Chapter 2 Collision Course

POV: Susan Blake.

"The man at the head of the table had eyes like frozen fire-and when I met them, I lost breathe for a flick moment."

Henderson Enterprises looked nothing like Miller & Co.

Their lobby gleamed with marble floors and minimalist gold finishes, so clean and bright it felt like walking into the future. A glass chandelier sparkled overhead like a galaxy of stars frozen mid-explosion, and the air itself carried the faint scent of expensive cologne and power.

It was obvious that power had a smell here.

I tightened my grip on the folder Raymond shoved into my hands an hour ago. My palms were damp, my heart pounding in a rhythm that screamed You don't belong here.

Raymond was already halfway across the lobby, striding with practiced confidence. "Try not to embarrass me," he whispered without looking at me.

I followed in silence, praying no one noticed how my cheap shoes moved against the floor.

The elevator shot us to the top floor with unnerving speed. When the doors opened, the temperature dropped-and it wasn't because of air-conditioning.

The boardroom was silent.

And at the far end of the table sat him.

Mark Henderson.

He didn't just sit-he owned the space. The tailored navy suit hugged broad shoulders like it had been sewn onto him. His hair was jet-black and slicked back, not a strand out of place. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips pressed into a neutral line... but it was his eyes that froze me in place.

Glacial. Sharp. Calculating. Predator eyes.

And they were staring straight at me.

"Mr. Miller," he greeted without rising. His voice was deep, smooth, and completely devoid of warmth. "You're late."

Raymond cleared his throat. "Traffic sir."

Mark's eyes narrowed just slightly. "We flew in."

The tension in the room thickened. I lowered my gaze and quietly slid into the seat beside Raymond, grateful no one asked for introductions.

The meeting began.

Charts. Forecasts. Slides. Market penetration. I tried to focus, to hide my shaky knees, but Raymond was spiraling. He fumbled through his pitch, stammered statistics, and misquoted figures. Mark's expression didn't change, but I could feel the air turn colder.

Then came the moment. "We project a twenty-eight percent return within the first quarter," Raymond said, flipping a chart upside down without realizing.

That was wrong. Dead wrong.

I glanced at the figures, heart thudding. He'd misread the numbers-and no one else at this table was going to correct him.

I had seconds. "Excuse me," I heard myself say. My voice was soft, but it carried in the silence. "I think there is a mistake somewhere."

Every head turned, eyes rested on mine.

Raymond shot daggers at me.

I swallowed hard. "I believe the actual projection based on your Q3 analysis is seventeen percent-assuming Henderson Enterprises maintains its current growth trajectory."

Mark's brow lifted ever so slightly. "Are you sure of that miss?"

"Yes," I said, somehow steady. "It's on page nine of the financial brief. The original calculation didn't account for inflation variables."

What followed was awkward a silence.

Then...

A slow nod from Mark. "Hmm......"

And then he turned the page.

Just like that.

No praise. No smile.

But he hadn't dismissed me either.

Which, I realized, in his world... was approval.

The meeting ended forty minutes later. Raymond stormed ahead without a word. I stayed back to gather the files and avoid his wrath. As I reached for the folder, a voice halted me mid-motion.

"You're not just an assistant."

I looked up. "Mark Henderson."

"Susan Blake." I responded, my heart beating in my mouth as to what Raymond would do to me after this young man would have left.

Mark stood by the window, arms crossed, backlit by the skyline.

I froze. "Sir?"

"You read the entire proposal. Including the errors." He turned, his gaze piercing. "Why?"

"I-" I hesitated. "Because I thought someone should."

He studied me.

"What's your name?"

"Susan Blake."

"Oh. That's true," he teased, "You said that earlier."

He nodded once. "Come with me."

"But. But. But.." I stuttered, "My boss will be waiting."

"Don't be scared. What best can your boss do?"

His office was everything you'd expect from a billionaire: minimalist, intimidating, and perched at the edge of the world.

He gestured for me to sit, "You can sit young lady."

"Don't worry. I don't feel like sitting," my heart throbbing in fear as I frequently looked at his door behind me. "Have been sitting all day."

"It's alright. If you say so ma'am."

"You work for Miller?" he asked.

"Yes sir."

"For how long?"

"Almost a year."

Mark tilted his head. "He treats you poorly."

It wasn't a question.

I said nothing.

He stepped closer. "Do you know what this company values most, Miss Blake?"

I shook my head.

"Loyalty, precision, and integrity." He paused. "And the ability to know when someone's lying."

I blinked.

Then, to my complete disbelief, he extended a business card. "I'm hiring a new junior executive assistant. Starting salary-$150,000 monthly. If you want out, come to my office Monday at 8 a.m."

I stared at the card like it might explode.

Mark Henderson had just offered me a job. A real job.

"You don't really know me, and already giving me a place in your company." I whispered.

"I know enough." He smirked.

Raymond was waiting in the parking garage.

The moment I stepped inside the car, he exploded. "Where have you been all this while. You made search for you like a lost kid."

"So sorry Mr. Raymond."

"Sorry for your stupid self. And what in the devil's name was that?"

"I just corrected a mistake."

"You embarrassed me in front of Mark Henderson and you call that correction!"

"You lied in front of Mark Henderson."

His fist slammed into the steering wheel. "You think you're clever? You think he'll actually give a damn about you?"

I looked at him, voice quiet but firm. "He already does more than you ever have."

Raymond's hand moved so fast, I flinched-but he stopped just short of hitting the dashboard again.

"You're done," he hissed. "Don't come in tomorrow. In fact, don't come back at all."

I stepped out of the car before I could say something I'd regret.

For the first time in months, I wasn't scared of losing that job.

I had something better now, which he never knew. Or so I thought.

When I got home that night, the door to my apartment was already open.

I froze.

My fingers trembled as I pushed it open and stepped inside.

Drawers were ripped open. Papers scattered. The tiny TV I'd managed for the past 3 years was gone.

And then I saw it-written in red ink on my mirror.

A single sticky note.

Six words.

"Next time, it's your life I'll destroy."