The CEO'S Regret

My alarm rang for the third time, and I finally woke up. 6:45 AM. Already fifteen minutes late.

"No, no, no!" I jumped out of bed, my foot caught in the sheets, and I landed on the floor.

Great. Another bruise to add to my collection. Just what I needed on the most important day of my career.

Today was the interview at Blackwood Industries, for the design position that would change my life. No more scraping by on freelance work that barely covered the rent for my postage-stamp apartment. No more ramen noodle soup and dollar store shampoo.

I rushed through my morning routine, cursing as I poked my own eye with mascara. My chestnut hair was acting up, so I forced it into a messy bun, hoping it would be creative rather than hasty.

"You can do this, Olivia," I told my reflection, which I didn't actually believe.

My second-hand blazer, which was only a week old, was enough to layer over my single work dress. I stuffed my portfolio into my bag, grabbed a granola bar, and headed out the door.

My trusty old Honda Civic groaned in pain as I inserted the key. "Don't you do that to me," I said quietly, drawing my fingers around the dashboard in the caress of a temperamental child. The engine gargled twice and then belched into existence.

The drive to Manhattan was an early morning rush hour nightmare. Every red light was a personal affront as I sat and waited for minutes. When I arrived at the 32nd floor of the Blackwood Tower, I had twelve minutes before I could park.

I was rushing to the front door when the heavens opened. No spring shower, but a torrential downpour that drenched me in seconds.

"Perfect," I murmured, clutching my portfolio as I dashed for cover.

The entrance to Blackwood Tower was foreboding, with its shiny marble, steel, and glass finish.

Everyone who passed through the doors there was dressed in what appeared to be very expensive-looking suits, striding purposefully through the floor as I stood there drenched, puddling a bit of water around my ankles.

The security guard looked at me warily.

"I'm interviewing," I said to him, shoving dripping strands of hair out of my face. "Olivia Gray, graphic designer."

He looked at his tablet. "You are on the 32nd floor. Seven minutes ago."

My stomach dropped. Behind. Of course, I was behind.

I sprinted to the elevator, shoving people in both directions. The doors were closing when I leapt into them.

"Please wait for us!"

A hand emerged, holding the doors open. I sighed with relief as I pushed through and came face to face with the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Well muscled and tall, he had dark hair and blinding blue eyes that looked as though they could see right through me.

"Thanks," I puffed, trying to smooth my hair.

He made no comment and simply looked at me from head to toe with an expressionless face. His crisply pressed suit had cost him probably more than I spent on rent for six months.

The elevator rode in painful silence. I tried not to fidget and realize that I looked like a drowned rat next to this poster boy of man.

"You're soaking my shoes through," he finally said, his deep voice distant and icy.

I stared down in horror as water collected in puddles at my feet and overflowed onto his obviously expensive Italian leather shoes.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" I rummaged through my bag for a tissue and emerged with the portfolio spilling. Pages fluttered everywhere across the elevator floor.

I sank to my knees, holding on to my designs in desperation. The man didn't help me, just stood there and watched me wrestle with those blue, piercing eyes.

The bell in the elevator rang on the 32nd floor.

"This is you," he said, stepping aside as the doors slid open.

I wrapped my now-drenched portfolio around myself and ran out, but my drenched shoe slid on the marble floor. I pushed forward, into the chest of another man in a suit.

"Whoa there!" I was gripped by firm hands, and I was looking up at warm brown eyes and a gentle smile. This man didn't seem mad like the elevator man had; he seemed to be smiling.

"I'm sorry," I apologized once more that morning. "I'm interviewing today, and I'm late, and it's raining, and my car..."

"Breathe," he added with a laugh. "I'm Jason Kim, junior creative director. You're Olivia Gray?"

I nodded as a wave of relief swept over me. "Yes, I am."

"Good timing. I was just on my way to meet you." He smiled, and lines appeared at the edges of his eyes. "Although I wasn't quite anticipating this kind of dramatic entrance."

My cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"Don't worry about it," Jason said to me, leading me down the corridor. "Everyone's nervous on interview day. Just be yourself, and you'll be fine."

We made a turn, and Jason whispered quietly. "Just a heads-up, Mr. Blackwood has decided to conduct the interviews today. He never considers junior positions, so this is not typical.

"The CEO himself?" My stomach did flips with fresh butterflies.

"Single and by himself. But don't let him intimidate you. Just stand firm with your portfolio and..."

"Kim."

That voice. I recognized it from the elevator.

And then we both saw blue-eyed man from the elevator walk towards us, his eyes as tough as the floor under his feet.

"Mr. Blackwood," Jason hastily got to his feet. "I was only walking Ms. Gray to interview room."

Alexander Blackwood. The ruthless billionaire CEO. And I had cleaned up my act and gotten the better of his shoes.

"I think we've met," Blackwood replied, his eyes locking me in place. Something in his eyes stole my breath. "In the elevator."

"Yes, sir," I stuttered, hardly above a whisper. "Sorry again about your shoes."

One dark eyebrow arched by an infinitesimal degree. "Indeed."

He stepped over toward Jason. "I'll handle Ms. Gray from here. You must be at the Pearson meeting."

Jason looked between us, his expression uncertain. "Sir, I'm supposed to be on the interview panel..."

"I'll handle this personally," Blackwood cut in. "The Pearson account takes top priority."

For a moment, Jason seemed as though he were going to argue, then nodded. He flashed me a huge smile and a tight thumbs-up and was gone down the corridor.

And I was standing there alone with Alexander Blackwood.

"Come on," he said without glancing back over his shoulder to ensure I was behind him.

I followed him, my soaked shoes squelching humiliatingly with each step. We entered a massive corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline.

"Sit." He gestured to a chair in front of his giant desk.

I sat, holding my portfolio like a shield.

Blackwood was not seated. He walked to the window, his back to me. "Your resume says you graduated from Parsons with honors."

"Yes, sir."

"And yet you're twenty-six and have no significant work experience. Just freelancing." He turned, his gaze on me in that piercing look. "Why?"

The interview caught me off guard. I'd been expecting questions regarding my design philosophy, my technological savvy -- not my employment history.

"I. had family commitments," I said guardedly.

"Tell me about it."

Something in the demanding tone kindled a tiny fire of rebellion. "My father became ill when our company closed. I took care of him as I freelanced to survive."

He gazed at me for a considerable duration. "Display your portfolio."

I opened my wet portfolio with trembling hands and started showing him my work. Every time, I was a little braver, walking him through my concepts and processes.

Blackwood remained silent, his face inscrutable as he examined each design.

Done, I spoke up at last. "Your technical ability is good. Your color sense is bad. That logo is a copy, and that campaign lacks focus."

With every blunt declaration, my heart sank lower.

"But," he continued, "there is raw talent there. New eyes we might perhaps use."

Was... that...a compliment?

He stood up and returned to his desk, sitting and tapping his fingers on the immaculately clean surface. "Why do you wish to work for Blackwood Industries, Ms. Gray?"

I could have recited the canned gratitude for the company's innovation and growth. I did something different, surprising myself. I answered truthfully.

"Because I'm sick of eating ramen for dinner five nights a week. Because I want to show that I am as good as I know I am. Because Blackwood Industries creates work that matters."

Something flashed in his eyes. Surprise, maybe even respect.

"You're hired," he bullied. "You start Monday."

I stared. "Just like that? You don't have to speak to HR or..."

"This is my company, Ms. Gray. I make the decisions." He rose to show the interview was concluded. "Nine AM sharp Monday. Don't be late."

I shook on unsteady legs as the door swung open. A stunning blonde woman in a red designer suit walked in as if she owned the place.

"Alex, sweetie! I've been trying to reach you all morning!" Her voice was honey-sweet, but in her eyes blades of ice flashed.

Blackwood's entire demeanor changed, his stance stiff. "Vanessa. I'm in a meeting."

