Clara Reed didn’t offer a single word of encouragement when she handed Anastasia the heavy, printed evaluation packet.
"You have exactly one hour," Clara said, her voice entirely devoid of warmth as she pointed toward the glass-walled conference room. "The HR Director and I will be monitoring you from inside. Once your time is up, your answer sheet will be submitted for scoring, and the final decision will be delivered right after lunch."
Ana took a deep breath, smoothing down her skirt, and marched into the glass room. Under the cold, watchful eyes of Clara and the HR Director, she tuned out the world.
Her pen flew across the pages... deciphering complex risk-management scenarios, marketing budget allocations, and crisis strategy frameworks. It was tough, and a few of the niche corporate policy questions forced her to guess, but she pushed through every single page until the final second ticked away.
By 1:00 PM, the marketing floor was buzzing with the usual lunch-hour chatter. Ana sat at her desk, staring blankly at her laptop screen, her stomach churning with nervous anticipation.
Suddenly, the hushed murmurs around the office died down completely. A heavy, suffocating stillness fell over the bullpen.
Ana looked up... and her breath hitched.
Damian was walking through the marketing floor in all his towering, lethal glory. He didn’t have his usual fleet of attorneys or assistants behind him; it was just him, his suit jacket unbuttoned, his dark eyes locked entirely on her.
Gasps rippled through the cubicles. A few interns dropped their pens in sheer shock, while others stared in absolute awe as the icy Chairman of Sterling Global walked straight to an intern’s desk.
"Get your bag, Anastasia," Damian commanded smoothly, extending a large, warm hand toward her. "We’re having lunch."
Ana’s face flushed crimson under the fifty pairs of eyes burning into her back, but she didn’t dare make a scene. She grabbed her purse, placed her hand in his, and let him lead her out to his private elevator.
Ten minutes later, they were seated at an exclusive, high-end restaurant overlooking the city skyline.
The waiter handed them their menus and stepped back respectfully.
Damian didn’t even look at his menu. Instead, his dark gaze rested on her face. "Is there anything specific you want to order for yourself today, doll?"
Ana blinked, completely taken aback. He asked her? No commands? No smug, arrogant decisions made on her behalf?
Recovering from her shock, Ana decided to test him. If he was going to pretend to be a considerate husband, she was going to take full advantage of it.
She bypassed all the elegant, portion-controlled salads and pointed directly to the richest, most decadent item on the menu... a triple-cheese truffle burger with extra seasoned fries. The most unhealthy option available, but an absolute feast for her taste buds.
She braced herself for his sharp judgment, but Damian didn’t even bat an eye. He simply placed his order for a medium-rare steak and handed the menus back to the waiter.
Ana stared at him across the table, her brow furrowing as the silence stretched between them.
"Why are you suddenly being nice to me?" she finally blurted out, her voice laced with suspicion. "You haven’t mocked me once. You haven’t commanded me to do anything since we left the building."
Damian paused, a hint of genuine confusion crossing his sharp features before a slow, devastatingly handsome smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.
"Do you want me to be more strict with you, doll?" He murmured, leaning forward slightly, his baritone dropping into that low, dangerous register.
"No!" Ana said instinctively, her cheeks heating up. "It’s just... this feels like a normal lunch date."
"It is a normal lunch date," Damian replied smoothly, his expression relaxing as he rested his chin on his hand. "Eat up, Anastasia. I know you skipped lunch yesterday. And I know you settled for a stale bag of potato chips from the vending machine."
Ana gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. "How did you even..."
Before she could demand an answer, the waiter returned, placing their steaming plates on the table. The aroma of melted cheese and fresh truffle oil filled the air, and Ana’s hunger instantly overruled her curiosity. She picked up her food and dug in without another word.
Damian cut a piece of his steak, watching her with quiet, unreadable satisfaction. "How was the questionnaire?"
Ana chewed, swallowing before answering honestly. "It was... a little hard. There were a couple of strategic risk questions where I had to rely on educated guesses, but overall? I’m pretty confident I passed."
Damian gave a small, approving nod, a faint, rare smile gracing his lips. "Good."
As Ana reached for a french fry, she noticed his eyes tracking her face. Suddenly, Damian leaned across the small table. Before she could react, his warm thumb reached out, gently wiping away a stray speck of sauce from the corner of her lower lip.
Ana froze, her breath catching in her throat, completely stunned by the intimate gesture.
Then, without taking his dark, piercing eyes off hers, Damian lifted his thumb to his own mouth and slowly licked the sauce.
A sudden swarm of butterflies erupted in Ana’s stomach, her heart hammering against her ribs so loudly she was terrified he could hear it. Her cheeks burned with deep, uncontrollable embarrassment, yet a strange, intoxicating warmth bloomed deep in her chest.
She looked down at her plate, her fingers trembling slightly as she gripped her napkin.
If only... she thought to herself, a painful pang of yearning twisting in her heart. If only he had treated me like this two years ago.
_________________________
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the polished glass of the 40th-floor boardroom.
The atmosphere was thick with tension as the senior board members took their seats, their eyes fixed on Director Clara Reed, who stood at the head of the long mahogany table holding the finalized scoring sheets.
Damian sat at the head, his jaw set, his dark eyes locked onto Clara with absolute, cold composure.
"The results of Miss Vance’s strategic assessment are finalized," Clara announced, her voice echoing clearly off the surrounding glass walls. "Her score is eighty-five percent."
A soft rustle went through the room as board members exchanged glances.
"Eighty-five percent is the absolute minimum benchmark for an intern appointment at Sterling Global," Clara continued, adjusting her glasses. "While she barely passed the threesold... by company regulations, it is still considered a passing grade. She technically deserves to be here."
Before Clara could transition into her department strategy, an older board member sitting near the center... Vivian’s father... cleared his throat with a harsh, dismissive scoff.
"Barely passing isn’t something to celebrate," Mr. Stark declared coldly, leaning forward with his hands folded tightly over his cane. "She barely scraped by on a foundational entry exam! She is way behind the young interns who scored in the nineties. She is simply not useful enough for high-stakes marketing projects."
A few conservative board members nodded in quiet agreement, murmuring under their breaths.
Before the doubt could spread, Damian’s deep tone cut through the noise, dropping like a heavy iron weight onto the table.
"Miss Vance took a comprehensive executive-level assessment with zero advance preparation," Damian said smoothly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he locked onto Vivian’s father. "She has been out of the corporate circuit for over four years. If she can meet the firm’s strict hiring benchmark on her very first day back, without prior practice... imagine what she will accomplish once she is actively in practice."
The logic hit the room with absolute precision.
The remaining board members looked at one another, nodding slowly as Damian’s point took hold. Even those who had doubted her couldn’t argue with the trajectory of someone who could hit an 85% benchmark cold.
Clara observed the room’s shift, realizing the momentum was entirely out of her hands. She neatly stacked the assessment papers and looked up. "Very well. In light of the board’s consensus and her passing score, I will officially include her in the core marketing team."
A subtle, quiet victory flashed in Damian’s dark eyes. A faint, almost slightly a smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he inclined his head in a silent nod.
________________________
Twenty minutes later, the double doors of the marketing bullpen swung open.
Clara Reed strode out onto the floor, stopping right in the center of the cubicles where every intern and junior analyst could see her. She held a crisp white folder in her hand.
"May I have everyone’s attention, please," Clara announced, her voice carrying effortlessly across the quiet office.
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