I woke up at 8:55 am and rolled in bed, feeling lazy and tired. I grabbed my phone to check the time, and my heart sank as I saw the numbers glaring back at me. Today was my first day as Dylan's secretary, and I had overslept. Frustration began to bubble up inside me as I noticed several missed calls from unknown numbers, adding to the stress of the situation.
I rose from the bed, determined to shake off the laziness that weighed me down. With each step towards the bathroom, I could feel the heaviness of sleep clinging to me like a stubborn fog. As I reached for the faucet, the cool touch of water against my skin jolted me awake, sending a rush of clarity through my tired mind.
As the seconds passed, I felt more and more like an idiot for forgetting to set an alarm. That is so not like me; I don't mess things up. I can't even recall what I did before going to bed last night.
I tied my hair up in a tight bun and secured my hair back with lots of hair spray.
I grabbed the wig from the cupboard and started glueing it on tightly. This was the most time-consuming part of getting dressed. After I made sure my wig was tightly secured, I started putting on my clothes, which were just leggings and a black top. This is what I could do in 10 minutes. I grabbed my bag and dashed out and walked to the bus stop.
To find out that there weren't any buses leaving right now, I cursed my life for the fifth time this morning. I looked around and took a taxi to Fynder Enterprises. I looked at my phone; it read the time. It was 9:50. Shit, shit! I am an hour late. Dylan will kill me, I swear! He will fire me, and then what will I say to Marcs?
Sitting in the cab, my anxiety continued to build as the streets seemed to blur past. I checked my phone again, hoping for some kind of reassurance, but the clock ticked forward, and the weight of the moment pressed on me. What could I say to Dylan when I get there? How could I explain this slip-up without sounding like I was making excuses? And on my first day!
I knew I needed to calm down and focus. Deep breaths. I would have to face the situation head-on and hope for understanding. As the cab approached the office, my heart raced, and I steeled myself for whatever was to come.
I paid the driver and stepped out of the cab, taking a moment to steady myself. Walking briskly towards the building, I tried to prepare for the day ahead. Once inside, I headed to the receptionist's desk to check in and ask her for the access card James had mentioned I would receive today. I knew I would need it to report my attendance properly.
I put on my best smile and approached the receptionist, but it quickly faded as she spoke. "Miss Joane, Mr. Fynder has asked for you twice already. You are quite late—please hurry up. Here is your card, and just so you know, he's in a bad mood today."
"Yes, sorry about that. I'll head up right away," I said, taking the access card from her. With a sense of urgency, I made my way to the elevator and got in.
I went up to the top floor, and when the elevator opened, I walked out and saw James. He looked at me with worry on his face. "Joane! Where have you been? You are an hour late. Mr. Fynder has an important meeting today; he is very upset this morning with you coming late. Now go!" he said to me.
As I knocked on Dylan's office door, the cold voice that responded sent a shiver down my spine. "Come in," he commanded. My hand trembled for a split second as I reached for the handle, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Steeling myself, I clicked open the door and walked inside the spacious luxury room.
The office was grand, a statement of opulence and taste. Rich wood panels lined the walls, creating a warm and inviting backdrop for the contemporary art pieces displayed in tasteful frames. A plush, deep carpet absorbed the sound of my footsteps as I moved further into the room.
At the centre of the office sat a large desk, a masterpiece of craftsmanship that exuded authority and power. Behind it, in a high-backed leather chair, was Dylan. His piercing gaze locked onto me as soon as I entered, a silent interrogation that left me feeling exposed.
Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes of knowledge and prestige, while a subtle scent of polished wood and leather hung in the air. The atmosphere was one of control, precision, and careful curation.
As I entered the room, my eyes fell on Dylan. He was seated in a plush armchair by the window, his powerful frame draped in a dark blue suit that clung to his sculpted muscles. His broad shoulders and long legs exuded a commanding presence, but it was his expression that caught me off guard.
Dylan's usually calm and composed expression from yesterday was replaced by a look of displeasure. His piercing gaze locked onto mine, and I could see the simmering anger in his eyes. The slight furrow of his brow and the tightness of his jaw made it clear that my tardiness had not gone unnoticed.
He didn't say a word as I approached, but the weight of his silence was heavy, almost suffocating. I shifted uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny, feeling the full brunt of his frustration.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and controlled. "You're late," he stated, the words carrying a sharp edge. "I hope you have a good reason."
I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain myself. His gaze never wavered, demanding an answer. Despite the tension, there was something in his anger that only made him more captivating.
I told him everything about how I was stuck in traffic, providing what I thought were reasonable explanations to account for my lateness. I tried to avoid the small detail that I had forgotten to set an alarm and instead focused on the traffic situation. Though I was being partially truthful, he remained annoyed with me. To my surprise, he also pointed out that I had a few tangles in my hair, which made me feel quite embarrassed. I couldn't believe he would bring that up, especially in a moment that was already tense.