The woman, Vanessa, smiled at me with teeth that had recently been whitened. "Oh, I didn't realize you had someone with you." She extended a manicured hand in my direction. "Vanessa Sharp."

I rose up and grasped her hand hastily. "Olivia Gray."

"Ms. Gray is our newest graphic designer," Blackwood answered, his tone making it clear the introduction was finished.

Vanessa's smile didn't reach her eyes. "How cute. Alex always had an eye for. new faces."

Her tone filthed me and made me feel small.

"Ms. Gray was just departing," Blackwood answered.

I nodded, holding on to my portfolio. "Thank you for the chance, Mr. Blackwood. I'll be there Monday."

As I was leaving, I heard Vanessa's voice drop to a come-on purr. "Alex, we need to discuss our agreement."

I spun around as I was just closing the door. Blackwood's eyes met mine over the back of Vanessa's head, and something zinged between us – an electric shock I couldn't identify.

The door slammed shut.

I had the job. I should have been walking on sunshine.

So why do I feel like I'd stepped into the lion's den?

My weekend was filled with worry and nervous energy. I spent the entire time reading about Blackwood Industries, until my eyes hurt from staring at my laptop screen. The company was everywhere – tech, property, media – a huge empire built by one man in a decade.

Alexander Blackwood, the man who offered me a job on the spot despite my dripping hair and a wet portfolio.

Every article described him in the same way: genius, cold, and mysterious. A money wizard child with ice in his veins. Most times, pictures captured him dressed in immaculate suits sporting the same impenetrable face I'd witnessed firsthand.

None of that explained why he'd interviewed me in person. Or why I couldn't stop thinking about those ice-blue eyes.

Monday morning, I arrived at Blackwood Tower forty-five minutes ahead of time. No rain, no car problems, and not a snowball's chance in Hell of being late.

The same security guard from Friday smiled in greeting. "Ah, the interview girl. Looking drier today."

"And hopefully making a better impression," I replied, smoothing out my freshly pressed blouse.

The elevator trip was blessedly smooth, though my heart skipped a beat as we hit the 32nd floor. Alexander Blackwood's office. Would I get to see him today? The possibility made my stomach lurch in a most unexpected flutter.

My destination was the 28th floor – where the creative team sat. The doors opened, and I entered a sleek open-plan office with glass-enclosed conference rooms and tons of natural light. Light years from the cramped studio where I'd worked freelance.

"Olivia!"

Jason Kim waved from across the room, spreading a warm smile that instantly quieted my jitters. Dark wash jeans and a button-down with an open collar – significantly less formal than the suit he wore on Friday.

"You did it," he said, covering the distance to me in a few steps. "And well ahead of nine. Excellent course correction from our first meeting."

His teasing tone made me laugh. "I set three alarms and slept in my clothes."

"Good plan. Come on, let me show you around before the morning meeting."

Jason took me through the department, presenting me to a whirlwind of individuals whose names I forgot as soon as I heard them. The creative personnel looked young and friendly, although I caught two or three inquisitive glances.

"Don't mind them," Jason whispered. "It's just that Mr. Blackwood never gets his hands dirty when it comes to hiring junior designers. You've been sort of an enigma."

"Great," I muttered. "Just what I need – more attention."

"It's not terrible," Jason insisted. "Actually, you might be able to turn it to your advantage. Whatever he was impressed with might be your ticket to larger projects."

We came to a small corner cubicle with a new iMac and a sticky note that said only "Gray."

"Home sweet home," Jason announced. "Settle in. Morning meeting in fifteen."

I sat by myself and arranged my personal items – a small potted plant, an extra set of flats, and my favorite pens. I had just been sitting down at the computer when a black paper cup appeared beside me.

"Office coffee is toxic sludge. This will help you live through your first day."

I glanced up as Jason placed before me what was the scent of an expensive latte.

"You didn't have to do that," I said to him, taking the cup from him gratefully.

He shrugged. "Consider it a welcome gift. Not everyone gets the Blackwood fast-track treatment."

