Amanda's second day at Black Enterprises began with confidence. She had organized the merger files, impressed Greyson with her thoroughness, and convinced herself she could handle the pressure. But confidence, she quickly learned, was fragile.
By mid-morning, she was tasked with preparing a presentation for Greyson's executive board. It was simple enough: compile the data, arrange the slides, and ensure everything was flawless. Amanda worked quickly, double-checking numbers, aligning charts, and rehearsing her delivery.
When the meeting began, Greyson entered the boardroom with his usual commanding presence. The executives straightened in their seats, their conversations silenced instantly. Amanda stood at the front, her laptop connected to the screen, her heart pounding as she began.
At first, everything went smoothly. She explained the figures, highlighted key projections, and answered questions with poise. But then, halfway through, one of the executives interrupted.
"These numbers don't match last quarter's report," he said, his tone sharp.
Amanda froze. She glanced at the slide, realizing with horror that she had copied the wrong dataset into the chart. The discrepancy was glaring, undeniable.
The room shifted — whispers, raised brows, the subtle tension of judgment. Amanda's throat tightened. She wanted to disappear.
Before she could stammer an apology, Greyson spoke. His voice was calm, steady, but carried an edge that silenced the room.
"Miss Evans is new," he said, his gaze sweeping across the table. "Mistakes happen. What matters is how quickly they're corrected."
He turned to Amanda, his eyes locking with hers. "Fix it. You have until tomorrow morning."
Amanda nodded, her cheeks burning. "Yes, Mr. Black."
The meeting continued, but Amanda barely heard the rest. She was consumed by the weight of her error, the humiliation of faltering in front of Greyson and his board. Yet beneath the shame, there was something else — a flicker of gratitude. He hadn't dismissed her. He hadn't humiliated her further. He had defended her, in his own way.
After the meeting, Amanda lingered in the office, determined to correct the mistake. Hours passed as she rechecked every figure, every chart, every line of data. When she finally looked up, Greyson was standing in the doorway, watching her.
"You stayed late," he said.
"I wanted to make sure it was perfect this time," Amanda replied softly.
Greyson stepped into the room, his expression unreadable. "Perfection is an illusion. What I value is resilience. You didn't crumble. That matters."
Amanda's breath caught. His words, though simple, carried a weight that felt like approval — and something more.
As he turned to leave, he paused, his voice lower, almost intimate. "Don't let them shake you, Amanda. You're stronger than you think."
The door closed behind him, but Amanda remained still, her heart racing. For the first time, she realized that Greyson Black wasn't just her employer. He was a man who saw her — truly saw her — in a way no one else ever had.