By 8:00 AM sharp, Aria Langley stood at the revolving doors of Westwood Enterprises, laptop bag slung carefully over her shoulder—zipped this time—and her hands clutching a takeaway coffee cup like it was a holy relic.
She had dressed for war: crisp white shirt, black trousers, and a blazer that wasn't borrowed. Her hair was tied neatly, and she'd even remembered to wear heels—short ones. Just in case she had to sprint again.
A man in a fitted grey vest met her at the reception. Tall, lean, with stylish glasses and an amused expression. "You must be the Laptop Launcher."
She groaned. "Is that what everyone's calling me now?"
"Officially? No. But it's circulating." He stuck out a hand. "Darian Black. Adrian's assistant. I handle his schedule, calls, damage control—and occasionally, interns with bad aim."
"Nice to meet you," she said, shaking his hand.
"Follow me. HR's printing your badge and God help you if you don't smile in that photo. Adrian keeps copies."
They took the elevator up, and Darian gave her the lay of the land with dramatic flair.
"This floor is Finance—aka the land of spreadsheets and soulless jokes. Next to that is R&D. Brilliant minds, terrible hygiene. Don't ask about the explosion last week."
Aria blinked. "There was an explosion?"
"They were testing a self-heating coffee mug."
"Oh."
Darian grinned. "And here we are—Marketing. Your new kingdom of chaos."
The office space was sleek but buzzing with creativity—mood boards, large screens, interns in oversized headphones, and someone trying to balance three coffee cups while typing.
"Interns are over there. Desk by the window is yours. Your supervisor will come scream at you after lunch."
"...Scream?"
"Affectionately," Darian clarified. "Sometimes."
Before she could settle in, a familiar voice rang out across the floor.
"Miss Langley."
Aria turned—and her breath caught slightly. Adrian Westwood, in yet another impossibly tailored suit, was walking toward her. Controlled. Powerful. Slightly intimidating.
"Mr. Westwood," she said.
His gaze flicked down to her bag, then to her. "I trust your electronics are secure today?"
"Double-zipped," she replied, lifting her bag like a trophy.
A glint of amusement flashed in his eyes before disappearing. "Good. I don't run a hospital."
He turned to leave, but paused. "Also, Darian?"
"Yes, boss?"
"No sugar in her coffee until she's proven stable."
Aria's mouth dropped open. "That was one laptop!"
Darian bowed. "Trial protocol."
As Adrian walked off, Darian leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry. He's only this dramatic with people he actually remembers."
Aria blinked. "Wait, so I left an impression?"
"Oh yeah. You launched your way into his weekly therapy session."
Later that day…
Her supervisor, a no-nonsense woman named Zara, ran her through three campaigns, five deadlines, and a crash course in "how not to get fired in your first hour."
By the end of the day, Aria was drained, dazed, and had made exactly one work friend—a cheerful guy named Arjun who referred to everyone as "bro" regardless of gender.
"Hey bro, you survived day one!" he said, handing her a juice box.
"Barely," she replied, sipping gratefully.
"You've met the boss yet?"
"In person. Twice. Once airborne."
He laughed so hard he choked on his juice.
Meanwhile, in Adrian's office…
"Sir," Darian said, handing over a tablet. "Your new intern is doing fine. She corrected the pitch copy in five minutes and avoided all major injuries."
Adrian didn't look up from his screen. "Good. Keep an eye on her."
Darian smirked. "Worried she'll break something?"
Adrian's mouth twitched. "Worried she won't."