THE INTERVIEW THAT WASN'T AN INTERVIEW
Emilia stood outside the frosted glass door with 'A. Blackwood — CEO' engraved on it in silver letters.
Her palms were sweating.
Her heart was trying to escape her chest.
She kept wiping her hands on her skirt the way someone wipes tears—quietly, hoping nobody notices.
It's fine, she told herself.
Maybe he didn't recognize me. Maybe he didn't even look at my face. Maybe he meets people every day and has already forgotten…
The door opened.
And all her hopeful thoughts died at once.
Alexander Blackwood stepped into the hallway, looking like a man who never had a bad day in his life. Crisp suit. Sharp jawline. Eyes that could freeze fire.
Those eyes locked onto her instantly.
He didn't blink.
He didn't look away.
And he absolutely hadn't forgotten her.
Emilia's voice cracked. "G-Good morning, sir."
"Inside."
His tone was flat, calm… too calm.
She followed him into the office, and the moment the door closed behind them, she felt the weight of the entire world land on her shoulders.
The office was huge—floor-to-ceiling windows, shelves filled with neatly organized files, a single black desk that looked too expensive to touch. Everything was immaculate.
Everything except for how messy she felt just standing there.
He took a seat and didn't gesture for her to sit.
So she didn't.
His gaze trailed over her for a split second before he spoke.
"You're late."
Her stomach dropped. "I—I'm sorry. I got here early, actually, but the elevator—"
"You were running."
He tapped a finger lightly on the table.
"I could hear your footsteps from inside the elevator."
Mortification washed over her like hot water.
"I'm so sorry, sir. It won't happen again."
"It can't happen again," he corrected, voice even colder.
"I don't tolerate mistakes."
She nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."
Alexander leaned back in his chair, watching her the way one watches a stranger who claims to know them.
"What's your name?"
"Emilia Grace."
"Age?"
"Twenty-three."
"Experience?"
"I worked as an administrative assistant for—"
He raised a hand slightly and she stopped talking.
"I already read your résumé. I'm asking if you can handle this job."
She swallowed. "Yes. I can."
"Are you sure?"
His tone wasn't mocking—it was worse.
It was doubtful.
And for some reason, that stung.
"Yes, sir," she said, firmer this time.
There was a moment of silence.
He studied her like she was a puzzle piece that didn't fit the picture he wanted.
Then he said something she didn't expect.
"You start today."
Emilia's eyes widened. "T-Today?"
"Is that a problem?"
"No! No, sir. It's not a problem at all."
He nodded once.
"Good."
She let out a small breath of relief.
But that relief lasted exactly four seconds before he added:
"And one more thing."
Her heart jumped.
"Y-Yes?"
"Don't run inside my building again."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"And don't yell in my elevator."
Emilia wanted to sink into the ground.
"Yes, sir," she whispered.
"You may leave."
She turned toward the door, reaching for the handle—
"Miss Grace."
She froze.
"Yes, sir?"
"…Tie your hair properly next time."
Her hand flew to the messy strand that had fallen from her ponytail.
She felt her face heat up.
"Yes, sir," she repeated softly.
She stepped out of the office, closing the door behind her.
The receptionist looked at her expectantly. "So… how did it go?"
Emilia sighed slowly.
"Let's just say… I'm not dead."
The receptionist grinned.
"Then you're already doing better than most."
But Emilia didn't smile.
Because as she walked away, she could still feel his eyes on her—
even though she wasn't in the room anymore.