Cynthia had decided one thing that morning: she would not let Alexander Blackwood scare her anymore.
Which lasted exactly six minutes.
"Miss brooks," his deep voice cut through the office silence, "your coffee is wrong again."
Cynthia turned, blinking. "It's… coffee. How can it be wrong?"
He stared at the cup like it had personally offended him.
"I said two sugars. Not three. Do I look like I enjoy sweetness?"
She bit back a laugh. Definitely not.
"Maybe you should try it sometime," she said under her breath.
His eyes flicked up, sharp and amused. "What was that?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Good. I wouldn't want my assistant developing a sense of humor."
Cynthia rolled her eyes the moment he looked away. Unfortunately, he looked back just in time to catch it.
A slow, wicked smirk crossed his face. "Did you just roll your eyes at me, Miss brooks?"
"No! I was just—uh—stretching my… pupils?"
He leaned forward across the desk, voice low. "You're a terrible liar."
Her heart tripped. She hated that his voice could do that — melt her insides while freezing her outside.
Then, out of nowhere, his phone rang. He glanced at it, frowned, and muttered something about an "annoying client."
Before leaving the room, he paused by her desk. "Don't burn the building down while I'm gone."
When the elevator doors closed behind him, Cynthia whispered, "Tempting."
But what she didn't know — what she couldn't know — was that Alexander was watching her through the security feed, an unreadable expression in his eyes.
Cold. Curious. Almost… entertained.
***
Vos art and medial really mean cynthia.Because out of every single person in the building, she had to get stuck in the elevator with him.
Alexander Blackwood.
Her boss. Her nightmare. Her favorite enemy.
The lights flickered once, twice, then died. The elevator jolted and stopped between floors. Cynthia stumbled and landed — unfortunately — right against him.
"Easy," he said, his hand automatically catching her waist. His voice was calm, low, infuriatingly steady.
"Sorry," she muttered, pulling away so fast she nearly hit the wall. "You okay?"
"I was fine until someone elbowed me in the ribs."
She glared in the darkness. "You're lucky I didn't throw you out the door."
"There is no door open," he replied dryly. "But I admire the spirit."
The emergency light flicked on, painting his face in a soft glow — sharp jawline, messy hair, eyes that looked too calm for a man trapped in a metal box.
"Why aren't you panicking?" she demanded.
"I don't panic," he said simply. "I delegate."
"To who? There's no one here!"
He gave a faint smirk. "Then I'll delegate it to you, Miss brooks,Make yourself useful."
Cynthia folded her arms. "You're unbelievable."
"I've heard worse."
They stood in silence for a while, the hum of rain faint beyond the walls. Cynthia's heart began to slow, but her thoughts didn't.
Being this close to him — cornered — was doing strange things to her pulse.
When the lights flickered again, she saw him watching her. Not cold this time. Curious. Quiet.
"What?" she asked, defensive.
"Nothing," he said, almost smiling. "You just look… different when you're not arguing."
Before she could answer, the elevator doors suddenly opened — and they both jumped apart like guilty teenagers.
A maintenance worker blinked at them. "You two okay?"
Cynthia nodded too quickly. "Yes! Perfectly fine. Great. Fantastic air quality in here."
Alexander sighed. "She's fine. She's just… dramatic."
As they walked out, Cynthia muttered, "Remind me to resign tomorrow."
Alexander's lips twitched. "Remind me to ignore it."