Her first task for me was simple.
At least, it was supposed to be.
We were in her department's main workspace — an open floor with desks grouped by project teams. I'd been given a small stack of documents to sort through and cross-check with some numbers on the system. Nothing complicated.
She was standing a few feet away with her team, going over a presentation draft on one of the monitors. I was meant to be working, but I kept finding my attention drifting back to her.
The way she leaned slightly toward the screen when she was focused. The way her team straightened when she spoke. The way her voice stayed calm, even when she was pointing out mistakes.
One of the analysts was explaining something about cost projections. I could hear the hesitation in his voice from here.
Victoria frowned at the chart. "This doesn't look right. We'll need to review the numbers before sending this to the board."
I glanced at the screen from where I was sitting. One glance was all it took.
"You're double-counting the supplier fees," I said without looking up from my papers.
The room went still for a second.
She turned her head toward me. "What?"
I finally looked up. "You've got them listed under operating costs and again under vendor payments. You fix that, your margin's closer to eight percent, not five."
The analyst blinked. So did the one next to him. I could almost hear the …oh in their heads.
Victoria didn't say anything for a moment. Her eyes stayed on me, unreadable, before she looked back at the screen.
"Check it," she told her team.
A few clicks later, one of them muttered, "He's right."
Her gaze returned to me. "Interesting."
Then she turned back to her work like it was nothing.
I went back to mine too, but I could feel the shift in the room. They'd noticed. And so had she.
---
The clock hit noon and the floor started to thin out. Most of the interns and junior staff headed toward the cafeteria. I stayed at my desk, scanning through the last few pages of the documents she'd given me.
"Mr. Reid."
I looked up. She was standing by my desk, one hand resting lightly on the edge. "Not taking a break?"
"Not hungry," I said.
Her eyes moved to the neatly stacked papers in front of me. "You've done more in one morning than most of the interns I've had in years."
I gave a small shrug. "It wasn't much."
"Still," she said, "you seem to know what you're doing. And you actually work."
There was the compliment. Most people would've jumped on it, thanked her, maybe smiled like they'd just been knighted.
I leaned back in my chair. "You sound surprised."
"I am," she admitted. "Most people in your position treat this like a summer camp."
"That's because most people in my position don't care," I said. My tone was even, but I let a faint smile pull at the corner of my mouth. "Doesn't mean I do either."
Her brows lifted just slightly. "Then why are you here?"
I met her gaze for a beat longer than necessary. "Maybe I like the view."
She didn't react right away, but I caught the way her lips pressed together for a second before she straightened.
"Lunch ends in thirty minutes. Don't waste the rest of it."
She walked away, heels clicking against the polished floor, and I watched her go — not because I had to, but because it was already becoming a habit.
---
By the end of the day, the office started to thin out. People filed toward the elevators in groups, already halfway into their evening plans. I took my time packing up. No rush.
The underground parking lot was cooler, quieter. My footsteps echoed against the concrete as I made my way toward the far exit. That's when I saw her — by a sleek black sedan, phone in one hand, keys in the other.
She wasn't looking at me. Not yet.
Because I was standing with someone else.
One of her team members — the junior analyst from earlier — had caught me on the way out. Something about a vendor mishap, a question that could've been sent in an email. She was explaining it with more enthusiasm than necessary, and I was… well, mostly just listening.
I leaned slightly against a pillar, arms crossed, letting her talk. I threw in the occasional "hm" or "yeah" to keep her going.
And then, from the corner of my eye, I caught movement.
Victoria had looked up. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer than it should have, shifting from the girl to me, then back again.
I met her eyes.
And I didn't look away.
A faint smirk tugged at my lips — just enough for her to notice, if she was paying attention.
She was.
Her expression didn't change, but the way she turned to get into her car was a little too sharp to be casual.
I let the smirk fade as the junior analyst wrapped up her story. I nodded, said something polite, but my thoughts were still on the black sedan pulling out of the lot without a glance in the rearview.
I'd seen the look.
---
To be continued...