There was an undercurrent to his tone that I couldn't quite place – curiosity, maybe even suspicion.

"Believe me, I have no idea why he brought me on board," I said honestly. "My interview was a nightmare."

Jason glared at me for an instant. "Well, Mr. Blackwood doesn't do anything without there being a reason for it. I'm sure he saw something special."

Before I could respond, a stern voice cut through the office chatter.

"Team meeting! Lion's Den, everyone, now!"

Individuals immediately started pouring into the biggest conference room. Jason grinned at me reassuringly. "That's Claire, our creative director. Don't worry, her bark is worse than her bite. Most of the time."

The conference room was filled by the time we got there. Jason led me to a seat against the wall while he sat at the table. The woman who must be Claire stood at the front – tall, silver-haired, with hip glasses and an authoritative air.

"Good morning, everyone," she began. "Today, we have two announcements of note. First, hello to our new junior designer, Olivia Gray."

Everyone looked at me. I smiled and waved a little, my cheeks burning.

"Second," Claire continued, "the Archer luxury account has been pushed forward. We turn concepts around in two weeks, not four."

Groans circled the room.

"I know, I know," Claire held up her hands. "But it's our biggest account, so everyone is pulling their weight. Jason will be overseeing creative."

Jason sat up in his chair, grinning but surprised.

"Questions?" Claire asked.

A designer at the other end of the table raised his hand. "Will Mr. Blackwood be in on it? Last time he tore our ideas apart three days prior to the presentation."

Claire's face tightened. "Mr. Blackwood has shown a particular interest in this campaign, yes. Which means everything has to be superb. Now, team assignments."

She began naming and assigning jobs. I held my breath to discover where I was being put.

"And finally," Claire declared, "Olivia will work specifically with Jason on the overall concept development."

The room went silent. Some exchanged glances.

"But she just joined," someone muttered.

Claire talked over the comment. "All right, folks. Progress daily at four o'clock."

As everyone was leaving, Jason approached with a confused look.

"Good, that's not like that," he leaned forward. "Junior designers usually start with production, not concepts."

My stomach constricted. "I did not ask for special favors."

"I know. But you seem to have it." He checked his watch. "Let's get a meeting room. I'll catch you up on the Archer account."

We opened a small glass-walled room Jason called "The Fishbowl." He had presentation slides open on his tablet, showing upmarket watches with sleek designs and prices that are out of anyone's imagination.

"Archer must make appeals to young technology billionaires," Jason explained to me. "Their traditional advertising won't cut it anymore."

I nodded, noting down while trying to ignore the occasional curious stare of co-workers walking by.

The door came open abruptly. Claire stood before us, looking disheveled.

"Jason, Olivia ... Mr. Blackwood wants to see you two. Now."

Jason's eyebrows shot up. "About Archer?"

"He wouldn't say why," Claire said coldly. "Just go to his office immediately."

My heart was pounding as we rode the elevator to the 32nd floor. Jason wasn't any more relaxed.

"Any idea why this is going on?" I whispered.

He shook his head. "Best thing to do with Blackwood – keep quiet more than you talk, and never give an excuse."

The elevator opened right into a reception room where behind the desk was a stern-faced woman.

"Mr. Kim and Ms. Gray," she said without glancing up. "Go in."

Alexander Blackwood was standing by the window, facing away from us, phone pressed against his ear. Another perfect suit was on his shoulders this time, dark blue that brought out the width of his shoulders.

"I don't care what the board thinks," he was saying to whoever was on the other end, his voice ice-cold. "Either they trust my judgment to make a good decision or they can fire me as CEO."

He hung up and faced us.

My breath caught. I'd forgotten how overwhelming his presence was – as if air pressure changed when he walked into a room.

"Kim," he nodded by way of greeting. And then his eyes locked onto mine. "Ms. Gray."

"Mr. Blackwood," we both replied.

He walked over to his desk, gesturing for us to take seats across from him.

"The Archer campaign," he said flatly. "Their CEO called me last night. They're going in another direction."

