Evelyn stood outside the executive boardroom, her notes clutched tightly in one hand, her heart thudding a steady rhythm against her ribs. The morning sunlight spilled through the high windows, casting long shadows on the marble floor beneath her heels. She had slept poorly, her mind cycling through bullet points and hypotheticals all night.
Now, here she was. Twenty-nine years old, marketing assistant turned strategist overnight, about to present a campaign proposal to some of the most powerful people in the company. And at the head of that table sat the man who had inexplicably pulled her into his orbit.
The door opened, and Natalie, Alexander's assistant, gave her a curt nod. "You're on."
Evelyn stepped into the room. The air inside was cool, heavy with the scent of polished wood and espresso. Around the massive conference table sat ten men and women, all in their forties and fifties, sleek and sharp-eyed. Alexander sat at the head, reviewing a page with unreadable focus.
He looked up when she entered, offering no smile, no nod. Just a slow, deliberate glance that said you belong here now, act like it.
Evelyn swallowed her nerves and launched into her section.
The moment she began speaking, something shifted. She found her rhythm, her voice steady. She had practiced this. She had lived with this proposal for days. She knew it better than anyone in the room.
As she walked the board through her ideas—target personas, content pillars, a three-tiered influencer cascade. She noticed a flicker of surprise in a few of their eyes. They hadn't expected much from her. Maybe they had assumed Alexander brought her in as a favor or an experiment. But now they were listening. Really listening.
When she finished, the room was silent for a beat.
Then Alexander leaned back in his chair, hands steepled.
"Well done," he said simply. "Any questions?"
There were only two. Minor clarifications. And when the meeting adjourned, Evelyn was the last to gather her things.
Alexander approached her as the others filed out.
"You handled yourself well," he said in a low voice. "Better than half the room."
"Thank you," she replied, her pulse still racing. "I... I wasn't sure if I could pull it off."
His gaze sharpened. "Then I'm glad I didn't ask."
Before she could respond, Natalie reappeared beside them.
"Your three p.m. was moved to one. Legal needs signatures before lunch," she said to Alexander.
He gave a clipped nod. "Clear the next hour. Miss Hart will join me in my office."
Evelyn blinked. "Sir?"
"You'll be shadowing for the remainder of this phase. If you're going to present, you need access."
Access. That word again. It felt dangerous, loaded.
Still, she followed.
Alexander's office was every bit as sleek and imposing as she imagined. Glass walls on one side, dark wood shelves, and a large black desk that looked like it belonged in a spy movie. But the most surprising thing wasn't the size or the silence. It was how personal the space wasn't.
No photos. No trophies. No clutter.
It was like the man himself: elegant, controlled, impenetrable.
He gestured to a smaller chair by a side table while he reviewed files at his desk. "Make yourself comfortable."
Evelyn sat, hands folded neatly in her lap.
For the next thirty minutes, she observed him as he worked: signing contracts, fielding two phone calls, dictating a quick memo. His focus was absolute. His efficiency astonishing. And still, every so often, his gaze flicked toward her, assessing.
Finally, he spoke.
"What are you thinking?"
She startled. "Now?"
"Yes. I assume you have thoughts. You always do."
She hesitated, then stood and crossed to the whiteboard behind his desk. "I think this rollout schedule doesn't account for Q4 media fatigue. We need to frontload engagement in the first two weeks or risk losing momentum."
He turned in his chair, studying the board. "You're suggesting a phased prelaunch."
"Yes. With embedded content from internal ambassadors before we announce externally."
He stood. Walked closer.
"Show me."
Evelyn's heart fluttered at the proximity, but she kept her voice even. She began sketching a funnel, annotating audience layers and timing. Alexander stood beside her, arms folded, nodding occasionally.
When she finished, she turned and found him very close.
Closer than before.
She didn't move.
"Impressive," he said quietly.
She felt the weight of his gaze, the electricity in the air. For a moment, the room was too quiet. Too still. She could hear her own breath.
Then he stepped back.
"Send me the revised draft by end of day," he said.
Just like that, the moment passed.
But it hadn't been imagined.
And Evelyn knew, with sudden clarity, that she had crossed into unfamiliar territory where proximity to power blurred lines and complicated loyalties. Where rules weren't spoken aloud because the people who made them were rewriting them as they went.
And Alexander Drake had just given her a front-row seat.