Sophie's POV
I arrived at Ross Industries at 8:30 AM on Monday, thirty minutes early because I was terrified of being late on my first day.
Linda had called Friday afternoon with official confirmation: Mr. Ross approved your hire. Welcome to the team, Sophie. Orientation starts Monday at nine.
Now I stood in the lobby, smoothing down my suit for the hundredth time, trying to calm my racing heart.
First day? the security guard asked kindly.
That obvious?
You have that look. Don't worry—everyone survives orientation. Even the ones who cry. He winked. Take the elevator to the fortieth floor. Conference room B.
I rode up with three other nervous-looking people who must be new hires too. We introduced ourselves quietly, James from Yale, Priya from MIT, David from Stanford. All brilliant. All terrified.
I heard Mr. Ross never comes to orientations, James said. Too busy running the empire.
Thank God, Priya muttered. I'm nervous enough without the Ice King staring at me.
I forced a laugh, but my stomach twisted. The Ice King. That's what they called Damien Ross—the CEO who'd built a company through ruthless intelligence and never showed emotion.
The conference room was already filling up. Seven new hires total, all settling into chairs around a massive table. The view overlooked Manhattan, glass and steel stretching as far as I could see.
Linda arrived precisely at nine. Good morning, everyone! Welcome to Ross Industries. I'm Linda Chen, and I'll be conducting your orientation today.
Relief washed through me. No CEO. Just HR. I could handle this.
Linda launched into company history, policies, expectations. I took notes diligently, hyper-aware that I needed to be perfect. No mistakes. No slip-ups. This job was my second chance, and I wasn't going to waste it.
Now, normally our CEO doesn't attend orientations, Linda said after about twenty minutes. But Mr. Ross specifically requested to welcome this group personally. He should be here any—
The doors opened.
And my entire world stopped.
Walking into the conference room, wearing a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my rent, was HIM.
The stranger from the hotel.
Silver-gray eyes that had looked at me with tenderness and pain.
The man whose touch I still felt like a ghost on my skin.
Damien Ross.
Our eyes met, and I watched shock flash across his face before he controlled it. But for one second—one devastating second, I saw everything: recognition, disbelief, desire, and something that looked almost like relief.
Then his expression became pure ice.
Good morning, he said to the room, his voice that same deep tone that had whispered my name in the darkness. I'm Damien Ross, CEO of Ross Industries.
He didn't look at me again, but I felt his awareness like a physical touch.
I don't normally attend orientations, Damien continued, moving to the head of the table. But Linda tells me this is an exceptional group. I wanted to meet you personally and set expectations clearly.
His presence filled the room. Everyone sat straighter, paying complete attention. This was a man who commanded respect without trying.
At Ross Industries, we have three non-negotiable principles: excellence, integrity, and results. His eyes swept across each person, pausing fractionally longer on me. We don't accept excuses. We don't tolerate weakness. And we absolutely do not accept any form of dishonesty.
That last word felt aimed directly at my chest. Dishonesty. We'd spent a night together without names. Without truth. And now here we were, staring at each other across a conference table, both pretending to be strangers.
You were chosen because you demonstrated exceptional talent, Damien said. Don't disappoint us. Don't waste this opportunity. And most importantly, don't make me regret this decision.
He outlined expectations—brutal hours, high pressure, immediate termination for poor performance. The entire time, his gaze kept returning to me. Not obviously. Just small glances that felt like fire against my skin.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only sit there remembering how those hands had held me, how that voice had told me I was incredible, how those eyes had seen me in ways nobody else ever had.
Any questions? Damien asked.
James raised his hand. Will we have opportunities to work directly with senior leadership?
If you earn it. Damien's response was clipped. We promote based on merit alone. Impress us, and doors open. Fail, and you're out.
More questions followed. I stayed silent, praying he wouldn't call on me, wouldn't make me speak and reveal how badly my hands were shaking.
Then the door opened. A sharp-looking man in his forties—Damien's assistant, I realized from my research—entered and whispered something urgent in his ear.
Damien's jaw tightened. Excuse me. I have a call I need to take.
He moved toward the door, and I thought maybe I'd survived this. Maybe he'd leave and I could process what just happened.
Then he paused, his hand on the door handle.
Ms. Mitchell. His voice was cold, controlled. My office. Five minutes.