All I wanted was to move past the issue and find a dark hole to hide in, or even move to Mars.
He gave me some files that needed to be fixed within twenty minutes. He had circled the corrections as I didn't know what they were about and who had prepared them. I reassured him that I would get them done before time.
I went out of his office and made my way down the hall. As I walked, I remembered James mentioning that I would begin today at the editing station. It was located down the hall on the right side, on the same floor as Dylan's office.
I walked steadily to the editing station. There were around seven people there, all absorbed in their work. I noticed an empty desk with a steel nameplate coated in golden paint displaying my name.
I took a seat at my desk, turned on the computer, and opened the document file. As I began editing, I found there weren't many major mistakes, just a few conditions that needed to be adjusted.
After preparing the file, I printed a new copy and headed back to his office to deliver it. But I took a quick 2-second bathroom break to fix my hair, which I did quickly and then went on my way to deliver the file.
I knocked once—no reply. I knocked twice—but still no reply.
Then a man with striking black eyes and slightly long, wavy brown hair informed me, "Mr. Fynder is in the conference room."
"Right, the conference room," I replied. "Can you tell me where that is? I need to deliver this file to him."
He looked slightly puzzled at first, then said, "He's in a meeting right now and doesn't like being interrupted for daily work tasks. I haven't seen you around before; are you new?"
"Yes, I'm his new secretary, and I need to deliver this file," I said, mindful of the time and not wanting to be late.
"Oh, so you're the new secretary! You'd better hurry; he'll fire you if you're late. We can chat later. It's on the floor below, the first left after the elevator opens." He chuckled and stepped back.
"Thanks," I said as I headed to the elevator and pressed the button for the correct floor. As I waited, I thought about how pleasant that little conversation had been.
The elevator doors opened, and I made my way to the conference room. When I opened the door, a hush fell over the room, evoking a sense of danger, power, money, fame, mystery, and, above all, pride.
My gaze went straight to Dylan, but he didn't look at me; he was engaged in conversation with another man.
I approached Dylan and placed the file in front of him. He continued his conversation with the older man.
Meanwhile, the other men's eyes lingered on me in a way I found unpleasant but had grown accustomed to. I remained composed and held my ground.
The discussion shifted to plans for establishing a new building in London and the rising stocks. The conversation evolved into a series of praises for Dylan, highlighting his hard work and achievements.
yeah only if they knew what a jerk he has to strip up a 17-year-old and record her for his fun.ugh bastard I felt the anger building up to me and taking over me
"The other man, with whom Dylan was deeply engaged in conversation, proposed the idea of constructing two buildings in London, one for each of their companies. He suggested that Dynder Enterprises should collaborate closely with the Giang Group.
I had read about the Giang Group in the newspapers; they were one of the leading industries and businesses in the market for over a decade and had been a friendly ally to Fynder Enterprises for many years.
Fender Enterprises, also known as the Batalon Group, was considered the strongest player in the market. Though the company had not always been the best or at the top, it was well-known in the industry. Since Dylan had taken over, the company experienced significant growth, generating billions each week and consistently breaking records and banks.
what were my thoughts on this Dylan was a work freak and a psycho and only I knew that his group was well aware that he was a maniac who had always gotten what he wanted.
standing behind him I had such a strong urge to pull his hair or slap him or do something that would make him groan in pain.
but I had to play the part today I cant lose my cool right now not yet. at least
After forty minutes, the meeting ended. Dylan shook hands with the other man, and they got up and left. Soon, the whole room was empty. I thought it was my cue to leave as well, but as I took a few steps past Dylan, he spoke, "Where are you going?"
I turned to him and swallowed the hard lump in my throat. "I thought the meeting was over, and I could leave," I replied.
"Well, you thought wrong. You cannot leave yet. I have some paperwork that needs to be corrected, left by the previous secretary," he said promptly, setting aside the piece of paper he had been holding.
I expected some work, but I hoped I could handle it. Although I didn't have much experience in this field, I did manage a lot of Marc's contracts, agreements, and files (not by choice, as avoiding them would have resulted in severe consequences).
"Of course, sir. I'll get right to it. Where are the files?" I asked politely.
"They should be on your desk by now. I expect the work done within two hours, and you need to report back to me when you are done i hope you understand that," he said coldly.his eyes stayed on me and he kept looking at me firecly his words were demanding and his aura was darkening. his eyes traveled down to my legs then back to my eyes again.
he was making a pattern over and over again he got up and walked closer to me.
I nodded, "Yes, sir. They will be done."
'' It should you don't have another option Joane'' A small smirk slid up form the corner of his lip
I hated those dark green eyes of his.
'' Read this file and tell me whats wrong in it " dyaln picked up a file and gave it to me.
what is he trying to do, he just told me that i had files waiting for me and now he wants me to read this?