Ava's alarm rang at 5:15 AM.
She slapped it off with a groan.
"Why, Alexander Blackwell… why," she mumbled into her pillow.
But she knew why.
He wanted her there by seven.
And she was determined not to give him a single reason to doubt her.
By 6:55 AM, she was stepping off the elevator, breath puffing slightly from her power walk through the freezing morning air. The executive floor was still waking up—lights dim, only a few early-bird employees scattered around.
But Alexander's office was already lit.
Of course it was.
Ava walked to her desk, placed her bag down, and turned on her computer. She didn't even get the chance to sit before the office door opened.
Alexander stepped out, holding a stack of folders.
And wearing a different suit.
This one was navy.
Somehow, that made him even more dangerous.
His eyes flicked to her. "You're early."
"You told me to be here by seven," she replied.
"I also expected you to be cutting it close."
Ava blinked. "Well… I'm not a fan of disappointing people."
Something shifted in his expression—barely, like the softest twitch of surprise—but then it vanished.
He handed her the folders. "We have a product launch proposal to prepare. You'll be assisting with the preliminary coordination."
She nodded and took the folders, but he didn't walk away immediately.
Instead, his gaze lingered on her face—not critically, not coldly… just looking.
Assessing.
Then—
"You cut your hair," he said.
Her stomach flipped. "Oh. Yes. Just a trim."
He nodded once and headed back into his office.
Ava stood frozen. He noticed?
Alexander Blackwell—the man who barely noticed the weather, the man who might not notice if the building caught fire—had noticed her haircut?
She pushed the thought aside and focused on her tasks. The morning moved fast, filled with emails, scheduling calls, and going through the product launch files he'd given her. While she worked, she felt Alexander's presence. Not physically—his office door stayed shut—but she felt the tension, the expectation.
At 10:20 AM, his voice came through her intercom.
"Ava. My office."
Her pulse jumped.
She smoothed her skirt and walked in, notebook in hand. He sat behind his massive desk, a tablet in front of him, papers spread out like organized chaos.
"There's an investor call in ten minutes," he said. "You'll sit in."
Her eyes widened. "I—Me?"
"Yes. Unless there is another Ava on this floor I'm unaware of."
She swallowed. "I just didn't think I was… qualified for that."
He didn't look up. "No one is qualified until they are."
Her eyes softened. For Alexander Blackwell, that was practically inspirational.
He continued, "You will take minutes, manage follow-ups, and send out a summary after the call. Understood?"
"Yes. I can do that."
"Good."
He looked at her again—longer this time. The kind of look that made her feel like he was stripping away layers, trying to figure her out.
Then, unexpectedly:
"You're adapting faster than most new hires."
Ava felt her heartbeat stutter.
"That's… good to know," she said quietly.
"It's also necessary," he added. "Working directly under me is demanding, and not many last long."
"Why?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He raised his head fully. His gaze pinned her in place. "Because I expect excellence."
She held his stare. "Then I'll give you excellence."
Silence stretched, thick and intense.
For the first time since she'd met him… Alexander's eyes softened.
Barely.
Faintly.
A crack in the ice.
Then, as if catching himself, he straightened.
"Sit," he said. "The call is starting."
She took the chair beside him. The screen lit up as executives and investors joined. Ava's fingers hovered above her keyboard as she prepared to take notes.
The call began.
As Alexander spoke, she couldn't help but glance at him occasionally. His voice was smooth and firm, his confidence absolute. He handled investors like he handled the company—precision, strength, and zero hesitation.
Halfway through the meeting, one of the investors questioned a timeline.
"That deadline seems unrealistic," the man said. "Your team will never manage it."
Ava saw the flicker—just a small tightening of Alexander's jaw.
But instead of snapping, he said calmly:
"My team is more capable than you give them credit for."
Ava felt that sentence in her chest.
Was that… a compliment? To her? To the whole team?
He continued the discussion with absolute dominance. By the end of the call, investors were nodding, jotting notes, agreeing.
When the call ended, Ava realized her hands were shaking slightly—from adrenaline, from focus, from being in the same room with him while he was in full power mode.
"That was…" she began.
"Efficient," he said, as if rating the air. He leaned back slightly, eyes on her notes. "You keep up well."
"That's the goal."
"And you're meeting it."
Her stomach flipped again.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Don't thank me," he said. "Just stay consistent."
She nodded.
Then he leaned back in his chair, studying her with an expression she couldn't read—curiosity, maybe. Or something more complicated.
Before she could decipher it, he said,
"You'll accompany me to the strategy dinner tonight."
Ava choked. "Dinner? With… you?"
"It's business," he said coolly. "Not a date."
Her face burned. "I—I didn't mean—"
He held up a hand. "You'll take notes, organize follow-ups, and manage the post-meeting correspondence. You'll need something formal."
Ava blinked. "Formal? Like… how formal?"
He finally looked away, picking up another file.
"Black tie."
Her heart nearly stopped.
Black tie meant fancy restaurant, high-ranking executives, important discussions. People who could probably buy small countries.
And she would be there.
