I had never seen a building that seemed to judge people before they even walked through the door.
The headquarters of Blackridge Industries was massive, black, shiny, sharp as a blade. Even the air felt colder here.
Perfect.
Exactly what I needed for my first day: being intimidated by a building.
I cross the lobby walking too fast, a notebook pressed against my chest. Obviously, I'm late. My train was twenty minutes late, a kid spilled orange juice on my coat, and I had to run across half the city.
I inhale.
I exhale.
I smile.
I'll survive.
"You're late."
I freeze.
The voice comes from my left.
Calm.Cold.Authoritative.
When I turn, my heart tightens.
Ethan Blackridge.
The CEO.
The genius monster.
The guy who built an empire before thirty and who, according to rumors, has only smiled three times in his entire life.
He's even more intimidating in person.
Tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly tailored suit, steel-gray eyes that seem to scan people like an algorithm. If there's a word for his presence, it's sharp.
I blush before even opening my mouth.
"I… yes, I know. I'm sorry, my train…"
"Your personal life doesn't interest me."
Glacial tone.
"Name?"
"Amelia… Ross."
His gaze slides downward in a slow sweep—my shoes, my clothes, my notebook. Then rises again. Not in a creepy way. No. Worse.
In an analytical way.
As if I were a problem to solve.
"New intern."
He's not asking. He's stating it.
"Follow me."
He walks off. I don't even have time to nod.
I hurry after him, almost running. He doesn't even check if I'm behind him. To him, it's obvious I'll follow. Part of me hates that.
Another part… likes it a little too much.
The hallway on the top floor leads to a gigantic office, flooded with light. He stops in front of his glass desk, turns to me, and crosses his arms. His muscles stretch the fabric of his white shirt slightly. I look away so fast I must look guilty.
"Here is your station."
He points at a desk right next to his.
So close I could hear him breathe if I wanted.
I want to.
"I… I'll be working here?"
"Do you have a problem with that?"
"No, it's just that I thought interns were on the—"
"I don't like thinking."
He pierces me with his gaze.
"I prefer to observe what people are worth. You'll work there."
He drops a folder in front of me.
"Top priority. Report in one hour."
I blink.
"One hour?"
"Fifty-eight minutes now."
He sits down again without another word.
Conversation over.
I sit and open the folder. A flood of complex data, analyses, charts. My chest tightens: it's a test, obviously.
I work. Intensely. Without raising my head.
And yet…
I feel his gaze. At times. Quick, discreet, but real.
I look up once.
Instant regret.
He's staring at me.
Not like a boss.
Like a man trying to understand something.
Or trying not to want something.
I swallow hard.
I lower my eyes.
When I bring him the report fifty-seven minutes later, he reads it silently. His eyes skim the pages. Not a muscle moves.
Then:
"Correct."
I frown.
"Is that… good? Or 'correct' as in 'kind of terrible'?"
He lifts his eyes, raises an eyebrow barely.
"Correct."
He stands, approaches. Too close again.
"For someone untrained, it's actually… surprising."
Surprising.
Coming from Ethan Blackridge, that's practically a compliment.
He walks past me, and the air seems to shift around him. A rare warmth in this glacial man.
Then he stops behind me.
"You're shaking."
His voice is soft.
Unexpected.
"No, I… no, not at all."
I'm a terrible liar.
He knows it.
I feel it.
He leans slightly closer. I feel his breath on my neck. My skin shivers to the bone.
"Don't lie, Amelia."
A tremor runs through his voice.
"I hate that."
He steps back.
The air becomes breathable again.
"Get back to work."
Firm voice, controlled.
His rigidity returns. He folds back into himself as if what he just did burned him.
When I sit down, my hands are still trembling.
It's only the first day.
And yet…
I already know this man is dangerous.
For my nerves.
For my ambitions.
And for my heart.