I stand in front of the floor-length mirror in our SoHo loft, adjusting the lapels of my tailored navy blazer. It's new, a splurge from my last shopping spree with Lily, but I'm second-guessing the fit as I prepare for this last-minute interview. My roommate, Lily Harper, lounges on our velvet sectional, nursing a cold with a mug of chamomile tea, her silk robe draped over her like she's starring in a fashion editorial. She's the reason I'm heading to Vortex Industries to interview the elusive billionaire, Damian Black, instead of finishing my journalism thesis.
"You're gonna slay, Emma," Lily croaks, waving a manicured hand. "Just don't let those nerves make you trip over your own confidence."
I roll my eyes, grabbing my leather-bound notebook. "Thanks for the vote of faith." The elevator ride from our loft to the street below is a blur, my mind buzzing as I hail a cab to Midtown Manhattan. Vortex Industries' headquarters looms like a glass cathedral, its sleek lines cutting through the city skyline. I'm a senior at NYU, a journalism major with a knack for digging into stories, but facing one of the most powerful men in tech? That's a whole new level. Lily's the one who landed this interview for our campus magazine, but her cold put me in the hot seat.
The receptionist, a polished brunette with a Bluetooth earpiece, glances up from her desk. "Elevator to the 50th floor. Don't keep him waiting."
The elevator hums, my pulse racing as it climbs. I clutch my notebook, mentally rehearsing Lily's questions: What drives Damian Black? How did he build Vortex from a startup to an empire? The doors glide open, revealing a world of black marble and modern art, all clean lines and quiet power. An assistant with a clipped stride leads me to a conference room with panoramic views of the Manhattan skyline, the Hudson River glinting under a stormy sky.
"Mr. Black will see you shortly," she says, closing the door with a soft click.
I adjust my skirt, feeling a mix of anticipation and adrenaline. The room smells of cedar and leather, a subtle luxury that matches the city outside. Rain patters against the glass, and I'm hyper-aware of every sound. Then the door opens, and he walks in.
Damian Black is nothing like the grainy photos in Forbes. He's tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that's just shy of disciplined. His tailored charcoal suit screams wealth, but it's his eyes—storm-gray and piercing—that stop me cold. They lock onto mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just us.
"Miss…?" His voice is low, smooth, with a hint of curiosity that feels like a challange.
"Emma," I say, standing a bit too quickly. My pen slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor, and I wince as I bend to retrieve it. So much for poise.
He tilts his head, a faint smirk curling his lips. "You're not Lily Harper."
"No, she's… under the weather," I reply, straightening. "I'm filling in. I'm a student, but I've got her questions—" I'm talking too fast, and his gaze doesn't waver, like he's unraveling me with every second.
"Sit," he says, gesturing to a chair. It's not a suggestion. I comply, my notebook a lifeline in my hands.
He settles across from me, leaning back with an ease that feels almost predatory. "So, Emma, what brings you to my world?"
I swallow, flipping open my notebook, though I barely glance at it. "I'm here to ask about Vortex. Your… rise to success. How you started."
His smirk deepens, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You want the polished version for your campus magazine? Or the truth?"
I meet his gaze, my confidence flaring despite my nerves. "The truth."
He leans forward, elbows on the table, his presence swallowing the room. "The truth is, I built Vortex because I don't play by rules. I take what I want, Emma. Always."
My pulse spikes, his words a velvet hook sinking into me. There's a challenge in his tone, daring me to push back. I should stick to Lily's questions, but something reckless stirs inside me.
"And what do you want now?"His eyes darken, the air between us crackling.
"Careful," he murmurs, his voice a low warning. "Asking questions like that might get you answers you're not ready for."
My cheeks burn, but I hold his gaze, my chin lifting. "I can handle it."He chuckles, a deep, dangerous sound that sends a shiver down my spine.
"We'll see about that."
The interview becomes a dance of questions and cryptic answers, his every word deliberate, his every glance a spark. He's guarded, magnetic, pulling me into his orbit despite my best efforts to stay professional.
By the time I stand to leave, my notes are a jumble, my mind spinning with the weight of his presence.
As I step into the elevator, I catch his reflection in the glass doors, watching me with that same unreadable intensity.
"Until next time, Emma," he says, just before the doors close.
I don't know what just happened, but one thing's clear: Damian Black is a storm, and I've just stepped into its path.
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...
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