Chapter 8:Cold Front

Emily stood in front of the towering glass building of Walker & Co. Capitals at exactly 7:53 a.m.

Seven minutes early.

Her heart was racing, her palms were already sweating, and she hadn't even walked in yet. She glanced at her reflection in the glass: her hair was pulled back into a sleek low ponytail, her makeup was minimal but polished, and her navy blue blouse was tucked into a soft gray pencil skirt that hugged her figure just enough to feel confident, not inappropriate.

She looked the part.

Chloe had insisted on picking out the outfit the night before, making sure the cut flattered her curves and the colors brought out the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. And now, standing here in her modest heels and brand-new confidence, Emily felt beautiful.

Not just pretty — professional, capable, ready.

At least, she hoped she looked as steady as she was trying to feel.

She stepped through the front doors, gave the receptionist a nervous smile, and took the elevator to the executive floor. The closer she got to his office, the more her pulse pounded in her ears.

This is just a job, she told herself. He's just a man.

But as soon as she opened the office door, the tension hit her like a wall.

Damian Walker sat at his desk, already immersed in a screen full of spreadsheets. His suit was dark charcoal today, crisp and custom-fitted, like everything about him. Not a hair out of place. Not a crease on his collar. He looked powerful, sharp-edged — and completely untouchable.

He didn't greet her.

He didn't even look at her.

"Your tasks are on the desk," he said, still typing. "Start with the schedule and call back the London client before nine."

"Yes, sir," she said quickly, setting her bag down at the smaller desk across from his.

The next few hours were a whirlwind. Meetings to coordinate. Emails to answer. She found herself juggling two phones, three notepads, and one very complicated online calendar. But she kept up. Barely.

Every so often, she'd glance at him. And every time, she found him already looking away — as if he'd been watching her and didn't want her to know.

It made her nervous. Confused. Was she doing something wrong?

By noon, she braved a trip to the coffee machine and made his usual order — according to the instructions his assistant had left in the notes: strong, two shots, no sugar.

She took a deep breath and stepped back into his office, coffee in hand.

He didn't look up.

"I brought your—"

"It's late," he snapped, standing suddenly. "I asked for it twenty minutes ago."

Emily blinked. "I—I didn't realize—"

"You should have realized," he cut in, taking the cup from her hand without thanks. "You're here to anticipate, not just react. If you can't keep pace, this won't work."

The words stung more than she expected. She nodded quickly, biting the inside of her cheek. "Understood, sir."

"Go finish the London email," he added sharply. "And double-check the time zones this time. No more rookie mistakes."

She turned without a word and went back to her desk, throat tight.

So much for a good first day.

Still, she powered through. She checked the time zone. Rewrote the email twice. Scheduled his lunch, called the driver, and confirmed a boardroom meeting without even needing to ask him first. She got the sense he was testing her — or maybe just waiting for her to fail.

But what confused her most… was that he wasn't like this in the interview.

There had been tension, sure, but not ice. Now he was all clipped orders and sharp glances, and for the life of her, she couldn't tell whether she'd done something wrong or if this was just how he treated everyone.

And yet… there were moments.

Brief flashes when he looked at her a second too long. When his gaze dropped to her lips. When his jaw clenched for no clear reason. Once, she caught him looking at her reflection in the glass wall — like he didn't want to be caught staring directly.

Those moments made her wonder if the coldness was armor — not annoyance.

But she wasn't foolish. She wasn't about to assume anything.

He was her boss.

He was dangerous territory.

And he'd made it clear that he didn't tolerate mistakes.

By the time the workday ended, Emily was exhausted. She gathered her things quickly, thanked the receptionist on her way out, and didn't breathe freely until the elevator doors shut behind her.

Outside, the evening air was crisp, the city buzzing with the energy of people heading home or heading out. She pulled out her phone and dialed Chloe.

"I made it through Day One," she said as soon as her friend picked up.

"Still employed?"

"Barely."

"Details. Now."

They met up at a small café nearby and ordered lattes and slices of cheap cheesecake. Emily told her everything — the office, the whirlwind tasks, the way Damian had yelled at her over coffee.

Chloe winced. "Ugh. Typical rich guy. Probably thinks caffeine is more important than compassion."

"Yeah, but it's not just that," Emily said slowly