It feels like a prank, but I wouldn't mind trying my luck—especially after much convincing from my brother.
"The O'Martins offered you a job?" he said, already lighting up with excitement.
"You saw Ethan? Live?" he continued, practically bouncing in place.
"How about him?" I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
"Ethan O'Martin," he said, like the name itself should mean something. "He's everything. The coolest tech dude. His dressing, the way he talks... I even heard his perfume costs as much as a new model car."
I scrunch my face. That was ridiculous. Who spends that much on scent?
But even as I rolled my eyes, something in me paused. Did I really want to take up a job offer from someone like that? A man with so much power, he could afford to be mysterious. A man whose presence filled an entire room... who looked at me like I was the only one not falling over him.
Was I walking into something too big for me?
"You know what," I said, swallowing down the lump in my throat, "I'm going to try it."
I didn't sound as sure as I wanted to. But I had to try—for Audrey.
"If it works out… maybe we can hope. At least for the money part."
"I'll come by to check on you. If I'm late, I might be in school," I added quickly, already grabbing my bag.
I leaned in, pecking him softly on the forehead. "Please stay alive for me. I love you so much."
"Love you too, sis. Go before he changes his mind."
---
As I stepped outside the hospital, I checked the card again—Ethan O'Martin written in sharp, minimal print. No title. No fluff. Just a name. It was intimidating for something so small.
I held onto it tighter than I expected.
The cab ride to O'Martin Tech was quiet, but my mind wasn't.
What was I even going to say? "Hi, you randomly offered me a job while I was on the verge of breaking down. Still standing?"
I winced at the imagined awkwardness.
He probably said it out of pity. Rich people do that sometimes, right?
Still… I found myself standing at the massive silver-and-glass doors of O'Martin Tech twenty minutes later, my reflection staring back at me, trying to look like she belonged.
Did I belong here?
A woman brushed past me with a sleek tablet in hand and an even slicker suit. She didn't glance at me. No one did. This wasn't my world—but I needed to get in, even just a foot.
I took a breath and walked in.
"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked, her tone polite but clipped.
I almost turned back. Almost.
"I'm… Lena Marks. I was asked to come in by Mr. O'Martin. He said I should call, but I figured I'd just—uh—show up."
The receptionist blinked, then tapped something on her tablet. "Wait here."
A few seconds later, the man from the hospital—his assistant—appeared, still looking crisp, but now with a slight trace of recognition in his eyes.
"Miss Marks," he said. "Right this way."
I followed, my heart climbing up to my throat.
Inside the elevator, the silence was intense. I could hear the soft hum of the floors passing beneath us.
"Do people… often walk in like this?" I asked, mostly to fill the silence.
"Not really. But you're expected."
I blinked. Expected?
We stopped at the top floor.
And there he was.
---
"You made it."
His voice was calm, almost too calm. "I thought for a second you wouldn't. I was just about to call it off."
I stood still, unsure of what to say. Then his eyes met mine—sharp, unreadable.
"You know what…" he paused, making my heart thump like it had its own secrets. "I was at that hospital for my secretary. He called in with a heart attack. I only went to confirm he wasn't lying."
I blinked. Was that a joke?
"And turns out," he continued, "he actually passed out. So yes, I take work here very seriously."
His tone didn't change, but something about his delivery made it hit harder.
"Follow Christian," he added, already motioning to the man who had accompanied me upstairs. "He'll show you your schedule and everything else you need."
Christian, tall and precise in movement, led me down a hallway so clean and modern I didn't know whether to walk or glide. We stopped at a door. He pushed it open and gestured for me to step in.
It was an office—sleek, polished, too fancy for a secretary. The kind of space you'd expect for someone making six figures, not someone who just cried at the hospital a day ago.
"The Head of Staff will be with you shortly," Christian said. "You'll go over everything with her. And please…" he added, "remember everything I told you."
With that, he disappeared.
I sat, eyes down. Around me, people walked past in elegant suits. Even the janitor looked like they belonged on the cover of a workwear fashion magazine. I tugged slightly at the hem of my lemon crop top and ripped jeans. Maybe I should've borrowed a blazer.
Then, a woman—poised, late thirties, sharp in heels and confidence—walked directly toward me. I stood at once.
"You must be Lena," she said, eyeing me from head to toe.
"Y-yes," I stammered.
"Oh no, honey. Don't do that."
"Do what?" I asked.
"Stutter. You're here on special recommendation from the CEO himself."
"I am?" I blinked.
She smiled tightly, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Let me walk you through your role. You'll be Mr. O'Martin's secretary. But only in the afternoons—the busiest part of his day."
I nodded, suddenly nervous.
"You start at 12 PM and close by 6 PM, Monday through Friday."
"But—my classes start at 5 PM…" I said quickly.
"Then move it up by an hour. This is not a negotiation."
I swallowed.
"Have you ever seen a five-hour job pay $50 an hour?" she asked, one brow raised. "If you're not interested, we've got people lining up who'd do it for $20 and smile while at it."
"I could… be an hour late to class," I muttered.
"Good choice," she said, then added, "You can call me Mrs. Brown."
"Got it, Mrs. Brown."
She softened just slightly. "I heard about your brother. That must be hard—school, work, caring for him. But Lena…" She stepped closer, lowering her voice just a little. "Make sure to put on some makeup tomorrow. And… lose the jeans. This is O'Martin Tech, not college orientation."
"Thank you," I said, feeling the heat of her words more than I expected.
She turned and walked out, heels clicking like punctuation marks on marble.
And just like that, I was in.
In a world I didn't understand.
Working for a man no one really knew.
