The cheap coffee scalded my hand, but honestly, it was the least of my worries. It was Monday morning, and I was already late, battling the usual rush-hour sardine situation on the subway, and now I was sporting a delightful brown stain on my favorite (and only presentable) blouse.
"Just peachy," I muttered under my breath, pushing through the revolving doors of Sterling Enterprises, trying to ignore the judgmental stares of the impeccably dressed crowd.
Sterling Enterprises. A gleaming monument to wealth and privilege, rising like a glass-and-steel titan above the grimy streets I called home. It was a world away from my cramped apartment above the laundromat, where the rumble of washing machines was my daily lullaby.
I was only an intern, a glorified coffee-fetcher, but this internship was my lifeline. My ticket out of the laundromat and into a life where I didn't have to count every single penny.
I raced to the elevators, punching the button for the executive floor with more force than necessary. I barely managed to smooth down my wrinkled skirt and wipe the coffee stain before the doors pinged open.
And that's when I saw him.
He was standing in the middle of the opulent lobby, surrounded by a gaggle of obsequious executives, all vying for his attention. He was tall, impossibly so, with a posture that screamed power and arrogance. His suit, custom-tailored, no doubt, was a shade of charcoal gray that probably cost more than my monthly rent. His dark hair was perfectly coiffed, his jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds.
He looked like he'd been carved from marble, polished to a blinding sheen, and programmed to command.
Julian Sterling. CEO, heir to the Sterling fortune, and the man who held my entire future in his perfectly manicured hands.
He was everything I loathed. Rich, entitled, and oozing an air of condescension that made my teeth grind.
Our eyes met, just for a fleeting second, and I felt a jolt of something… unpleasant. His gaze was cold, assessing, and completely devoid of warmth. He looked right through me, as if I were nothing more than a stain on the expensive carpet.
"Late, Ms…?" he drawled, his voice a smooth, condescending baritone that made my skin crawl.
"Rowan. Rowan Davies," I stammered, mortified. The coffee stain suddenly felt ten times bigger.
He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Ms. Davies. Perhaps you should familiarize yourself with the concept of punctuality. Time, as they say, is money."
I bit back a retort about how he probably wouldn't know the value of time if it slapped him in the face with a crumpled dollar bill. "I apologize, Mr. Sterling. It won't happen again."
He didn't respond, just turned away, dismissing me with a flick of his wrist. The executives around him chuckled nervously, and I wanted to disappear into the floor.
As I scurried to my desk, I felt his eyes on me, burning a hole in my back. I resisted the urge to flip him off and focused on brewing a fresh pot of coffee, trying to calm my racing heart.
My desk was tucked away in a corner of the office, a tiny island of chaos amidst a sea of pristine order. I shared the space with two other interns, Sarah and Emily, both of whom were already staring at me with a mixture of sympathy and amusement.
"Rough start?" Sarah whispered, her eyes twinkling.
"You have no idea," I groaned, collapsing into my chair. "I think I just made an enemy of the CEO."
Emily giggled. "Don't worry, he's like that with everyone. Thinks we're all just after his money."
"Please," I scoffed. "I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole. I don't even like rich boys."
The morning crawled by in a haze of coffee orders, filing, and answering phones. I tried to avoid Julian Sterling's gaze, but it was impossible. He seemed to be everywhere, a looming presence that dominated the entire floor.
During lunch, I escaped to the break room, hoping for a moment of peace and quiet. I was microwaving a sad-looking container of leftover pasta when I overheard a conversation that stopped me in my tracks.
Two women from the marketing department were gossiping in hushed tones.
"Did you see what Julian did this morning?" one of them whispered.
"No, what?" the other replied, her voice filled with curiosity.
"He quietly donated a huge sum of money to the children's hospital. They were about to shut down one of their programs, but he stepped in and saved it."
"Wow," the second woman said, impressed. "I wouldn't have expected that from him. He always seems so…cold."
I felt a strange twinge in my chest. Julian Sterling, the arrogant CEO, secretly helping sick children? It didn't fit the image I had of him.
Later that afternoon, I was delivering a stack of documents to Julian's office when I saw it. He was sitting at his desk, reviewing a file, but his attention was focused on something else.
A small, framed photograph sat on the corner of his desk. It was a picture of a young girl, her face beaming with a gap-toothed smile. She was holding a teddy bear and wearing a hospital gown.
My heart skipped a beat. It was one of the children from the hospital.
He caught me staring.
His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. "Something you need, Ms. Davies?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.
I swallowed hard. "Just… delivering the documents, Mr. Sterling."
I placed the stack on his desk and turned to leave, but he stopped me.
"You saw the picture," he said, his voice flat.
"Yes," I admitted.
He stood up, towering over me. "Don't mention it to anyone," he ordered, his eyes blazing. "Understood?"
I nodded, my throat suddenly dry.
"Good," he said, his voice softening slightly. "Now get back to work."
As I walked away, I couldn't shake the image of that little girl's photograph. It was a chink in Julian Sterling's armor, a glimpse of the humanity he tried so hard to conceal.
And I hated that I saw it.
Because now, my chest felt funny whenever he looked at me too long. Now, I found myself stealing glances at him across the office, wondering what secrets he was hiding beneath all that expensive suit fabric.
The whispers started a few days later. I'd be in the break room, and the conversations would suddenly stop when I walked in. Sarah and Emily exchanged knowing glances whenever Julian and I were in the same room.
"There's definitely something going on between you two," Sarah said one afternoon, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Don't be ridiculous," I scoffed, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. "He hates me. I'm just the coffee girl."
"Oh, honey, he doesn't hate you," Emily said, grinning. "He watches you. All the time."
I tried to dismiss their comments, but the truth was, I had noticed it too. Julian's eyes followed me. In meetings, across rooms, in the reflection of the glass walls. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
And it made me nervous.
One evening, after work, I was waiting for the subway when a man approached me. He was tall and handsome, with a charming smile and a confident air.
"Hi," he said, extending his hand. "I'm David. I saw you at Sterling Enterprises. I work in accounting."
"Hi, David," I replied, shaking his hand.
"I was wondering if you'd like to grab a drink sometime," he said, his smile widening. "I'd love to get to know you better."
I hesitated. David seemed nice enough, and a free drink sounded appealing after a long day at work.
"I…" I started to say, but I was interrupted by a voice that sent a shiver down my spine.
"She's busy."
Julian Sterling stepped out of the shadows, his face a mask of cold fury. He looked even taller and more intimidating than usual.
David's smile faltered. "Oh," he said, looking confused. "I didn't realize you were waiting for someone."
"She's waiting for me," Julian said, his voice low and deadly calm.
He stepped closer to me, placing a possessive hand on my back. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through my veins.
"We have plans," he said, his eyes fixed on David. "So if you'll excuse us…"
David got the message. He mumbled an apology and quickly disappeared into the crowd.
Julian turned to me, his eyes blazing. "What was that all about?" he demanded, his voice tight with anger.
"What does it look like?" I retorted, my heart pounding in my chest. "He asked me for a drink."
"And you were going to say yes?"
"Maybe," I said, deliberately trying to provoke him.
His jaw ticked. "I don't share," he said, his voice a low growl.
I stared at him, my mind reeling. What was happening? Was he jealous? Possessive? It was absurd. He barely knew me.
"You don't share?" I repeated, incredulous. "What is that supposed to mean?"
He didn't answer. He just stared at me, his eyes burning with an intensity that made me weak in the knees.
The bus arrived, I took it and left him there.