The office finally began to empty, the sharp clicks of heels and muted chatter fading into a hum that seemed almost polite after the chaos of the day. I slung my bag over my shoulder, feeling the tension in my shoulders slowly unwind, and followed the quiet corridor toward the elevator. Sarah, ever the efficient assistant, was waiting, holding the elevator doors open with a small, cautious smile.
"Miss Zarah, I'll email you tomorrow's schedule and the project briefs—you'll probably also have an assistant by the weekend," she said softly, her eyes flicking toward the glass walls where the last few employees lingered, whispering. "Mr. Sinclair… expects you ready."
The words sank in with a weird thrill. Ready. Ready for what? I wasn't sure if it was the workload, his expectations, or the subtle pull that lingered whenever he was near. I gave her a faint nod, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.
"Thanks, Sarah. I'll see you tomorrow."
The elevator ride felt endless, each floor a beat in my heart that wouldn't slow. My phone buzzed immediately as I stepped onto the lobby. Miss Irene. I could practically hear the worry in her typing.
"Where have you been, Zarah? I was about to—"
I laughed, cutting her off before she could scold me.
"Miss Irene, breathe. I survived my first day. And… I got the job."
There was a long pause on the other end, then her voice came through, sharp but tinged with awe.
"Well… damn. You better not mess this up. I'd hate to have eaten you out of stress for nothing."
I leaned against the cool lobby wall, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
"Not today," I muttered. "I'll be fine. Funny how I was surprised I got the job."
"You got the desk job as requested, right?" she questioned, laughing.
"Miss Irene, even better—I swear!"
"Hmm, really?"
"Yes! Really— I'm on my way home. I have lots of gists for you."
"Get your ass down here right this minute!" she yelled through the phone, so loud I had to carry it away from my ear.
The cab ride home blurred past, city lights stretching into long streaks as I let my thoughts drift. My mind kept replaying the moments that had thrown me off balance: the collision in the hallway, the coffee stain spreading across my rented shirt, the way Mr. Sinclair had appeared like some calm storm in the chaos, and—God help me—the flicker of that rare, private smile.
By the time I arrived at my apartment, the world outside was a soft blur of streetlamps and distant honks. I kicked off my heels with a sigh, peeling off my blazer and letting it fall to the floor. The tight knot in my shoulders began to loosen, but the adrenaline still hummed faintly in my veins.
Mochi, my fluffy ball of judgment and affection, leapt onto the couch the second I sank into it. His soft purrs vibrated through my chest as I buried my face into his fur.
"You're not going anywhere tonight, buddy," I whispered, scratching behind his ears. His warmth grounded me, a tether to normalcy in the middle of a day that had been anything but.
Moments later, I shuffled to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets until I found a pack of instant ramen. The water hissed as it boiled, steam curling upward and wrapping around me like a familiar blanket. I stirred the noodles slowly, the scent of soy and spices filling the small apartment, warming my chest in a way nothing at the office had managed.
With the bowl in hand, I returned to the couch, Mochi settling against my side as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment. I took a slow sip, letting the heat settle my stomach. The office—the chaos, the whispers, the coffee-stained disaster—all felt like it belonged to someone else. Yet the thrill of the day lingered in my chest like a secret pulse.
First day. First fire. First taste of something that felt… larger than me, larger than the office.
My mind drifted, despite myself, back to Sinclair. The way he had watched me, not intimidating, not aggressive—just assessing, testing, and somehow… caring, in a way that made my pulse jump. Every glance, every subtle flicker of his expression, had carried weight. Authority. Curiosity. Interest.
I hugged Mochi tighter, feeling his purrs vibrate through my ribs, and let a small, victorious grin slip past my lips. I'd survived the day. I'd impressed him. I had a job that mattered.
And yet, a small, thrilling whisper lingered in my mind: this was only the beginning. Tomorrow, the real tests would start. And I had a feeling… Mr. Sinclair would be waiting.
For now, though, it was just me, ramen, and Mochi. And for the first time that day, I let myself feel… safe, warm, and quietly triumphant.
Then—KNOCK KNOCK
Crazy! She was here earlier than expected. That had to be Miss Irene. My pulse jumped, ramen halfway to my lips, Mochi's ears twitching in alarm.
I set the bowl down, stood, and opened the door to the whirlwind of energy that was Miss Irene. "Zarah! Don't even try to lie—I know everything! Spill it, girl!"
And just like that, my quiet evening evaporated, replaced with the chaos only Miss Irene could deliver.
I stepped aside, letting Miss Irene burst into the apartment like a hurricane disguised as a person. Her eyes scanned every corner, Mochi puffing up at the sudden energy and hissing softly before retreating under the couch.
"Zarah! Sit down. Spill. Now!" she commanded, pointing a finger at the couch like a general directing troops.
I sank back, ramen forgotten for a moment, Mochi curling protectively around my legs. "I… I got the job and it was Mr Sinclair himself who appointed me," I said slowly, letting the words settle between us.
Her jaw dropped. "Wait… wait, hold up. The CEO? The scary, untouchable, uptight, everyone-quivers-in-his-presence guy?"
I nodded, cheeks heating. "Yes. Mr. Sinclair. I mean… that's his last name. He's… intense."
