The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the thirty-ninth floor — Hale Corporation's executive wing. The air itself seemed different here; sharper, quieter, like it belonged to people who made decisions that changed the world before breakfast.
Amara adjusted her blazer and held her sketch folder close. Every step echoed on the marble floor as she followed the assistant who'd come to fetch her. Her stomach twisted in knots — she'd imagined this moment for weeks, but now that it was here, she could hardly breathe.
The assistant stopped in front of large glass doors.
"Mr. Hale will see you now," she said politely before stepping aside.
Amara took a breath and entered.
Dominic Hale stood by the window, back turned, city skyline stretching endlessly behind him. He didn't move at first — didn't even acknowledge her presence — and that simple silence somehow commanded all the air in the room.
When he finally turned, she froze.
He was tall, effortlessly composed, and devastatingly handsome in a way that felt unfair. Sharp jawline, crisp suit, eyes like polished steel — calm but impossible to read. The kind of man who didn't need to raise his voice to be obeyed.
"You're Amara Blake," he said, not asking, just confirming.
"Yes, sir," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt.
He motioned to the chair across from his desk. "Sit."
As she sat, Dominic flipped through her portfolio in silence. His fingers brushed over her sketches — her work , and yet his expression didn't reveal a thing. The quiet stretched.
Then, finally "You designed these?"
"Yes," Amara said, leaning slightly forward. "Every piece is handmade. I prefer fabrics that—"
"—don't compromise quality for cost," he interrupted smoothly, eyes flicking up to meet hers. "I read your proposal."
That brief eye contact was enough to make her pulse stumble. He looked at people as if he was studying what they weren't saying.
"I like your designs," he said, tone measured. "But I don't like designers who can't handle pressure."
She frowned. "And what makes you think I can't?"
He leaned back slightly, lips curving. "You hesitated before answering my first question."
Her brows drew together. "I was being respectful, not afraid."
Dominic's eyes narrowed slightly, as if testing her words. "Respect and fear look very similar in this office, Miss Blake."
The challenge in his voice sparked something in her, irritation, defiance, and a flicker of something else she didn't want to name.
"Well," she said evenly, "maybe it's time someone told the difference."
For the first time, something close to amusement passed through his expression. He closed the folder and stood.
"You start tomorrow. Seven a.m."
"So soon?" she asked, rising too.
"Time doesn't wait for anyone," he said, brushing past her on his way to the door. The faintest scent of his cologne — cedar and something darker, lingered in the air.
At the doorway, he paused.
"One more thing," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "Don't be late, Miss Blake. I don't tolerate it."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Amara standing there, heart racing.
She should've been thrilled. She'd gotten the contract, the chance she'd dreamed of. But all she could think about was the way he looked at her.
Cold. Intense. Curious.
Like a man who didn't believe in weakness… yet had just met his greatest distraction.