him made her unable to look away.