Jason leaned forward. "Sir, we've had three years' experience working with them..."

"And they've grown fat and complacent off our work," Blackwood broke in. "As have we. They require to be challenged with something revolutionary, not satisfactory."

His focus shifted to me. "That's where you fit in, Ms. Gray."

I blinked. "Me?"

"Your portfolio showcased an outlook our department is currently missing. Fresh, outside the box." His gaze never breaking contact with mine. "I require you to lead the concept generation."

Jason gagged in the seat beside me.

"Sir," I said warily, "I'm new today. I don't know anything about the client or..."

"No preconceptions then," Blackwood interrupted. "That's frequently an advantage to being new. Sometimes not knowing is a virtue."

I looked at him wide-eyed. "But..."

"I've decided." His voice left no room for argument. "You'll be working with Kim directly, but the creative vision is yours."

Jason found his voice. "Mr. Blackwood, if I might, this is entirely out of the norm. Olivia has not been trained in our protocols or..."

"Then train her." Blackwood's eyes flashed with irritation. "I brought Ms. Gray in because I saw potential. Show me right." He directed those last words at me.

No pressure whatsoever.

"Yes, sir," I stuttered.

"Good. I need a preliminary idea on Friday." He looked at his watch. "That's all."

We were going to leave, my legs trembling.

"Ms. Gray," Blackwood called as we reached the door. "A word."

Jason looked between us, then nodded. "I'll wait outside."

When the door closed, leaving me with Blackwood, the office felt suddenly too cramped.

"Are you always this shy?" he demanded.

The question surprised me. "Excuse me?"

"You have talent, Ms. Gray. But talent is useless without confidence."

I felt a flush creep up my cheeks, embarrassment and a surge of indignation.

"It is my first day," I said, more bluntly than I intended. "And you just left me in charge of your biggest account."

Something that might have been amusement flickered across his face.

"There she is," he said quietly.

"Who?"

"The woman who complained she was tired of eating ramen five nights a week. The one who had to prove herself." He took another step forward. "That's the one I hired. Not this nervous individual who apologizes for existing."

I didn't know what to respond with. He was standing so close that I could smell his cologne, something high-end and subtle.

"I don't understand why you're doing this," I finally managed to say.

He stared at me for a long, long time. "Perhaps I see something in you that you don't see in yourself."

The door swung open before I could get out anything. Vanessa Sharp walked in, perfect in a cream-colored dress that probably cost more than my rent.

She stopped when she saw me. "Oh. You're still here."

Blackwood's expression grew icy. "Ms. Gray was just leaving."

Vanessa smiled, all teeth, no warmth. "How lovely to see you again, Olivia. Getting settled in okay?"

"Yes, thanks," I replied, though all of her made me want to flee.

"Alex is an excellent mentor," she cooed, looping her arm through his. "Aren't you, darling?"

Blackwood removed her arm from his with a subtle but firm motion. "Ms. Gray has work to do. As do I."

I took that as my cue to get a quick exit. "Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Blackwood."

Just as I got to the door, I overheard Vanessa whisper, "Really, Alex? She's not your type at all."

I didn't hear his response, but as the door closed behind me, I felt the weight of his eyes on my spine.

Jason was waiting by the elevator, concern on his face.

"What was that about?"

I shook my head, still attempting to rationalize it. "He believes I'm not self-assured enough."

"And Vanessa Sharp?" Jason asked, his expression becoming serious. "What did she want?"

"Do you know her?"

The doors of the elevator opened, and we stepped inside.

"Everyone knows Vanessa," he growled. "Blackwood's ex. She's the daughter of Richard Sharp, who owns our biggest competitor."

The elevator started its descent.

"They were dating last year," Jason continued. "Until Blackwood caught her feeding company secrets to her father. Instead of bringing charges, he just broke off the engagement. No one knows why."

My mind was reeling. "But she's still pretending like they're a couple."

Jason's laugh was acid. "Vanessa doesn't lose what she wants. And she wants Blackwood, or his company, or both."

The elevator arrived on our floor.

