Chapter 2 Under Pressure

Amelia Hart woke to the blare of her alarm, her body still humming from the memory of Ethan Knight's voice, his gaze, the way he'd leaned too close to her desk the night before. She rolled out of bed, her Brooklyn apartment a mess of unpacked boxes and half-empty coffee mugs, and checked her phone. A text from Elena glowed on the screen: "You didn't spill enough last night! Hot boss details NOW." Amelia smirked, typing a quick "Later. Work calls." She couldn't afford to linger on fantasies-not when day two at Volare Enterprises loomed.

The subway ride to Manhattan was a blur, her mind replaying Ethan's parting words: "You'll need your energy." Was it a warning, a challenge, or something more? She shook off the thought, adjusting her emerald blouse and black slacks in the elevator's reflection. She'd chosen bolder colors today, a subtle rebellion against the corporate grayscale. Stepping onto the 42nd floor, she felt the weight of yesterday's encounter like a pulse beneath her skin.

The marketing department was already alive, screens flickering with data and voices overlapping in hurried discussions. Lauren, her team lead, spotted her immediately. "Amelia, good. You're on the app's social media pitch. First draft's due by noon. Conference room, ten minutes." Lauren thrust a tablet into her hands, already turning away.

Amelia nodded, her stomach knotting. A pitch by noon? She'd barely had time to process the project files. Settling at her desk, she dove into the data-user demographics, engagement trends, competitor strategies. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, crafting a proposal for the short-form video campaign she'd pitched yesterday. The memory of Ethan's approval-those storm-dark eyes locked on hers-spurred her on. She wouldn't let him, or herself, down.

At 9:55, she grabbed her notes and hurried to the conference room. The team was smaller today, just five members, including a sharp-eyed man in his forties with slicked-back hair and a predatory smile. "Amelia, right? Victor Kane, VP of Strategy," he said, extending a hand. His grip was too tight, his gaze too appraising. She smiled politely, but something about him set her on edge.

The meeting began with Lauren outlining the app's launch timeline. Amelia listened, scribbling notes, but her attention snapped to the door as Ethan entered. He moved with the grace of a panther, his dark suit tailored to perfection, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame. His presence shifted the room's energy, conversations quieting as he took a seat at the head of the table. His eyes flicked to Amelia, a brief but searing glance that made her pulse spike.

Progress on the social media rollout?" Ethan asked, his voice smooth but edged with expectation.

Lauren gestured to Amelia. "Our new hire's got a draft. Amelia, go."

Amelia stood, her heart pounding. She'd rehearsed this in her head, but under Ethan's gaze, her confidence wavered. "Our target demographic18-34 years old spends 60% of their online time on video platforms," she began, projecting her slides onto the screen. "I propose a campaign centered on authentic, creator-driven content. We partner with micro-influencers who use Volare's tech in their daily lives-fitness coaches, gamers, freelancers. They'll showcase the app's features organically, driving engagement through relatability."

She paused, scanning the room. Lauren nodded slightly, but Victor leaned back, his smile thin. "Risky," he said. "Influencers can be unpredictable. One wrong move, and the brand takes a hit."

Amelia held his gaze. "That's why we vet them carefully-engagement metrics, audience alignment, and content history. The data supports a 25% higher ROI for authentic campaigns over traditional ads."

Ethan's fingers steepled, his expression unreadable. "And the execution timeline?"

"Three weeks to identify creators, one week for content production, launch by month's end," she replied, her voice steady despite the heat creeping up her neck.

He nodded, a faint spark in his eyes. "Ambitious. I like it. Flesh it out and present to the board tomorrow."

Amelia's breath caught. The board? Tomorrow? She managed a "Yes, sir," sitting down before her legs betrayed her. Victor's smile tightened, and she sensed a challenge in his stare.

The meeting ended, and the team dispersed, but Ethan lingered, reviewing documents. Amelia gathered her things, hyper-aware of his proximity. As she passed his chair, he spoke, his voice low. "Miss Hart, a word."