A man who looked like perfection…
But felt like a puzzle I wasn't sure I wanted to solve.
---
I got the job.
My heart leapt with joy—and not just any job, a great offer at that. I wanted to scream, dance, even take a photo of the polished hallways just to capture this moment. If only cameras were allowed.
I quietly exited the building, reminding myself that work starts tomorrow.
I had a list of things to do—shopping to make, news to deliver, and school to attend. It was all happening so fast, and yet, I couldn't wait for what was coming.
But then I paused at the edge of the parking lot.
Wait… I haven't thanked Mr. O'Martin.
I turned back, my feet moving faster than my thoughts. I headed toward the executive wing, but just as I reached the corridor, I realized I needed a passcard to access his office.
Just then, Christian emerged, like he'd been summoned by my intention.
"Oh, hi Lena," he greeted with a kind smile. "All done already?"
"Yeah," I said, trying not to sound out of breath. "I just… I wanted to thank Sir."
He arched a brow, amused. "You mean Ethan?"
I nodded.
"Don't bother," he said with a short chuckle. "He wouldn't want that."
"Why?" I asked, genuinely curious.
Christian gave a small shrug. "He's just… Ethan. No compliments. No attachments. Just work."
"That's new," I said quietly, half to myself.
Christian just smiled. "Good luck tomorrow."
I nodded and hurried out of the building, the city air hitting my face like a fresh reminder that life had just shifted.
---
Shopping for an official outfit was harder than I'd imagined. I shuffled through YouTube videos for inspiration—"What to wear on your first day of work", "Classy secretary style for beginners." It all felt too much.
Heels? No, thank you. My feet would beg for mercy. I chose sneakers and a sleek pair of flats instead. That would work—I saw it on YouTube.
I picked out a few smart blouses and trousers that made me feel… capable. Then I headed home to prep dinner for Audrey and prep myself for school.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
My mind spun in every direction—new job, mysterious boss, Audrey's illness, final year stress, tuition bills, my future.
I stared at the ceiling until my alarm jolted me back to reality.
Time to be with my brother, then off to work.
---
"You look sick," Audrey said, eyes twinkling with mischief, "but in a good way."
I laughed, kissing him on the forehead. "Wish me luck."
"At 50 bucks an hour? You don't need luck, sis."
---
By 11:30, I was rushing toward the O'Martin Tech building. My passcard was handed to me at the gate, and I made a beeline for the elevator.
Thank God—it was empty. I stepped in and caught my breath.
But just before the doors closed, a hand slid between them.
The doors reopened.
Ethan.
He stepped in, tall, poised, and still glued to his phone. He pressed the floor button, glancing at me once, maybe twice.
"I just wanted to say thank—"
"Shhh," he cut me off without looking up. "Thank me with your work. Not words."
I stood frozen, unsure if I should apologize or vanish.
He finally looked up, his eyes skimming over me. "You look different," he said simply. "Bit of makeup. Different dress."
I smiled slightly, unsure if that was a compliment or a warning.
"You don't have to dress like that," he added. "Just get the work done."
Before I could respond, the elevator doors opened, and he stepped out—his presence as quiet and cold as ever.
And just like that, day one had begun.
---
The elevator doors shut behind him, and I stood there for a heartbeat longer, unsure whether to exhale or hold it in. Just get the work done. That echoed in my head as I stepped out and followed the hallway toward the office Christian had shown me yesterday.
By noon, I was seated behind a sleek desk just outside Ethan O'Martin's main office. The surface practically reflected my face—clear, shiny, and intimidating. A desktop monitor, a schedule notepad, and a noise-canceling headset were arranged neatly on top, alongside a list of Ethan's appointments for the day.
He hadn't spoken another word to me.
Christian had passed by briefly, dropped off some forms to fill, and told me Mrs. Brown would check in with me by 2 PM. Until then, I was on my own.
The phone rang.
I jumped a little and scrambled to pick it up before the second ring. "O'Martin Tech, Secretary Desk. Lena speaking."
There was silence for a second, then a cool voice on the other end said, "Transfer me to Ethan."
I blinked. "Who's calling, please?"
Another pause.
"Vivian."
Vivian. That name felt like red lipstick and high heels. It felt like someone who didn't need to introduce herself to be known.
"Just a moment," I said quickly, trying to remember how to transfer a call. I clicked the wrong button, then the right one, then finally forwarded it.
A few seconds later, Ethan's voice boomed from his office, low but annoyed.
"Next time, just forward without asking."
I bit my lip. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
---
By 2 PM, Mrs. Brown had come around with a checklist and a brisk nod.
"You're doing okay," she said flatly, scanning the desk. "Keep notes of calls, don't breathe too loud, and never—and I mean never—put anyone through to his line without checking the call sheet first. Got it?"
"Got it."
She squinted at me. "You look more presentable today. Keep it up."
---
The rest of the shift passed in a blur of clicking keys, awkward hallway greetings, and trying not to stare whenever Ethan walked past—usually silent, sometimes on a call, never looking directly at me.
By 5:45, I had sorted out three emails, printed a last-minute schedule Ethan requested via a message that read only: Need this in 5, and I'd managed not to mess up another call transfer.
I packed up slowly. No one told me if I could leave yet.
Then came a soft buzz from my desk phone. Line 1.
"Lena," his voice said.
"Yes, sir?"
"You'll be here same time tomorrow. Earlier if possible. I don't do hand-holding."
I sat still for a moment, then smiled to myself.
No hand-holding. Got it.
I stood up, grabbed my bag, and left the office with one thought:
Day one down. Nineteen more to go.
--