"Word to the wise," Jason told me as we stepped out. "Whatever game Blackwood's playing in giving you this assignment, be careful. You're on Vanessa's radar now. And that's never a good thing to be."

My stomach dropped. First day on the job, and already I was caught in the crosshairs of a ruthless billionaire and his angry ex.

What had I gotten myself into?

The rest of my first day was a blur of information overload. Jason walked me through the Archer account history, showing me past campaigns and research on competitors.

"Don't psych yourself out," he said, noticing my frantic expression. "Blackwood wouldn't have put you on this if he didn't think you could handle it."

"Or he's making me fail," I muttered.

Jason seemed to be taken aback. "Why would he do that?"

I shrugged, unsure myself. "Test me? For fun? Rich people have too much time on their hands."

"Blackwood doesn't play games," Jason replied gravely. "Whatever his motives, they are calculated. He always has an agenda."

My head was mush by six o'clock. Most of the creative staff had gone home when Jason knocked on my desk.

"Time to shut up shop," he replied. "You look ready to crash face-first into your keyboard."

I rubbed my tired eyes. "Is this always this serious?"

"Only when the big boss makes you a favorite," he jeered. Then seriously: "Wanna go get some chow? There's a decent joint a block over. We can discuss first impressions on Archer."

The invitation took me by surprise. "Oh, I don't want to interrupt your evening."

"I was going to get dinner anyway," he said with a friendly smile. "May as well be busy."

There was something about his friendly demeanor that made it hard to say no. Besides, I actually did need help with this project.

"Sure," I said. "Let me just finish up."

The restaurant was a tiny Italian place with checkered tablecloths and bottles of wine lining the walls. Not fancy, but charming.

"I'm here at least twice a week," Jason confessed as we scooted into a corner booth. "Their carbonara is life-changing."

The laid-back vibe put me at ease, and soon we were tossing ideas for the Archer campaign back and forth over a margherita pizza.

"So why graphic design?" Jason asked taking another bite.

I smiled, recalling. "My father owned a little bakery when I was growing up. I'd make his signs and menus. There was just something about drawing pictures that say something that resonated with me."

"The bakery's no longer there?"

My smile faltered. "No. A developer bought the whole block for a high-end high-rise. Forced all the small businesses out." The memory still stung. "Dad never recovered from losing it. He got sick after that, and mom couldn't handle it, so she left."

Jason's eyes softened. "I'm sorry. That must have been hard."

"Old news," I said, not wanting him to sympathize with me. "What about you? Always wanted to work in advertising?"

He chuckled. "Actually, I did want to be a comic book illustrator. But my parents wanted some decent job for their single son."

We swapped stories of college and awful first jobs. It was pleasant to laugh and forget troubles awaiting me the following day.

Jason was halfway through describing a disastrous photoshoot when his gaze landed on something behind me. His smile faded.

"What's wrong?" I asked, turning to look.

Alexander Blackwood leaned against the door of the restaurant, scanning the space. Even dressed down, he looked intimidating in his expertly tailored suit. A hovering maître d' held on to his elbow.

"What's he doing here?" I breathed, resenting how tiny I felt in my seat.

"No idea. This isn't exactly his usual five-star scene."

It was too late to have kept it a secret. Blackwood's eyes locked onto our table, and with a hasty word to the maître d', he strode straight toward us.

My heart pounded as he approached. Up close, he looked tired, with thin shadows under his eyes that hadn't been present this morning.

"Kim. Ms. Gray." His voice contained no shock at being found with us.

"Mr. Blackwood," Jason said, standing. "What can we do for you?"

Blackwood ignored the question. "Working dinner?"

"Just throwing around some initial thoughts on Archer," I said quickly, gesturing towards the notebooks spread out between our plates.

His eyes traveled around the table, landing on the half-empty wine glasses. Something in his expression hardened.

"I see." His tone was icy. "Kim, the Hong Kong investors forced their call to 8 AM tomorrow. I need you prepared."

Jason looked at his phone, his face scowling. "I didn't get any notification..."

