Arabella hadn't expected anything unusual today. She'd settled into a quiet rhythm — finish the documentation Ava gave her, ask no unnecessary questions, and stay invisible until the weekend.
But at 11:00 AM, Ava popped her head over the cubicle wall.
"Arabella, come with me. There's a product strategy meeting upstairs — you won't be speaking, just sitting in. It's a great chance to observe."
Arabella blinked. "Oh. Okay."
"Bring a notebook. And don't worry. Just be presentable and listen."
Minutes later, she found herself walking behind Ava toward a sleek glass conference room on the 9th floor. She adjusted the collar of her white blouse, feeling nervous and underprepared.
Inside the room, everything was too polished — the furniture, the city view, the expensive espresso machine in the corner. She slid into a chair at the end of the long table.
By now, Everyone had come and now all of them were waiting for the CEO.
---
Damon walked in late — of course he did. With one hand in his pocket and a folder in the other, he didn't glance at anyone as he took the seat at the head of the table.
Arabella froze.
It was him.
He is the CEO?
Her stomach did a flip.
He was dressed in a black shirt today, sleeves rolled to his forearms, jawline sharp enough to cut glass. But what truly unsettled her was his presence — how he filled the room just by existing.
He went to his seat and sat down,
And then his eyes landed on her.
She looked away immediately.
Too late.
His lips twitched, as if recognizing a private joke. He turned back to the file in front of him, but Arabella felt the weight of his glance long after.
The meeting droned on — something about a software integration timeline and vendor strategy. Arabella tried to take notes, but her mind was buzzing with one repeating question: Whould he recognize me? Maybe he won't, he sees so many faces daily, it's not possible for him to the remember my face, right? She kept reassuring herself, but couldn't really ease herself.
Ava leaned toward her and whispered, "You okay?"
Arabella nodded mutely.
The meeting ended.
Arabella moved quickly, quietly — clutching her notebook like a lifeline. If she timed it right, she could slip out without another—
"Miss Pearls."
She froze.
His voice was calm, but it held something sharp — like a string being pulled.
She turned slowly.
Damon Kingsley stood near the exit, hands in his pockets, head slightly tilted. Watching her.
Arabella's stomach dipped.
"Yes, sir?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He raised a brow. "'Sir'? That's new. I don't remember you being so polite in the elevator."
Arabella's lips parted, but no words came out.
He smiled — not kindly, but amused. "I suppose now that you know who I am, the fire's gone."
"It's not that," she said, flustered. "I just didn't know... I mean—you're—"
"I'm your boss," he supplied, taking a slow step toward her.
She nodded quickly, fingers tightening around her notebook.
"Still," he continued, voice lower now, "you've made quite the impression. Elevator girl with the sharp tongue and wide eyes."
"I didn't mean to be rude," she said quickly.
"Oh, you were." He chuckled. "But I liked it."
She blinked.
"That's all," he said casually, like they were discussing the weather. "Just wanted to see you squirm a little."
Her cheeks flushed.
He turned away before she could respond — but just before exiting, he looked back over his shoulder.
"See you around, Miss Pearls."
Arabella stood frozen in place, unsure whether to faint or run.