Hadley’s POV
The phone sat on my desk like a live grenade.
I stared at it, half expecting it to detonate again—which, technically, it already had.
The aftermath of Rowan Sinclair’s first call was still reverberating through my nervous system: elevated pulse, damp palms, the distinct sensation of having survived something that should have ended worse than it did.
“Don’t look so worried.” Evangeline’s voice was warm but firm—the vocal equivalent of a hand on the shoulder.
“If Rowan had been genuinely displeased, trust me, you’d have heard about it in terms that don’t leave room for interpretation.”
“He sounded furious,” I protested, still watching the phone the way you’d watch a wasp that landed on your lunch.
“And he hung up on me.”
“That’s just his operating frequency.” She gathered a stack of files from the credenza, her movements unhurried.
“He tests every new person who enters his orbit.
It’s instinct, not malice.
I need to step out for about thirty minutes—personal matter.
You’ll be fine here alone?”
I nodded, though my stomach was staging a quiet revolt.
“Of course.”
The office was unnervingly silent after she left.
The kind of silence that amplifies every sound—the hum of the ventilation, the distant murmur of the elevator mechanism, the soft click of the second hand on the wall clock moving through time as if it had somewhere better to be.
I opened Evangeline’s procedures manual and tried to focus, but my eyes kept drifting to the phone.
Twenty minutes later, a lanky figure appeared in the doorway—mid-twenties, messy brown hair, thick-rimmed glasses that kept sliding down his nose, carrying a small white box.
“Excuse me?
You must be the new assistant.” He adjusted his glasses with his free hand.
“I’m Xander.
IT.”
“Hi, Xander.
Hadley.” I was genuinely grateful for the interruption.
Human company felt like oxygen.
“These are for you.” He set the box on my desk and opened it: a sleek smartphone and tablet, both still wrapped in their factory film.
“Company devices.
The phone’s already programmed with Mr.
Sinclair’s direct line, and both are synced with the corporate system.
I’ll walk you through the security protocols if you want.”
“Thank you.
That’s very efficient.”
He lingered, adjusting his glasses again—a nervous tic, I realized.
“So, um, how’s your first day going?
Working directly for the boss can be…
intense.”
“So I’m discovering,” I said dryly.
“He’s actually brilliant once you get past the intimidation factor.” Xander’s cheeks reddened.
“Listen, I know this is probably forward, and you can absolutely tell me to go away, but if you ever want to grab coffee and talk about navigating the company culture—or just, you know, coffee in general—”
I smiled gently.
“That’s really sweet of you, Xander, but I’m not in a place for dating right now.
I hope that doesn’t make things awkward.”
“Not at all!” He backed toward the door with the rapid grace of someone who’d been politely rejected before and had a well-rehearsed exit.
“But if you need any tech help, fifth floor.
I’m there pretty much always.”
After he left, I spent the next hour setting up the devices and diving deeper into Evangeline’s files.
The procedures were layered and logical—a system built by someone who’d anticipated every possible disruption and designed a protocol for it.
I was starting to feel the first fragile shoots of confidence when the phone rang again.
The caller ID displayed the same number.
My heart dropped like a stone into cold water. This story is hosted at g.com.
I stared at the screen for two rings—which was one ring more than protocol allowed—then pressed the receiver to my ear.
“Sinclair Group, Mr.
Sinclair’s office.
This is Hadley speaking.”
“How come it’s you again?” The voice was unmistakable—deep, clipped, vibrating with the particular brand of controlled impatience that belonged to a man accustomed to the world rearranging itself around his schedule.
“Where’s Evangeline now?”
“Mr.
Sinclair.” I kept my voice level, though my pulse had accelerated to a pace that had nothing to do with professionalism.
“Ms.
Rhodes stepped out briefly.
How may I assist you?”
“I specifically asked to speak with Evangeline.
Is she deliberately avoiding my calls?”
The accusation landed like a slap—unfair, unreasonable, and aimed with the precision of someone who knew exactly how to make a subordinate feel small.
My spine straightened on instinct, the vertebrae stacking themselves into something that felt less like posture and more like defiance.
“I assure you, sir, Ms.
Rhodes isn’t avoiding anything.
She’s handling an urgent matter and will return shortly.”
“Urgent business more important than her employer?” His sarcasm was surgical—thin-bladed, designed to nick rather than wound.
“I wouldn’t presume to rank Ms.
Rhodes’s priorities,” I said, choosing each word with the care of someone navigating a minefield in heels, “but I’m here, and I’m fully capable of assisting you.”
“What I need is competence, not platitudes.” The warmth had left his voice entirely, replaced by something flat and cutting.