"I'm giving you notice now," Blackwood cut in. "Ms. Gray, outside for a minute?"

It was a command. I shot a hopeless look at Jason as I stood up from the booth.

"I'll cover the check," Jason said, his face concerned.

Blackwood was already heading for the door, so obviously assuming I'd be behind him I wasn't surprised when he turned around to scowl at me outside.

"Sir, is something the matter?" I asked when he paused and regarded me.

"You're running a big campaign for my company," he said brusquely. "I want to know your focus is on that, not office fluff."

It took me a second to catch on to what he was implying.

"Think I'm. going out with Jason?" I couldn't keep incredulity from creeping into my tone. "It was a business dinner. First day on the job."

"Because there's wine?" His eyes were ice cold, expressionless.

My cheeks flushed, with anger or shame, I couldn't tell.

"One glass with dinner isn't really partying like a rock star," I said, attempting to keep my tone respectful. "And really, sir, I don't understand how it's relevant to my work."

"Everything my employees do reflects on my company." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "And when I send someone to head a high-stakes project, I expect them to be beyond reproach."

"Above reproach?" I echoed, my anger spilling over despite my best efforts. "We were talking business at the pizza shop. I wasn't aware you needed permission to do that."

His jaw muscle flickered. For one moment, I thought he might fire me off the top of his head.

Rather, his expression altered, almost without you realizing it. "You read me incorrectly, Ms. Gray. Kim is highly capable but has a history of becoming. involved with women who work here. Usually with tragic repercussions for their careers."

That stopped me in my tracks. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about his interest possibly being other than professional. And given your standing on this project, that is problematic."

Before I could respond, the door to the restaurant opened. Jason came out, holding my bag and jacket.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, glancing between us.

"Fine," Blackwood answered smoothly. "I was just leaving." He nodded brusquely at me.

"Ms. Gray."

We stood there silently as he walked to the curb, where a black car was waiting. A driver opened the door, and Blackwood slid in without looking back.

"What was that about?" Jason asked as the car pulled away.

I took a chance and took my jacket back from him, thinking quickly. "He wanted to. talk about the project timeline."

It wasn't entirely a lie, but I couldn't bring myself to share Blackwood's threat on Jason. It was too bizarre, too personal.

Jason didn't believe in me. "Outside some off-the-wall restaurant he just happened to have wandered into?"

I shrugged, feeling suddenly fatigued. "Rich people are weird. I should get home, big day tomorrow."

"I'll walk you to the subway," he offered.

"It's okay. I'm just a few blocks from here."

He frowned. "You walk home? At night?"

"My apartment's close by. And I've been carrying pepper spray since I was sixteen." I smiled falsely. "But thanks."

We exchanged goodnight stiffly, both of us surprised by Blackwood's unexpected arrival.

As I walked back home, I couldn't help but replay our conversation on the street. Was he truly concerned about workplace relationships affecting the project? Or was it something more?

I thought about the way his eyes had darkened when he saw us together, the way his voice had turned frosty. Closest it felt like he was.

No. Ridiculous. Alexander Blackwood wasn't jealous. Men like him didn't notice plain, broke graphic designers. He was my boss, nothing more.

But still, I couldn't shake the vision of his blue eyes, that he'd gotten closer as he spoke. As if staking a claim on me or something.

My cell phone buzzed as I got a text message.

*Unknown Number: Car will pick you up at 7:30 tomorrow. We need to discuss your thoughts before the team meeting. - AB*

I stood there, paralyzed in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at my phone. How did he get my personal number? And why did he even want to meet alone?

A second text came through.

*Unknown Number: This is not an option, Ms. Gray.*

I added the contact as "Boss from Hell" and typed back hastily.

*I'll be there at 7:30.*

Whatever Alexander Blackwood's agenda was, I was clearly a pawn. But pawns were disposable, and I couldn't afford to lose this job.

Having ascended the stairs to my flat, I had less than twelve hours to come up with a game-changing concept for the Archer campaign.

So much for rest.