Chapter 2
Kayna’s POV
The moment I stepped into the executive conference room, I understood one thing:
I was definitely in over my head.
Twelve executives sat around the mahogany glass table, their tailored suits and dresses reflecting the cool light from the massive LED screen on the wall. Spreadsheets, charts, compliance dashboards glowed across the screen, rows of data updating in real time. Phones buzzed quietly beside crystal glasses of water. Everyone looked too polished, too sharp like sharks dressed in silk.
I walked in behind Damian. The room quieted immediately, the low hum of side conversations dying the instant he entered.
“This is my new temporary assistant, Kayna Scott,” he said, voice flat, clipped, and final.
No greeting. No “welcome aboard.” My name was dropped into the room like a piece of bait.
Damian sat at the head of the table. I took the empty chair at his right, trying to ignore the subtle smirks and narrowed glances aimed at me. I could feel the silent calculations: She won’t last. Two days? Three?
Fine. Let them bet against me.
A sleek company tablet had been shoved into my hands minutes earlier. I scrolled through the shared files as fast as I could, scanning dense rows of numbers. Profit margins, logistics reports, discrepancies in supply chain logs. Half the acronyms blurred together, but I forced myself to piece them apart, to at least understand the patterns.
“We can analyze the division reports” one man said from across the table, adjusting his blue tie. “We still can’t reconcile the Newyork shipment discrepancy. The auditors flagged it, and Finance wants clarity before it escalates.”
“Then don’t escalate it” another woman replied crisply. “It’s an internal reporting error, nothing more.”
Her certainty drew nods around the table.
“Ms. Scott.”
Damian’s voice cut through the room like steel. All heads turned toward me.
“Summarize the shipping discrepancy in Division 3.” His tone was level, not indulgent. “You’ll find it in the audit log on your tablet.”
My stomach clenched. I hadn’t even been in the building for up to two hours.
But I forced my fingers to move, flipping through the files. Delivery logs. Supplier invoices. Warehouse entries. I scanned fast, cross-checking numbers until something clicked.
“The Newyork warehouse inventory doesn’t match the supplier’s delivery log,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “The internal report shows the shipment arrived on the 16th, but the supplier record says the 12th. That’s a four-day discrepancy.”
The room went quiet.
Damian leaned back, unreadable. “Correct. And what does that suggest?”
My pulse thudded. Every executive was watching me.
“Either someone filed the wrong date,” I said slowly, “or the timestamps were deliberately adjusted.”
The words dropped heavy in the room. Murmurs rippled.
Blue Tie guy scoffed. “Are you suggesting fraud on your first day?”
I met his stare. My voice steadied. “I’m suggesting we shouldn’t assume the mistake is innocent.”
The silence stretched. Damian’s expression didn’t shift but something in the air around him did.
Finally, he spoke. “Cross-check supplier communications. I want hard confirmation by morning.”
“Yes, sir” the woman beside Blue Tie said quickly, already typing notes.
The meeting pushed forward, no break in rhythm. Numbers, contracts, audit risks, and more finance jargons that barely slowed for my benefit. My fingers flew over the tablet, taking notes, tagging terms to look up later, connecting figures in my head like a puzzle I hadn’t studied for. No one explained. No one adjusted for the new girl.
And Damian never looked at me again. He didn’t correct me, either. Which, in this room, felt like the closest thing to approval.
Forty-five minutes later, the meeting was adjourned. Executives filed out with clipped nods and murmured conversations. Not one acknowledged me.
I gathered my tablet and binders quietly, still catching my breath.
“Ms. Scott.”
Damian’s voice. He closed his laptop, already moving. “Walk with me.”
I followed him into the corridor. His strides were long, precise. My heels clicked double-time to keep up.
“Why didn’t you lie?” he asked suddenly, not breaking pace.
I blinked. “When?”
“When I said you were underqualified.”
I hesitated. “I figured it was a test.”
“It was.”