“Since you appear to be my only option—has the Brennan contract been reviewed?”
I scanned the papers on my desk, the files in the nearest drawer, the folder tabs visible from my chair.
Nothing with that name.
My stomach tightened.
“I’m afraid I don’t have immediate access to that information, Mr.
Sinclair.
This is my first day, and—”
“Your first day?” A harsh laugh—short, dismissive, the verbal equivalent of a door slammed in my face.
“And they left you alone to handle my calls?
Brilliant decision-making.”
Something inside me shifted.
Not broke—shifted.
A tectonic plate of patience and professionalism repositioning itself against the bedrock of self-respect I’d spent three years as a single mother building.
I was tired.
I was scared.
I was sitting alone on the twenty-eighth floor of a building where I didn’t belong, fielding abuse from a man I’d never met, and I was not going to cry about it.
“Mr.
Sinclair, I understand you’re frustrated, but I’m doing my best to assist you despite having literally learned your name an hour ago.”
“Watch your tone.” His voice dropped to a register that was less a warning and more a blade being drawn from its sheath.
“I don’t know what kind of operation you think this is, but—”
“The kind where employees are treated with basic respect.” The words left my mouth before my brain could intercept them, and the instant they were out I felt the free fall of having stepped off a ledge with no net below.
“I may be new, but I’m not incompetent, and I won’t be spoken to as though I’m beneath you.”
Silence.
The specific, crystalline silence that follows a detonation—the pause between the blast and the decision about whether to rebuild or run.
“Did you just interrupt me?” His voice was quiet.
“Yes, I did.” My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my eardrums.
“And I’ll do it again if you continue being unnecessarily hostile to someone whose only crime is answering your phone.”
“You have some nerve, Miss—”
“Vane.” I supplied it before he could finish, because if I was going to be fired, it was going to be with my full name attached.
“Hadley Vane.
And I prefer to think of myself as practical.”
“Practical.” He repeated the word slowly, turning it over, and something in his tone shifted—a hairline crack in the ice, so faint I almost missed it.
“Well, Miss Vane, we’ll see how practical you are when I return to the office tomorrow.”
The threat should have terrified me.
Instead, it landed like a dare.
“I look forward to meeting you properly, Mr.
Sinclair,” I said, and my voice, to my own surprise, was steady as poured concrete.
“One more thing.” A pause.
“Have some chamomile tea ready.
Something tells me I’ll need it.”
The line went dead before I could respond.
I set the receiver down with a precision that was entirely at odds with the chaos inside my chest and stared at the wall for what might have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes.
When Evangeline returned, she found me sitting motionless, eyes fixed on a point approximately three feet past the far wall.
“What’s wrong?” She crossed to me immediately.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Mr.
Sinclair called again.” My voice sounded like it was coming from very far away.
“I think I may have made things significantly worse.”
“Worse how?”
I told her everything—word for word, as precisely as my adrenaline-soaked memory could reconstruct it.
Her expression migrated from concern to disbelief to a delight so fierce it was almost alarming.
“Oh my.” She sank into the chair across from my desk, one hand pressed to her mouth.
“In twenty-five years of working for this family, I have never—never—heard of anyone speaking to Rowan Sinclair like that.”
“So I’m fired.”
“On the contrary.” Her grin was incandescent.
“I think you might be the best thing that’s happened to him in years.”
“He’s coming in tomorrow.” I pulled out the work phone to show her his text: Arriving tomorrow.
We’ll discuss your duties, and prepare the chamomile tea.
“And he asked for tea.
What does that mean?
Is that code for ‘start packing your desk’?”
Evangeline laughed—really laughed, the kind that crinkled her entire face.
“Chamomile tea is his tell, Hadley.
He only asks for it when something’s gotten under his skin.
He’s not planning to fire you.
He’s trying to figure out why you rattled him.”
“How is that good?”
“Because Rowan Sinclair doesn’t waste energy on people he can dismiss.
He fires them in one sentence and forgets their names by lunch.” She leaned forward, her eyes bright.
“The fact that he’s coming back early, asking for tea, and apparently unable to stop thinking about a phone call with his new assistant?
That’s not indifference, Hadley.
That’s interest.”
I wasn’t entirely convinced.
But as the day wound down and I packed my bag with the slow, mechanical movements of someone still processing a near-death experience, I found myself returning to a single thought: I had stood up to one of the most powerful men in the city—twice—and I was still here.
Still employed.
Still breathing.
Tomorrow, I’d have to survive meeting him face to face.
But tonight, I’d survived his voice, and that felt like enough.