The Girls – (The Watchers)
They watched from across the floor, pretending to type, pretending to read metrics, pretending to care about anything but the girl walking out of Zayn Anderson office.
Again.
This time, holding his mug.
"She messed it up," whispered Lara, eyes flicking back to her screen as if anyone cared about the dummy spreadsheet open in front of her. "You could see it on his face. The jaw twitch."
"Oh yeah," said Meera, not looking up. "That twitch means death. I'd rather be hit by a bus."
"He should fire her," said Addison, leaning her chin into her palm. "I mean, two days in and she's already ruined copies and his coffee? What's next? Accidentally deleting the instructor database?"
They laughed softly—quiet enough to stay professional, loud enough to sting if Jen happened to hear.
"She's not even… like, impressive," Meera added, wrinkling her nose. "I thought his new assistant would be, you know, poised. Polished. Not some wide-eyed intern with thrift store shoes."
"She probably cried yesterday," Lara said smugly. "You could tell. Her eyes were puffy when she walked in this morning."
"She'll cry again," Addison muttered. "Nobody survives a week with him. Especially not girls like that."
But still… they all glanced at the office door again.
Because there was always that hope. That fantasy.
Zayn Anderson: CEO, perfectionist, enigma. A man carved from ice and marble, who didn't need anyone—and that's exactly why they wanted him.
He didn't smile at people.
He didn't flirt.
He didn't even look.
So when he did—when his voice dropped just slightly, or when his stare lingered half a second longer than it should—they noticed. They documented.
That made him rare. Magnetic.
And now she sat closest to him. She heard his voice first every morning. She got to knock on the frosted glass and enter his world.
It wasn't fair.
"I bet she thinks he's mean," Meera said, rolling her eyes. "Bet she's telling her little friends how he 'humiliated' her."
"As if she matters enough to be humiliated," Addison scoffed.
"He needs someone strong. Not… weepy."
"And definitely not basic."
There was a pause. Then Lara added quietly, "You don't think he likes her, do you?"
Silence.
Then Meera's laugh—dry and sharp. "Zayn Anderson doesn't like people. Least of all secretaries who can't bring hot coffee."
And just like that, the tension eased.
Because if Zayn Anderson did like someone?
It wouldn't be her
.Jane POV
The mug trembled in my hand, a delicate ceramic thing that somehow weighed a thousand pounds now. His words echoed, sharp and clean like glass slicing through paper.
The boardroom door shut behind me with a soft click, but it might as well have been a gunshot. Silence wrapped around me as i walked down the hallway, head down, pace brisk, heart dragging behind like a wounded thing.
i could still hear meera 's fake cough of laughter. Could still feel eyes grazing my back like invisible pinpricks—curious, judgmental, entertained.
I ducked into the kitchenette, away from the hum of voices and fluorescent scrutiny. I set the mug down too hard. It clinked against the counter, sloshing coffee over the rim. The stain bled like shame.
> "It's just coffee," I whispered bitterly. "It's just a stupid cup of coffee."
But it wasn't.
It was a test, like everything in this building seemed to be. And she failed it. Again.
I gripped the edge of the counter and bowed my head. my throat ached with unshed tears, but i wouldn't cry. Not here. Not where the walls had ears and Addison probably had a sixth sense for emotional breakdowns.
A deep breath. Then another.
my father's voice surfaced in my mind, low and steady like always.
> "They can talk to you any way they want, Jane. That's on them. But you decide what you believe."
"You've got your mother's quiet fire. You just haven't let it burn yet."
I blinked, chest tightening.
He used to say that when i came home in tears from school, when i felt invisible in a crowd of louder, shinier girls. When teachers praised others while barely remembering my name.
> "One day, they'll see you. I promise."
Maybe not today. Maybe not here. But i have shown up, haven't i? I hadn't run when Zayn's words sliced through me. i hadn't curled in on herself when Lara smirked like a cat who'd found a limping mouse.
i was still standing.
i wiped the coffee spill with a napkin, my fingers shaking just slightly. Then i smoothed my blouse, straightened my shoulders, and picked up the mug again—refilled it with fresh coffee, hotter this time.
I didn't know what Zayn wanted, really. But I will figure it out. And if I couldn't win his approval, I will survive without it.
Quiet fire.
Let it burn.