Miss Irene clapped her hands like a kid in a candy store. "Intense? Girl, you do not understand. That man is danger wrapped in a business suit. And you? You just waltzed in there like… like a queen that you are. How did you even—"
"Miss Irene, chill! I got coffee spilled on me, almost died in humiliation, and somehow impressed him," I said, waving my hands dramatically. Mochi twitched his ears at my gestures, unimpressed with human chaos.
She collapsed onto the couch beside me, nearly knocking the ramen to the floor. "Okay, okay, slow down. Breath. I need to hear this from start to finish. I mean… all the gory details. The collision, the coffee, the power move, the smile… I need everything, Zarah!"
I laughed, finally feeling some of the day's tension melt away. "Alright. So, first, I get to the office, and the manager—ugh, don't even get me started—he's gross, creepy, everything bad—and then…
My mind drifted back, the hallway replaying in sharp, almost painful clarity.
The day had started normal—at least I thought so. I walked into the office, portfolio in hand, trying to remind myself to breathe. And then Dalton appeared, leaning too close, smiling too wide. "Ah… Zarah. Lovely… portfolio you've got there. But tell me… don't you think… there are ways we could… get closer? Outside of work?"
I froze. My stomach turned. My brain screamed no, nope, get out! But I had to stay composed. He laughed softly, the kind of laugh that makes your skin crawl, and moved closer, glancing at my chest as if evaluating me like… merchandise.
He kept it subtle, at first. Little comments. 'Oh, you look stressed—let me help you relax.' 'Coffee's better when shared… intimately.' But there was a pattern—a slithery undertone that made every interaction feel like a trap.
And then the worst part—he started asking about my personal life, my family, my past jobs, slipping in questions about my habits, my dating life… all while pretending it was casual mentorship. It made my skin crawl. I remember gripping my portfolio like it was a shield, trying to keep my composure as I answered politely, all while planning my mental escape.
"And you… didn't even get a chance to argue back?" Miss Irene asked, horror painted across her face.
I laughed dryly, the memory still bitter. "I wanted to. I really did. But he was… calculated. The kind of guy who makes you doubt your own reactions, who makes you feel like saying no is rude. And the kicker? Everyone else in that office? They tiptoe around him. Afraid to speak up. I couldn't let that be me."
Mochi purred softly against me, as if sharing my indignation. I continued, detailing the exact words, the way Dalton had leaned too close, the way his smile lingered just long enough to be unsettling, and the tension that had knotted my shoulders before Mr. Sinclair appeared.
Miss Irene shook her head slowly, as if absorbing every grotesque detail. "Girl… I'm not even surprised the CEO fired him instantly. I mean… wow. You didn't just survive, Zarah, you walked in with fire and left him in ashes—literally. And… you didn't even lose your nerve?"
I smirked, picking up my ramen again. "Not even a bit. Maybe that's why Mr Sinclair… noticed me. I didn't flinch. Didn't apologize for surviving. And maybe… that little rebellion, that spine, got his attention."
Miss Irene's grin was wicked now. "Ahhh… now I see. Zarah, girl… you're dangerous. I love it. But don't tell me you're going to start crushing on him already."
I laughed, feeling the warmth of the apartment, the ramen, and Mochi's steady presence. "Miss Irene… let's just say I'm… intrigued. That's all for tonight."
And just like that, the flashback ended. I leaned back, Mochi nuzzling my arm, letting the quiet hum of my apartment absorb the chaotic energy from earlier. Dalton was gone. Sinclair was watching. And I… survived.
Miss Irene's eyes went wide. "Girl! You are living every rom-com fantasy I've ever read about! But wait—did he talk to you? Was he scary? Mysterious? Did he smile at you? Do you smell the same after he walked by? Tell me everything!"
I rolled my eyes and laughed, sipping the now-cooling ramen. "Yes, Miss Irene. Yes to all of that. He's… he's very intimidating in public. But alone… he's… softer, somehow. Curious. Interested. And… I don't know. It's hard to explain."
"Dangerous," she muttered knowingly, nodding like she'd seen it all before. "He's dangerous for your heart. But you… girl, you're a fighter. I like it. I like it a lot. And ramen? You're eating ramen after this? Brave."
I shrugged, smiling. "Ramen heals all wounds. Mochi agrees."
Mochi purred loudly, pressing against my arm as if he were endorsing my life choices.
Miss Irene leaned back, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
"Listen, Zarah. You survived today. You impressed a CEO. You didn't faint or throw up in terror. You handled business. That… that is worthy of celebration. Now, tell me—what's tomorrow gonna look like?"
I laughed softly, letting the warmth of my apartment, the ramen, and Mochi's comforting presence settle over me. "Tomorrow? I'm not sure. But I have a feeling… Mr. Sinclair will make sure I'm… tested."
She snorted. "Tested? Baby girl, you just entered the lion's den. But you? You're not just surviving—you're thriving. And I can't wait to hear the next chapter."
I smiled, wrapping Mochi a little tighter. The day had been a whirlwind—chaotic, nerve-wracking, thrilling—but here, in my little apartment, with ramen warming my belly and the soft vibration of Mochi's purrs, I felt… triumphant.
And maybe, just maybe… ready for whatever Mr. Sinclair had in store next.
"By the way—where's my shirt at?" Miss Irene's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Wellllll—"
"Wait! Coffee on my shirt??"
I laughed, shaking my head. No need to glance down. That day had already been survived, and somehow, I had come out… victorious.