“And I figured you didn’t need another sycophant.”
The corner of his mouth twitched so brief it might have been imagined. “You figured correctly.”
We reached his office. He opened the door, then turned to face me fully.
“You handled yourself better than expected.”
“Thank you,” I said cautiously.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
I let a small smile slip. “I’ll take it as one.”
He studied me for a long moment, eyes sharp, weighing. “You’re different.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I haven’t decided.”
He turned away, settling behind his desk with the easy authority of a man who didn’t need to explain himself. Sunlight sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching the sharp angles of his face.
I shifted on my feet. “Should I… return to the front desk?”
“No,” he said. “You’ll be stationed outside this office. Ava will arrange for them to set up your workspace.”
“Okay.”
He paused, then: “Kayna.”
The sound of my name—my first name—from his mouth startled me more than I expected.
“You did well in there,” he said. “But don’t mistake surviving your first hour for success.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He nodded once. “Go.”
I turned to leave, relief slipping into my chest until his voice cut again.
“And Ms. Scott?”
“Yes?”
His gaze pinned me to the spot. “Don’t lie to me. Not ever.”
I straightened instinctively. “I won’t.”
The door shut behind me. Only then did I exhale.
…….
The desk outside Damian’s office gleamed like everything else on this floor: sleek, minimal, luxury. Ava was waiting, ID badge in hand, a stack of onboarding documents tucked neatly beneath her arm.
“Congratulations.” she said, though her tone was bone dry. “No one’s lasted more than two weeks with him in the last six months.”
“I’ll try not to break the streak.” I replied her with the same amount of sarcasm.
Her eyes flicked over me, unimpressed. “He works sixteen-hour days. He doesn’t take lunch. He hates noise. He expects you in every meeting, even the ones scheduled before sunrise. You’ll be screening calls from CEOs and ministers who all believe they’re the priority and you’ll be expected to sound calm while you juggle the impossible.”
I nodded, committing it to memory. “Noted.”
“Oh…and one more thing.” She leaned closer, her voice lowering. “Don’t flirt with him.”
My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not saying you would” she added quickly. “But you’d be shocked how many assume sleeping with Damian Marshall is a career move.”
“That’s not—I wouldn’t. Ever.”
“Good,” she said briskly. “Because when he’s finished with someone, he doesn’t just cut them out. He erases them.”
Charming.
I filed through HR, signed the stack of papers with damp palms, and received the standard rehearsed welcome: “Welcome to Marshall Dynamics, Ms. Scott.”
Back at my new desk, I powered on my computer, the inbox already flooded with flagged emails. The sheer volume was enough to make me dizzy but I dove in, cataloging his schedule, slotting meetings, organizing calls. Anything to keep my mind off those piercing blue eyes and the unnerving way he seemed to see people.
Twenty-seven urgent emails. The first was from someone named Julian Cross: Update: Security Detail Adjustment.
Security detail?
Before I could open it, my phone buzzed.
Not the office line.
My personal phone.
I frowned, fishing it out. No Caller ID.
I hesitated, thumb hovering, before swiping green. “Hello?”
Static crackled. Then a voice; low, calm, disturbingly amused slid through.
“Nice place you’ve joined.”
I froze. “I’m sorry… who is this?”
A soft laugh, more entertained than threatening. “You’ve only just started, and already you’re in deeper than you realize.”
My skin prickled. “Who are you?”
Silence. Then, deliberate words: “Just someone who knows things don’t always stay buried at Marshall Dynamics.”
Click.
Line dead.
I stared at the screen. No number. No trace.
It could’ve been a prank. A bitter ex-employee. Nothing at all.
And yet…
Things don’t always stay buried.
The phrase coiled in my chest like a warning.
I looked up, scanning the glass walls of the corridor. Empty. Silent. Watchful.
I locked my phone and tried to steady my breathing.
I didn’t need mystery calls. I didn’t need drama.
But the words clung to me long after the line went dead.