The room went silent. Everyone stared at me.
Yes, sir, I managed, my voice barely working.
Damien left without another word.
How does he know your name? Priya whispered.
I... I don't know. The lie tasted bitter.
Linda returned, completely oblivious to the bomb that had just exploded. Let's continue with company benefits and—Sophie, Mr. Ross's office is on the forty-fifth floor when you're ready. Just ask for James.
The rest of orientation passed in a blur. I couldn't focus on anything except the countdown: four minutes until I had to face him. Three minutes. Two.
Finally, Linda dismissed us for a break. Sophie, don't keep Mr. Ross waiting. He values punctuality.
I rode the elevator to the forty-fifth floor, my heart pounding so hard I felt dizzy. This couldn't be happening. The stranger from the hotel couldn't be my new boss. It was impossible. A nightmare.
But when the elevator doors opened and James greeted me with a knowing smile, I knew it was real.
Ms. Mitchell. Mr. Ross is expecting you. His eyes held something that looked almost like amusement. Go right in.
I approached the massive doors, took a breath, and knocked.
Enter.
I pushed open the door to an office that took up half the floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows, minimalist furniture, and Damien—standing with his back to me, staring out at the Manhattan skyline.
Close the door, he said without turning around.
I did, my hands shaking.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, heavy with everything we weren't saying.
Finally, Damien turned to face me.
And the ice in his expression cracked just enough for me to see the storm beneath.
Did you know? His voice was rough, barely controlled. Did you know who I was?
No. The word came out as a whisper. Did you?
No. He moved closer, and I caught his scent—that same expensive cologne mixed with something uniquely him. I searched for you, Sophie. Every day for three weeks. Every hotel database. Every security camera. I couldn't find you.
My breath caught. You looked for me?
Every single day. Another step closer. Do you have any idea what that was like? Meeting someone who actually saw past everything, who connected with me as just a man, then having her disappear like smoke?
I thought— My voice broke. I thought it was just one night. No names. No consequences.
That was before I spent three weeks unable to stop thinking about you. His control was slipping, emotion bleeding through. Before I walked into random bars hoping to find you. Before I questioned every decision that led me to let you leave without knowing your name.
Damien—
And then you walk into my company. His laugh was bitter. Into my conference room. Looking at me like you're seeing a ghost. And I'm supposed to what? Pretend that night never happened?
Yes! The word burst out of me. That's exactly what we have to do! I work for you now. This—whatever this is—it can't happen.
You think I don't know that? He ran a hand through his hair, destroying its perfect style. You think I don't understand how complicated this is?
Then why did you call me up here?
Because I needed to know. He was close now, so close I could see gold flecks in those silver-gray eyes. I needed to know if you felt it too. That night. If it was real or if I imagined the whole damn thing.
It was real, I whispered. Too real.
Then we have a problem. His hand lifted, almost touching my face, then dropped. Because I can't be objective about you, Sophie. I can't watch you in meetings and think about strategy. I can't sit across from you and not remember
Don't. I stepped back, needing distance. Please don't say it.
Why? Because it makes it real? His voice turned hard. It's already real. Has been since you sat down next to me in that hotel bar.
That was different! We were strangers!
We're still strangers. Damien's smile was cold. You don't know anything about me except what happened in one night. I don't know anything about you except that you're running from something and you kiss like you're drowning.
The words hit like a slap. Is that what you think? That I'm some broken girl who needed saving?
I think we're both broken. His voice softened slightly. I think we recognized that in each other. And I think that's what scares you most—that I see you. Really see you.
Tears burned behind my eyes. This can't happen. I need this job, Damien. I need it. My ex-fiancé destroyed my reputation. My family abandoned me. This is my only chance to rebuild my life. If anyone finds out about that night—
They won't. Damien's expression shuttered, ice sliding back into place. You're right. This can't happen. What we had in that hotel room stays there. Done. Finished.
Good. I lifted my chin. Professional. Cordial. Nothing more.
Exactly. But neither of us moved.
The air between us crackled with tension—anger and desire and fear all tangled together. I wanted to leave. Needed to leave. But my feet wouldn't move, and his eyes held mine like gravity.
Is there anything else, Mr. Ross? I asked, my voice cold.
