The First Stroke of Change

Mia's Point of View

 The elevator ride up to the top floor took what felt like forever. My hand were clammy with sweat, and wiping them on my skin didn't help in any way. I could hear the thud of my own heartbeat as the elevator chimed and sliding silver doors swung open to give me a glimpse of Alexander knight's reception area.

All was screaming opulence. From the glinting marble floor to the ceiling windows providing a view of a stunning city skyline. The walls were painted with enormous abstract pieces of artwork, all gold frames, and the scent was like luxury leather and coffee. And all I could do was worry about that nervous energy roiling in my gut. This was well outside my comfort zone.

I steeled my stomach as I stepped ahead, my heels clicking on the floor. I had gone there to paint—to be an artist. But going into Knight Enterprises meant going into war.

I slung my tote bag over my shoulders and walked over to the gleaming black counter where a woman tapped at a keyboard. Her cheekbones were sharp, her dark reddish hair caught back into a tight bun, and a tight black dress that seemed molded to fit her like a second skin. She slammed the stop key and looked up at me, a gracious but firm smile. "Mia Parker?" I nodded, pushing nervousness aside. "Yes."

"Welcome to Knight Enterprises." She held out her hand. "Lauren Shaw. I manage Mr. Knight's schedule and work on his projects." Her grip was firm, her expression unyielding but pleasant.

"Thanks," I replied, not yet ready to faint. She asked me to come with her behind her through the large office space, by glass-enclosed conference rooms where women in business suits and men murmured softly in subdued, somber tones. I was the lone man among them.

Lauren must have sensed it because when we entered an elevator thet led us to tht private creative space, she turned back to face me with a trace of a smile.

"You look like you're going to throw up," she said bluntly. I laughed nervously. "Not gonna lie, I kind of am."

Her expression softened. "Okay, listen, first days are wild, especially here. But you're only here if Mr. Knight doesn't believe that you're amazing. So breathe and just be yourself." I did take a massive gulp of air. "Yeah. Okay. Breathe. Got it." The doors opened into a large studio full of plenty of natural light. And all the jitters just disappeared.

The aroma of fresh canvas and paint overpowered the expensive cologne and corporate tension. The room belonged to me—a entire loft-sized room full of possibilities. In front of me was a table with high-end brushes, paint cans stacked in piles, and canvases waiting to be employed.

This. this was home. I drew a breath, my fingers shaking to start. Lauren smiled in agreement. "I'll return later. Mr. Knight wants to view your first work at noon. Just be yourself."

She vanished, and I was left to the paints alone. The moment I gripped a brush, tension bled from me. The paint was so smooth, brush stroke by slow and deliberate brush stroke, certain and confident. It lived—some part of me had waited with held breath all this while until now.

It took minutes as long as an hour, but time never bothered me when I painted. My fingers were racing with color, my breathing synchronized, as I finally stepped back. And there standing in front of me was something powerful. A brush stroke depiction of raw emotion—a storm of blues and silvers with aggressive gold striations that blended into one another in mad harmony. It was powerful. Unflinching. Vibrant. Lauren arrived on schedule and whistled softly. "Damn, girl. That's insane."

I flushed, feeling a strange mix of pride and vulnerability. "You think he'll like it?"

"Oh, he'll love it. I'll call him now." She pulled out her phone, but after a second or two, she sighed. "Of course. He's late." She glanced at me. "He said he'd be here in a minute or two."

I nodded, suddenly fidgeting. I pulled out my phone and, on a whim, pressed the video call for Clara..She answered immediately, smiling on camera. "Mia! Oh my God, what's the new job?"I snapped at the painting. "Look." Clara gasped. "Holy shit." I smiled. "Right?"

"That's insane. Tell me Alexander Knight is going to lose his mind over this."

I chuckled. "I hope so." I snapped in a hurry and sent it to my baby sis Sophia.Mia: First day, first painting! What do you think?

Sophia: OMG MIA THAT'S BEAUTIFUL!

Mia: I landed a job, but don't tell Mom yet. I want it to be a surprise.

Sophia: Deal!

 I was still smiling when the studio door creaked open. And then, all of a sudden, the atmosphere changed.

Alexander Knight walked in, and the room seemed to close in around him. His presence, his power. He stood in black in a suit that clung to him like a glove, every step deliberate and measured. The air about him was heavy with unyielding authority. His piercing blue eyes locked on the painting. For the first time since I'd known him, something changed on his face. Not arrogance. Not calculation.

Plain, unadorned awe. He stepped closer, still looking at the canvas.

His silence was suffocating. Then, finally... "This," he breathed, low, close to reverence, "is incredible."

Flames of fire ran through my chest. "You like it?" He inhaled, his eyes darting to mine. "I don't like any of this. I need it prefect. This is not prefect, But..."

He smiled slowly from ear to ear across his face and reached into the jacket pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a narrow black envelope. A VIP invitation card.

"For tonight," he said to me. "A business dinner. You're coming with me." I blinked. "What?" He smiled more widely. "I want you there. It's an off-the-record gala—high-level investors, collectors, competitors. You have to be seen." I bit my tongue as hard as I could, but he wouldn't allow it.

Rather, he took out his wallet and produced a black card. "Purchase a dress," he said. "Something suitable." I arched an eyebrow. "You're just kidding right?"

His eyes never left mine. "You're attending, Mia." I crossed my arms. "You're so conceited."

"And you're so gifted." His mouth curled into a smile. "So go make be proud." I was looking for something,anything, that made sense of this man. But instead, I found myself clenching to the black card in my hand. Dammit. I was going with him anyways.