Chapter 2 Hired or Hunted

Emery's POV

By the time I stepped out of Landon Hart's office, I could barely breathe. My heart beat so fast I thought it might crash through my ribs and land on the marble floor of the executive hallway.

The receptionist gave me a confused once-over as I passed probably because I looked like I'd just walked through a thunderstorm in broad daylight.

I made it into the elevator just in time. The mirrored doors slid shut, sealing me into a chrome cage with my reflection.

What just happened?

The meeting had lasted what? ten minutes? Maybe fifteen. But it felt like I'd been in there for hours. Stripped bare. X-rayed. Dissected.

And not once had Landon Hart looked away from me.

There was something terrifying in the way he stared like I wasn't a person at all but a puzzle he was halfway to solving. Or maybe breaking apart.

My fingers were still shaking when I reached the street. Horns blared. Yellow taxis veered like sharks through the current of people. The wind tugged at my skirt, flinging my blouse against my chest. I clutched my tote bag tighter and walked until I didn't know where I was anymore.

This was Manhattan. Fast. Loud. Ruthless.

I wasn't.

Back home, I used to think I was strong. Graduating with honors. Taking care of Mom after her surgery. Getting into a top-tier business admin program on my own. But none of that prepared me for men like him.

Landon Hart was a different kind of storm. Controlled. Cold. And capable of flooding you without raising his voice.

And yet, when I closed my eyes, all I could remember was the way he'd paused during our meeting. The way he'd said, "You're hired," like it wasn't a decision, just a fact of the universe. Like gravity.

Why would someone like him hire someone like me?

That question haunted me all the way back to the tiny apartment I shared with Tessa, my college roommate turned reluctant city guide. She wasn't home when I got in, thank God. I didn't want to explain why I was blushing like I'd just been kissed violently and without warning.

Because that was exactly what the entire interview felt like.

A kiss.

But one made of power, not lips. Of eye contact, not affection. And it left me rattled.

I didn't sleep that night. My mind kept replaying the moment he leaned close, his voice almost amused as he said, "I like curiosity. It can be a weakness. Or a weapon. Let's see which you make it."

What did that even mean?

By morning, there was an email waiting for me.

To: Emery Clarke

From: ExecutiveHR@hartintl.com

Subject: Start Date Confirmation

Dear Ms. Clarke,

Congratulations. Per Mr. Hart's request, you will begin Monday at 8:00 AM sharp. Dress code: formal corporate. A company laptop and keycard will be provided upon arrival. Your assigned office is located directly outside the CEO's on the 45th floor.

Please arrive prepared.

Sincerely,

Carla Grady

Head of Human Resources

Hart International

I read the email five times. My stomach twisted into knots that had knots.

Assigned office? On the 45th floor? Right outside his?

No. This couldn't be real. I was supposed to be a temp maybe float between departments. Handle filing. Run coffee. Get ignored.

Not this.

Not... his assistant.

The weekend passed in a blur of Googling how to survive high-power CEOs and practicing professional greetings in the mirror. But nothing, nothing, could've prepared me for Monday morning.

The first thing I noticed when I walked into Hart International's executive suite was the silence. Not the awkward kind. The expensive kind. Like the walls themselves knew secrets they wouldn't dare share.

Marble floors. Tall glass walls. A view that made the rest of Manhattan look like Lego pieces.

And there, standing beside a minimalist glass desk that I was told would be mine... was him.

Landon Hart.

This time, he wasn't sitting.

He stood tall, at least six-foot-three in a charcoal gray suit that probably cost more than my entire college tuition. He had his back to the skyline, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a folder.

When he looked up, I forgot how to move.

Steel-gray eyes swept over me with clinical precision.

"You're late," he said.

I blinked. "I what? It's 7:59."

His lips curved. It wasn't a smile. More like a warning. "Early is on time. On time is late. Don't forget that again."

I swallowed hard and nodded.

He held out the folder. "First test. These contracts need to be reviewed and sent to Legal before ten. Highlight inconsistencies. If there's even one I catch that you miss, you're gone."

I took the folder with trembling hands. "Yes, Mr. Hart."

He stepped closer. Not too close. But enough that I could smell him. Clean, expensive cologne with some subtle, dark note that lingered too long in the air.

His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "Call me Landon."

I looked up.

Mistake.

There was something hungry in his eyes now. Something barely leashed. Not lust. Not yet.

Possession.

Then, just like that, the moment shattered.

He turned and walked into his office, glass door clicking shut behind him.

I exhaled fast and shaky and dropped into my seat, staring at the folder like it might explode.

And for a second, I wasn't afraid of failing.

I was afraid of passing.

Because if I passed, it meant staying.

It meant more of those looks.

More proximity.

More... him.

Three hours later, I stood in front of his desk, folder in hand, nails digging into my palm.

He barely looked up.

"Well?"

"I, I found four discrepancies," I said, voice surprisingly steady.

He set down his pen. Opened the folder.

His eyes scanned the pages fast. Too fast. I braced for the blow.

Instead, he closed it. Tossed it onto the desk.

"Not bad," he muttered.

I blinked. "So... I keep the job?"

He rose slowly. Walked around the desk.

And this time this time he did step too close.

My breath caught.

"I don't keep people I don't intend to use," he said quietly, eyes locked on mine. "And I think you'll be very useful, Emery."

My cheeks burned. "You mean professionally."

His smile was maddening. "That depends how good you are... at following orders."

My stomach flipped. My knees nearly buckled.

But I stood my ground.

"I'm not afraid of hard work," I said. "Or you."

His expression changed. Just slightly. But enough.

He looked... interested.

No. Intrigued.

He stepped back and picked up a black card from his desk. "Seven o'clock. Tonight. I need you to attend a company dinner with me. You'll observe, take notes, and make sure I don't punch the CFO. Do you think you can handle that?"

"I, I didn't bring a dress."

"You'll find one waiting for you. With shoes. My driver will pick you up."

He was already turning back to his desk when he added, "Don't be late this time. You won't like what happens if you are."