Yes. He pulled an envelope from his desk. Your contract. Review it and return it to HR by end of day.
I took it, making sure our fingers didn't touch. Anything else?
Stay out of my way, Ms. Mitchell. Each word was precisely controlled. Don't give me a reason to notice you. Don't make this more complicated than it already is.
The dismissal hurt more than it should. With pleasure.
I turned to leave, my vision blurring with unshed tears.
Sophie.
I froze, my hand on the door handle.
Welcome to Ross Industries. His voice was quiet, almost gentle. You earned this position. Your interview was brilliant. Don't let anyone—including me—make you doubt that you deserve to be here.
I looked back at him, and for just one second, I saw the man from the hotel. Vulnerable. Honest. Real.
Then the mask slammed back into place, and he was the Ice King again.
I left without another word.
James was waiting outside with a sympathetic expression that made me think he'd heard more than he should have through the door.
Conference room A, he said gently. Your team is waiting for introductions.
I followed him down the hallway, trying to compose myself. Trying to forget the way Damien had looked at me like I was something he wanted but couldn't have.
Stay out of my way.
Fine. I could do that. I'd keep my head down, do brilliant work, and rebuild my life. The stranger from the hotel was gone. Damien Ross was my CEO. Nothing more.
I just had to survive working for a man whose touch I still felt like fire on my skin.
A man who'd searched for me for three weeks.
A man who looked at me like I was the answer to a question he was terrified to ask.
James led me to a glass-walled conference room where three people waited. A sharp-eyed woman about my age extended her hand.
Sophie Mitchell? I'm Maya Santos, senior analyst. Welcome to the strategic planning team.
I shook hands with her and two men—Robert Chen and David Kim—trying to focus on their faces instead of the office behind them where Damien stood at his window, watching the city like a king surveying his empire.
We're excited to have you, Maya continued. Mr. Ross personally assigned you to this team, which basically never happens. He must see serious potential.
If only she knew.
Your desk is this way, Maya said, leading me to a workspace near the windows. Close enough to the action but not too close to the boss's office. Best seat in the house.
I looked where she pointed and my heart sank.
My desk had a perfect view directly into Damien's office through the glass walls.
Which meant he had a perfect view of me.
Stay out of my way, he'd said.
But the office design made that impossible. We'd see each other every single day. Every meeting. Every moment.
You okay? Maya asked, seeing my face. You look like you've seen a ghost.
I'm fine. I set down my bag with shaking hands. Just... first day nerves.
You'll get used to it. Mr. Ross seems scary, but he's fair. Demanding as hell, but fair.
I glanced up at his office. Damien stood at his window, his back to the floor, shoulders rigid with tension.
He'd searched for me for three weeks.
And now we were trapped in the same building, seeing each other every day, pretending that one perfect night never happened.
My computer pinged with a calendar invitation: Strategic Planning Session - 3 PM - Conference Room A. Attendees: Advanced Strategy Team, Damien Ross.
My first meeting with him. In five hours.
Maya noticed the invitation and whistled. Wow. He's actually joining the session? He never does that for new team members. Sophie, what did you do to impress him?
I let him touch me like I was sacred. I told him my secrets in the dark. I made him feel less alone.
I have no idea, I lied.
But as I settled at my desk, pretending to review documents while my mind spun in circles, I knew the truth.
Damien Ross and I weren't finished.
Not even close.
And in five hours, I'd have to sit across from him in a meeting and pretend my heart wasn't breaking.
Pretend I didn't want him to look at me the way he had in that hotel suite—like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Pretend that one night hadn't changed absolutely everything.
The clock ticked toward 3 PM, and with each passing minute, my anxiety grew.
Because I had no idea how to survive working for a man I couldn't stop wanting.
A man who'd made it crystal clear that wanting him back was the one thing I absolutely couldn't do.
My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: Conference room A. 3 PM. Don't be late. And Sophie? We need to set ground rules. This ends today. -DR
I stared at the message, my heart racing.
Damien Ross was drawing a line.
And I had no choice but to agree.
Even if it destroyed me.
Even if every instinct I had screamed that walking away from him was the biggest mistake of my life.
The clock struck 2:55 PM.
Time to face the man who'd held my heart for one perfect night.
And convince him—convince both of us—that forgetting each other was even possible.