With Alexander.
Who didn't do small talk.
Or warmth.
Or emotions.
"Be ready by six," he said.
Ava walked out of his office slowly, her pulse thundering.
This wasn't just another work assignment.
This was another test.
A big one.
And as she sat back down at her desk, trying to breathe normally, she couldn't help but feel it:
The ice around Alexander Blackwell wasn't just cracking.
It was melting.
One degree at a time.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Every hour brought a new task, a new challenge, a new email that needed immediate attention. Ava barely had time to sip her coffee, much less think about the black-tie dinner Alexander expected her to attend.
But the thought of it stayed in the back of her mind—heavy, buzzing, impossible to ignore.
At 3:00 PM, she glanced at the time, realization slamming into her.
I don't even have a black-tie outfit.
Not one.
Not even close.
Her closet held work blouses, a few dresses that could pass as "nice" on a budget, and one outfit she called her "I tried" ensemble. But black tie? No. Absolutely not.
As if the universe wanted to punish her further, her intercom buzzed.
"Ava," Alexander's voice came through, smooth but sharp. "My office."
She swallowed, stood, and walked in. He was reviewing something on his tablet, sleeves rolled up again in a way that made her brain malfunction slightly.
He didn't look up as he spoke. "The restaurant hosting the dinner is formal, as I said. I assume you have the appropriate attire?"
Panic shot through her.
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Alexander finally looked at her, his expression unreadable. "You don't."
She straightened her shoulders. "I can get something. I just need… time."
He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment—those gray eyes dissecting her, seeing more than she wanted him to.
Then he sighed quietly, almost imperceptibly.
"Very well," he said. "You may leave an hour early."
Ava blinked. "Really?"
"Use the time wisely," he added. "I'm not rescheduling because your wardrobe is unprepared."
"Of course not," she murmured. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," he said, returning to his tablet. "Just show up on time."
She turned to leave, but he spoke again—unexpectedly:
"And Ava?"
She stopped. "Yes?"
"You represent me when you're beside me in public." His voice softened—not warm, but undeniably gentler than usual. "Look the part."
Her breath caught.
"I will," she whispered.
He nodded once, dismissing her, but something lingered in the air—something she wasn't ready to name.
---
4:15 PM
Ava rushed through the shopping district, scanning store windows like her life depended on it.
Classic gowns.
Expensive gowns.
Sparkly gowns.
Gowns that cost more than her rent.
She entered a boutique she absolutely couldn't afford on a normal day. But this wasn't a normal day. Her job—her reputation—depended on showing up looking like she belonged next to the ice king himself.
A saleswoman approached. "Can I help you?"
"Yes," Ava said, catching her breath. "I have a black-tie dinner tonight. Something elegant. Simple. Not too flashy. And… quick to try on."
The woman smiled knowingly. "Follow me."
Within minutes, Ava found herself surrounded by satin, lace, and silk. She tried on dress after dress—too tight, too sparkly, too much, too little—until finally, she stepped into the one.
A deep emerald gown.
Elegant.
Modest but stunning.
A shade that made her skin glow.
The saleswoman gasped. "That's it. That's the one."
Ava stared at her reflection, heart fluttering. She barely recognized herself. Confidence flickered—nervous, fragile, but real.
"I'll take it," she said.
Her credit card cried, but she ignored it.
Some risks were worth taking.
---
5:50 PM
Ava stood in front of the mirror in the executive restroom back at Blackwell Innovations, slipping into the gown and adjusting the thin straps. She pinned her hair into a soft updo and added light makeup—professional but elegant.
When she finally stepped out of the restroom, she took a deep breath.
This was it.
Her heels clicked softly on the polished floor as she approached her desk to grab her notebook and tablet.
She hadn't even reached for them when Alexander's office door opened.
He stepped out.
Stopped.
And stared.
For the first time since she'd known him, Alexander Blackwell did not hide his reaction.
His eyes widened—slightly.
His posture shifted.
His lips parted as if he had a comment but lost it halfway.
He looked at her slowly. Thoroughly. And Ava felt heat rush up her neck.
"Is… something wrong?" she asked softly.
He blinked—once, slowly—like he was resetting himself.
"No," he said, voice lower than usual. "Nothing is wrong."
Silence.
Heavy.
Charged.
Then he cleared his throat, straightened his jacket, and said:
"You look… appropriate."
Ava almost smiled. Coming from him, "appropriate" was basically "breathtaking."
"Thank you," she said.
He hesitated—unusual for him. "Shall we?"
"Yes."
He walked ahead, but his usual confident stride was just a fraction slower, giving her space to walk beside him instead of behind.
A small gesture.
But it meant something.
They entered the private elevator reserved for executives. The doors closed, and the quiet inside was thick, intimate.
Alexander glanced at her again—quick, controlled, but undeniably curious.
And for the first time…
He didn't look away immediately.
Ava's heart thudded, slow and heavy.
Tonight wasn't just another test.
It was something else.
Something shifting.
Something beginning.
And she wasn't sure whether she should be terrified…
Or excited.