Chapter 4 Clash

The sharp click of Serena's heels echoed down the pristine hallways of Sinclair Enterprises.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, she had stood in this very building, staring down Weston Sinclair, daring him to hire her. Now, she was walking straight into the lion's den. And she refused to be devoured.

A sleek folder had been tossed at her as she left his office. Inside:

Job Title: Executive Assistant to Weston Sinclair

Hours: 7 AM – Until He Says You Can Leave

Expectations: Perfection.

At the bottom of the page, scrawled in neat, slanted handwriting, was a single note:

Try not to embarrass yourself.

Serena had ripped it out and thrown it away.

Now, as she stepped onto the executive floor, she felt the weight of every pair of eyes on her.

The employees of Sinclair Enterprises were a different breed-driven, ruthless, molded to survive under one of the most demanding men in the industry. And here she was, the scandalous ex-heiress, thrust into their world straight from disgrace.

Some looked curious. Others smirked, already betting on how long she would last.

Serena ignored them all.

She was here to prove herself.

---

Her desk sat directly outside his office.

It was deliberate. A power move.

Weston wanted her close enough that every demand, every impossible expectation, would land right in her lap.

Serena set her bag down, inhaled slowly, and straightened her shoulders.

The sleek office phone rang, sharp and unrelenting.

Her first command.

She picked up. "Serena Lancaster."

Weston's voice was smooth, controlled. "Coffee. Now."

The line went dead.

Serena exhaled slowly.

This was how he wanted to play? Fine.

---

Fourteen minutes later, she stepped into his office with a steaming cup of coffee.

Weston sat behind his massive black desk, already focused on his computer screen. He didn't acknowledge her as she placed the cup down.

"This is your first mistake," he murmured, reaching for the cup.

Serena arched a brow. "I don't make mistakes."

He took a sip-then paused.

Slowly, he looked up.

The shift in the air was immediate, the room suddenly thick with unspoken tension.

"This isn't how I take my coffee."

Serena crossed her arms. "You didn't specify."

His gaze glinted. He had expected her to apologize. To scramble.

Instead, she was challenging him.

Weston set the cup down with infuriating slowness. Then, standing, he took a step toward her.

Too close.

Close enough that she had to tilt her chin to meet his gaze.

"You assume I explain myself to assistants?" His voice was low, edged with amusement.

Serena didn't move. Didn't flinch.

She smiled. "You assume I'm like the others."

Something flickered in his expression. Interest. Challenge.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

"Fix it." His voice dipped lower, and Serena hated the way her pulse quickened.

"Gladly," she said, turning on her heel.

If he wanted to test her, she was going to test him right back.

---

A fresh cup of coffee appeared on his desk.

Weston lifted it, took a sip-then smirked.

Black. No sugar. Exactly how he took it.

Serena waited, daring him to find another flaw.

His smirk deepened. "So, you're trainable."

Her smile didn't waver. "So are you."

His brows lifted slightly.

Serena tilted her head. "If you actually communicate what you want, I can meet your expectations. If you waste my time with games, you'll be the one drinking bad coffee."

A long, heavy silence.

Then-

A soft laugh.

Not loud. Not for anyone else to hear.

Serena's stomach flipped. Damn him.

Weston leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "We'll see how long that attitude lasts."

Serena lifted the coffee tray. "Enjoy your coffee, sir."

She walked out before she could see his reaction.

---

A new email landed in her inbox.

Subject: Fix This.

Attached: A fifty-page contract negotiation file, filled with redlined edits, complicated legal clauses, and one missing document she had never seen before.

No instructions. No guidance.

Serena stared at it.

Weston was testing her. Again.

Fine.

She rolled up her sleeves and got to work.

---

Three hours later, she stepped into his office and placed the file onto his desk.

Weston looked up, his eyebrows lifting slightly.

Serena crossed her arms. "Fixed."

He flipped through the pages. Quick, scanning, looking for mistakes.

His expression didn't change. But something in the room shifted.

She had done it. And he knew it.

He closed the file. "I underestimated you."

Serena smirked. "Everyone does."

Weston stood. This time, when he stepped toward her, she didn't move back.

The air between them hummed.

"You're not scared of me, are you?" His voice was quiet, a velvet threat.

Serena smiled. "Should I be?"

His gaze flicked-just briefly-to her lips.

She saw it. Felt it.

Then, he smirked. "We'll see."

A warning. A challenge.

Serena's pulse hammered, but she refused to let him see it.

She matched his smirk, then turned and walked away.

She had survived Day One.

But Weston Sinclair was just getting started.