She froze, turning to face him. The room was empty now, the glass walls offering no privacy. "Yes, Mr. Knight?"

"Your pitch was bold," he said, standing and closing the distance between them. He stopped just short of her, close enough that she could smell his cologne-cedar and something darker, intoxicating. "But bold isn't enough. The board will tear it apart if it's not airtight."

"I'll make it airtight," she said, meeting his gaze. His eyes were a storm, pulling her in, and she fought the urge to step closer.

He tilted his head, studying her. "You're not afraid to take risks. That's rare." His voice dropped, a husky edge to it. "But risks come with consequences."

Her breath hitched, the air between them electric. His hand brushed the edge of the table, inches from hers, and for a moment, she imagined those fingers grazing her skin. The thought sent a shiver through her, and she saw a flicker in his eyes, as if he'd caught it. "I can handle consequences," she said, her voice softer than she intended.

His lips curved, a dangerous almost-smile. "We'll see." He stepped back, breaking the spell, and nodded toward the door. "Get to work, Miss Hart."

She left the room, her heart racing, her skin flushed with heat she couldn't name. Back at her desk, she tried to focus, but Ethan's words echoed in her mind. Risks come with consequences. Was he talking about the pitch-or something else?

The morning blurred into a frenzy of research and revisions. Amelia cross-referenced influencer data, built mock-ups, and drafted a budget. By 3 p.m., her eyes burned from staring at the screen, but the pitch was taking shape. She was deep in a spreadsheet when Victor appeared at her desk, his shadow looming.

"Impressive hustle," he said, his tone too smooth. "But a word of advice: Ethan's not easily impressed. Don't get too comfortable."

Amelia bristled but kept her voice even. "I'm here to do my job, not chase approval."

Victor chuckled, leaning closer. "Smart girl. But this place eats ambition for breakfast. Watch your back." He walked away, leaving a chill in his wake.

Amelia shook it off, focusing on her work. By 8 p.m., the office was a ghost town, the city lights a glittering backdrop. She was refining her slides when a soft knock startled her. Ethan stood in the doorway, his tie gone, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of tanned skin. Her mouth went dry.

"Still here?" he asked, stepping into the room. His presence filled the space, making it feel smaller, more intimate.

"Finalizing the pitch," she said, gesturing to her screen. "I want it perfect."

He moved to her side, leaning over her shoulder to look at the slides. His proximity was dizzying, his breath warm against her ear. "You've got a good eye," he murmured, pointing to a graph. "But this metric-reframe it. Focus on retention, not just clicks."

She nodded, her fingers trembling as she made the change. His hand rested on the back of her chair, close enough that she could feel his warmth. "You're pushing yourself hard," he said, his voice low, almost tender. "Why?"

Because I have to prove I belong here. Because I want you to see me. The thoughts flashed through her mind, but she said, "I don't do half-measures."

His eyes darkened, and he leaned closer, his voice a whisper. "Good. Neither do I." His fingers brushed her shoulder, a fleeting touch that set her skin ablaze. She froze, caught in the intensity of his gaze, the air thick with unspoken desire. For a moment, she thought he might close the distance, press his lips to hers, claim the space between them.

Then his phone buzzed, shattering the moment. He stepped back, glancing at the screen with a frown. "Finish the pitch, Amelia," he said, his tone professional again. "And get some rest." He left without another word, leaving her breathless and reeling.

Amelia sat there, her heart pounding, her body alive with want. She tried to focus on her work, but her mind was a tangle of Ethan's voice, his touch, the way he'd said her name. By 10 p.m., she packed up, her pitch nearly complete but her thoughts in chaos. On the subway home, she texted Elena: "He's going to ruin me."

Elena's reply was instant: "Ruin you how? Spill!"

Amelia didn't respond, her mind consumed by Ethan Knight. He was her boss, a line she couldn't cross. But the heat in his eyes, the electricity of his touch, told her this was only the beginning of something dangerous, something she wasn't sure she could resist.