The door opened, and I felt my pulse trip over itself.
Kennedy Peters walked in with the kind of presence that filled a room before he even spoke.
His steps were calm and measured, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.
The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, something expensive with a hint of cedar and smoke.
It mixed with the subtle aroma of coffee that drifted from the tray on the table.
His office was nothing like I had imagined. It was wide, quiet, and filled with light pouring in through tall glass windows that overlooked the city.
The floor was polished wood, smooth beneath the legs of the dark leather chairs.
A single plant stood by the corner, its leaves catching the sunlight like emerald glass.
The air felt cool and clean, humming faintly with the low sound of the air conditioner.
He closed the door behind him without looking away from me. That alone made my heart pound harder.
"Elena Benson," he said. His voice was low and steady, the kind of tone that didn't need to rise to demand attention.
"Yes, sir," I managed, though my voice came out softer than I wanted.
He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."
I obeyed, keeping my movements calm, careful. My palms felt damp, so I rested them on my lap to hide it.
Kennedy rounded the desk and sat across from me.
He didn't open a file, didn't look at any papers. His eyes were fixed on me, quiet and unreadable.
"So, Miss Benson," he began, leaning slightly back. "You're applying for an internship position in our finance department."
"Yes."
"Why here?"
I smiled a little, rehearsed and polite. "Peter and Co is one of the most respected firms in the country. I wanted to learn from the best."
"The best," he repeated with the faintest hint of amusement. "You've done your research then."
"I have."
His gaze was steady, and it made me feel as if he could see every thought forming behind my eyes.
I tried to hold his look without faltering, but it wasn't easy.
He nodded slowly, fingers drumming once against the armrest. "Tell me about your background. Where did you study?"
"Kingston Business School," I replied. "I majored in finance and management."
He tilted his head. "Kingston. Good school. Competitive."
"Yes, sir."
A small silence followed. He didn't write anything down.
I wondered if this was how he handled all his interviews or if I was getting special treatment. Something about the way he watched me felt deliberate.
"Do you have any family in business?" he asked casually.
The question hit harder than it should have.
I blinked once to steady myself. "My mother used to run a small firm before she passed away. My father isn't in the same line of work."
Not a lie, but not the truth either.
My heartbeat quickened. I had practiced answers for questions like this, but saying them to him felt different. It felt dangerous.
He nodded slightly, but his eyes sharpened. "What firm was that?"
I forced a small smile. "Just a small consultancy. Nothing major."
He hummed, as if he was filing the lie away somewhere behind that calm exterior.
"Interesting," he said after a pause. "You look familiar."
My stomach dropped. "Do I?"
"Yes." He didn't look away. "Have we met before?"
I shook my head, trying not to look nervous. "I don't think so. Maybe at an event? I've attended a few conferences."
He smiled faintly. "Perhaps."
Something about that smile made me uneasy. He knew.
I couldn't explain how, but I could see it in his eyes, the quiet recognition he wasn't admitting to. Still, he wasn't calling me out. Not yet.
He stood and walked toward the window. His silhouette against the glass looked impossibly composed, hands in his pockets, head slightly tilted as if deep in thought.
The sunlight caught the side of his face, tracing the lines that time had drawn with care.
He turned back to me. "You said you wanted to learn from the best. What makes you think you can keep up with us?"
I straightened a little, matching his calm tone. "Because I don't give up easily. And because I know that success is earned. I'm ready to earn mine."
His eyes softened just a fraction. "Good answer."
He walked back to his chair and sat again. The faint sound of the leather creaked beneath him.
"Let's test that confidence then. A quick question. If you had access to confidential financial data that could save this company millions, but it required breaking a minor rule, would you do it?"
A trick question. I could hear my father's voice in my head, teaching me the difference between power and ethics.
I pretended to think for a moment before answering.
"No, sir. I'd find another way. Breaking a rule might save money, but it destroys trust. And trust, once lost, is almost impossible to rebuild."
He studied me closely, as if measuring the truth behind my words. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. Not the polite kind. A real one.
"Impressive," he said. "Most people would have chosen the faster route."
"Fast doesn't always mean right," I replied quietly.
That earned a soft laugh from him, low and smooth. "You're interesting, Miss Benson."
I felt heat rise in my face. "Thank you."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
It felt charged, heavy with something unspoken. I glanced around the office just to ground myself.
The walls were lined with books, mostly business and strategy titles, but there were also framed photographs, some of him shaking hands with world leaders, others that looked more personal.
A single cup of coffee sat untouched beside a stack of papers, steam still curling faintly from it.
He followed my gaze. "I like to keep reminders," he said quietly. "Every decision leaves a mark. Some good, some not."
I nodded, unsure what to say.
Then he leaned forward slightly. "Do you always speak your mind, Miss Benson?"
"Not always," I admitted. "Sometimes silence is safer."
He smiled again, slower this time. "Wise. But silence can also hide the truth."
His eyes held mine, steady and unreadable, and something inside me twisted.
I told myself it was fear, but it wasn't. It was the strange pull of curiosity and something warmer that I didn't want to name.
He broke the gaze first, reaching for a file. "You can start Monday. HR will contact you with the details."
For a second, I forgot how to respond. "I got the job?"
"Yes," he said simply, signing something on the paper. "You got the job."
My chest tightened with a mix of relief and disbelief. I managed to smile. "Thank you, Mr. Peters. You won't regret this."
His pen paused. "I hope not."
When he looked at me again, there was something different in his expression. Softer. Curious. Maybe even conflicted.
He stood and extended his hand.
I took it, and the moment our palms met, something electric passed between us.
His hand was warm, steady, firm, but not rough. I pulled away too quickly, afraid he'd feel my pulse racing through my skin.
He didn't comment on it. He just watched me with that same quiet intensity.
"You'll report directly to me," he said. "Your position will involve reviewing internal reports and financial summaries. I expect accuracy."
"Yes, sir."
He nodded once. "That will be all for now."
I stood, clutching my bag.
My legs felt heavier than before, as if the floor wanted to hold me there. I turned toward the door, but before I reached it, his voice stopped me.
"Miss Benson?"
I froze. "Yes?"
He was still behind the desk, his expression unreadable. "You remind me of someone I used to know."
My breath caught. "Who?"
He smiled faintly. "Someone who thought she could outsmart me."
I didn't trust my voice enough to reply, so I just smiled and nodded.
As I stepped out into the hallway, my knees felt weak.
The cool air outside the office brushed against my skin, but it did nothing to calm the storm in my chest.
He knew something. I could feel it. But even knowing that, I couldn't shake the way his voice had lingered in my head or how his eyes seemed to follow me long after I left the room.
Maybe I was walking into danger.
Maybe that was exactly what thrilled me.