Chapter 4 A Chance for Redemption: Sierra Lands the Job

Sleep was elusive to me that night.

Everytime I closed my eyes, I did more and more mental replaying of the day at Cross Enterprises-Damon's sharp voice, the relentless pace, the never-ending meetings, with me somewhere in the middle, scraping to keep up and trying desperately to prove I could.

As those thoughts came into my mind, I would squeeze shut my eyes and whisper to myself, You survived it. You didn't break.

But the truth is, just one day surviving didn't mean it. Especially not in the hands of a man named Damon Cross.

By morning, my nerves had twisted into a tighter mess.

Here I was at the edge of my bed, staring across my phone and willing it to ring. Damon had said nothing formal about giving me the job. No promises. No reassurances. Just Chicago, with an implication that was almost a foregone conclusion.

But men like Damon didn't just make random calls based on gut feelings or vague impressions. They evaluated their odds and weighed their outcomes.

And, who knows, maybe after a long, deep sleep, he had had enough and had decided I was going to be a pain.

Stop it, I chastised myself and grabbed my coffee to start pacing the living room.

I did everything I could; the rest was no longer within my control.

It would just be so damned hard to believe I could win this one.

After Zachary, after all the lies, the betrayals, and the humiliations, winning now seemed far removed from Sierra's grasp.

I was still pacing when it rang.

I swung it off the couch so fast it nearly slipped out of my hand.

An unknown number.

My heart lurched.

"Hello?" I managed a near-steady voice.

"Sierra Everly?"

The brisk, professional tone belonged to a woman.

"Yes." My stomach stiffened into a hard knot.

"This is Veronica Steele, Mr. Cross's executive coordinator. He asked me to formally offer you the position of his executive assistant, effective immediately."

I blinked.

At that moment, I truly thought I must have misheard.

"I-yes, yes, absolutely!" I stammered, slapping my hand over my mouth to keep the ridiculously small sob of relief from escaping.

"An official contract will be sent to your email within the hour," Veronica continued, not even slightly fazed by the sorry state of my composure. "After reviewing it thoroughly, Mr. Cross expects you to arrive at the office at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow for a twelve o'clock departure to Chicago."

"Understood." I gripped the phone like it was a lifeline.

"And, Miss Everly?"

"Yes?"

"Congratulations. Mr. Cross has a well-deserved reputation for brutality. Most employees do not survive past the first day."

And before I could say anything, she cut the phone.

I was standing in my tiny apartment, the tissues still against my ear, heart drumming on the ribs.

I got the job.

I got the job!

I laughed, that breathless, disbelieving sound, sinking down onto my couch.

After all of this, after Zachary's endless accusations, which had ripped my self-confidence apart in piece after slow, painful piece, after the nights I had spent crying myself to sleep, tortured by thoughts that I would ever again be more than broken glass scattered across the floor...

This was mine.

This was hard-earned.

More than an appointment.

It was redemption.

The first crack of light after too many years of living in darkness.

The contract had reached my inbox within one hour, as promised by Veronica.

I started scrolling slowly through the document, my eyes widening with every line on the screen.

The salary, generous - that would be an understatement. Considering how my previous salary really was almost laughable, the benefits were downright amazing. Health insurance, travel allowance, bonuses depending on performance.

It was as though I were inhaling a bad dream.

I read the description three more times to reassure myself that nothing eluded me, then printed it and signed it with a quaking hand before scanning and sending it back.

When I hit 'send', it felt like a door slamming shut on my past.

Good riddance.

I needed to look polished, professional, and gracious next to a man like Damon Cross.

Packing for Chicago was more than just tossing on a few outfits into a suitcase.

Looking through my closet, I felt kind of panicky all over again at the sight of that selection of blouses and slacks.

Most of it came straight from Old Navy.

Two twin sets from my closet are quite nice. The one that I actually wore was for the interview, but there was no way it'd hold up for this trip.

Priorities, I reminded myself.

The price tag didn't matter.

It was all about the way I held myself.

I pulled the best items I could find, steaming out wrinkles, polishing my heels, and ensuring every last blouse I packed was pressed and crisp.

Make it work, Sierra.

You always do.

By early afternoon, everything was in place.

Two smart outfits for meetings. One for travel. Some additional pieces with just-in-case possibilities. I packed intentionally and efficiently, checking each item thrice.

And finally with a zip down of the suitcase, I found a seat back on my heels smiling.

No longer was this the woman who had broken under Zachary's spite.

Not anymore.

This is her turn to edit.

And I am not wasting it.

The next morning, I arrived at Cross Enterprises ten minutes ahead of time, wearing my best navy suit, hair in a low bun, makeup understated and professional. Tightly clutched my bag with a stomach tied in knots of nervousness and excitement. The receptionist, a different woman from before, greeted me with a polite smile and directed me to the private elevator. At the top of the floor stood Veronica Steele, waiting for me.

She was tall, impeccably dressed, and carried herself with the kind of authority that made people snap to attention. "Miss Everly," she said, shaking my hand. "Welcome officially." "Thank you," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. She handed me a company badge and a slim black folder. "Here's your access card and onboarding materials. Mr. Cross is in a meeting. He'll join you shortly." I nodded, slipping the badge onto my blazer. Veronica studied me for a moment, then gave a small nod of approval - or at least what I hoped was approval. "You'll do fine," she said. "Just remember - Cross values results, not excuses." "I understand." "Good." She turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall, leaving me alone in the massive, sleek office space. I sat at the assistant's desk - my desk, I realized with a thrill - and familiarized myself with the computer setup, email system, and calendar app. Everything was efficient. Organized. Ruthlessly streamlined. Just like Damon himself. I had just finished entering my credentials when a shadow fell across the desk. I looked up - and there he was. Damon Cross. When the sun glares down, even more intimidating. He wore a fitted black suit today: crisp, powerful, and dark eyes locked into mine with that same piercing focus. "You're early," he said. "I wanted to make sure I was fully prepared before we left for Chicago," I replied, standing. He barely lifted the corner of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile. "Good." He handed me a slim packet of documents. "Meeting agenda. Flight itinerary. Client profiles. Familiarize yourself before we land." I took the packet carefully, nodding. "I'll have everything memorized." "You'll need it," he said. "These meetings aren't for show. We're closing a deal that's been six months in the making. I expect you to anticipate my needs without constant reminders." "I can do that." He studied me for a long beat, as if weighing the truth of my words. Then he nodded once, brisk and satisfied. "We leave in an hour. Meet me in the lobby." With that, he strode off down the hall, his presence as commanding as a tidal wave. I sat back down, my heart hammering in my chest - but not from fear but from exhilaration. Because for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't waiting for someone to save me. I was saving myself. One step. One challenge. One impossible boss at a time. Will all these frustrations stop now or will it get worsen before my eyes?????