The morning had started like any other. Cold air. Black coffee. A short call with the board. Another investor meeting at Blackthorne Media Group. Nothing special. Nothing new. Nothing that had the power to move me. The media group was well known, but it hadn't caught my interest very much.
Until the moment I walked through the lobby and saw her name on the visitor list.
Amara Rose.
My chest tightened. For a second, the world lost its sound. I recognized her handwriting from the sign-in sheet. Small letters. Neat. Careful. The kind of writing that looked like the person who created it did not want to take too much space. The sort of writing that made me want to give her all the space in the world.
I read the name twice. Then three times.
She was here. She was in this building.
She had walked into my world with those light brown eyes that held small flecks of green inside them, eyes that always made me feel like I was being watched in slow motion. She had walked in with her soft brown hair loose around her shoulders, her freckles scattered across her nose like small stars, and the smile she tried so hard to hide. A smile that showed a pair of dimples so deep and beautiful that they made my heart drop every single time.
I should have gone to the meeting on the fifteenth floor. I should have done what my schedule said. But the moment I saw her name, every plan I had turned to dust.
I caught up with Martin, my right hand, my executive assistant, just as he was heading toward the elevator, tablet in hand, probably reviewing the morning's meeting schedule. I didn't bother with pleasantries.
"Cancel everything," I said, voice calm but firm.
He blinked at me. "Excuse me?"
"Every meeting. Investors, board updates, and the lunch with Chen. All of it."
He paused, looking like he was processing whether I had gone completely mad. "Sir, some of these meetings cannot just—"
"I do not care, and do as I say," I interrupted, keeping my tone neutral but edged with authority. "I am taking the intern interview personally. Everything else can wait. Finalize the Chen deal without me. You know how to do it. I do not need to be there for every call." Interview singular I only wanted to take one interview.
He hesitated, tapping a pen against his tablet. "Sir, it is unusual. Are you sure? The HR team scheduled these interviews."
"Yes, I am sure," I said. I let my gaze sharpen, the kind that made it clear there was no room for argument. "And do not question me, I am going to handle this myself. That is all you need to know."
He swallowed, clearly torn between protocol and the reality of who he was speaking to. "Alright. I'll reschedule the meetings, but sir… this is highly irregular. Even for you."
I shrugged, letting my calm mask the slight satisfaction I felt at seeing him flustered. "Not unusual. Necessary." My eyes drifted back toward the lobby, toward her name on the visitor list. The moment I saw it, something inside me shifted. She was here, and I was not letting her sit in some glass-walled conference room with strangers.
Martin frowned, clearly unsettled by the authority in my voice. "Yes, sir. I'll… handle it."
"Good. Do it quickly. I do not have time to waste. And Martin?"
He turned slightly, wary.
"Make sure no one tells anyone I changed plans today. This stays between us."
His eyebrows shot up. "Understood, sir."
I walked past him toward the lobby, already imagining the way she would look when she entered, completely unaware that I had just rewritten the rules of the day for her. My chest tightened. She had no idea how much this moment mattered to me.
And before she could question me, I told HR that I would be taking over the internship interview.
They looked shocked. Silent. Confused.
Of course they were. I did not take interviews. I barely spoke to interns. I hardly sat in this building unless a contract worth billions needed my presence.
But this was Amara.
And I was gone for her. Fully. Entirely. In a way that was starting to scare even me.
I stepped into a glass walled conference room. Sunlight stretched across the long table. Outside the windows, the city looked loud and cold, but inside the room, everything felt too still.
I sat in the main chair.
I rolled up my sleeves.
I waited.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt nervous.
Not the kind of nervous that came with danger. Not the kind that came before a fight. This was something softer. Something I did not know how to name.
When the door finally opened, she walked in.
And everything inside me went quiet.
Amara paused at the entrance, confusion on her face, her brows pulling together. Her eyes widened once they landed on me.
She looked at me like I had no right to be sitting there.
She looked beautiful.
Her hair was open and rested over her shoulders. Her face had no heavy makeup, just her natural glow. A faint flush on her cheeks. Freckles scattered across her nose like someone had brushed the smallest paint drops across her skin. Her light eyes bright. Her lips soft. She wore a simple light sweater and black pants, and sneakers, yet she looked like she had stepped out of a painting.
But it was her smile that did it. Even if she tried to hide it. Even if she tried to fight it. The moment she saw me sitting there like I owned the world, a small smile stretched across her lips. It was small, but her dimples appeared. I felt something sharp inside my chest. Something warm. Something painful.
Her smile was the kind of smile a man could die for. And kill for. I hated that I liked it that much.
She shut the door behind her and walked forward, confusion clear in her steps.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
The sound of her voice hit me like a strike. Soft but strong. Gentle but sharp.
I leaned back in the chair and studied her. I could see the way her fingers played with the small pendant she always wore. She touched it when she was stressed. Or thinking too much. Or trying to hide that she cared.
"I work here," I said.
She narrowed her eyes. "This is Blackthorne Media Group. You do not work here."
I smiled a little. "I do. In a way."
"In a way," she repeated with disbelief. "Asher, you are not an editor."
"No. But I do own most of this place."
Her mouth parted a little. She stared at me like she had seen a ghost.
"Since when?"
"Since today."
Her confusion grew into irritation. A small line formed between her brows. It was cute. Too cute. I should not think that. But I could not stop.
"Then why are you taking my interview?" she asked.
Good question.
I could have lied. I should have lied. But I was not good at lying to her.
"I saw your name," I said. "And I wanted to see you."
She blinked. Hard. Color rushed to her cheeks.
"Asher," she said slowly, "I would not have applied if I knew this was your company. This is not fair."
"It is fair to me."
"That is not how jobs work."
"I can change how jobs work. It is my building."
She glared at me. "This is not funny."
"It is to me."
Her lips twitched. She tried to fight a smile. She tried so hard. But a faint one slipped out. And her dimples showed again. They destroyed me.
She sat down in the chair across from me.
Her knee bounced slightly. She was nervous. She looked everywhere except at me.
The pendant around her neck rested on her collarbone, small and shiny. She touched it again. She always touched it when she was unsure.
"You really cancelled your meeting for this," she said.
"Yes."
"Why"
"You know why."
She swallowed. She looked away.
"You know the media would have a blast when they get to know about this unusual behavior of yours, taking interns' interviews is highly unusual for the Asher Hayes."
"The media gets to know what I want them to know."
I watched the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. The way her freckles softened her face. The way her dimples appeared even when she pressed her lips together.
I could watch her forever.
But she was here for an interview.
So I picked up her resume.
Her eyes widened again. "You stole that."
"I borrowed it."
"You stole it." Cute
"I own the building. I can take what I want."
She groaned. "This is insane."
"It is not insane. It is your interview. Tell me why you want to work here."
She pointed at the door. "Can I have the real panel back?"
"No. I am all you are going to get. Just me and you."
"Asher."
"I want to hear you talk."
She blinked again. Her voice grew quieter, softer. "You cannot do this."
"I already did."
She let out a small, frustrated sigh. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling. She looked adorable when she was angry.
"Fine," she muttered. "I want this job because I love words. I love reading. I love editing. It is one of the few things I know how to do well. I want to learn more."
Her voice had a small tremble that she tried to hide.
I leaned forward without thinking. "You will get it."
She stared. "You did not even ask me questions."
"I do not need questions. I know you will be good at it."
"I could be terrible."
"You will not be."
"How do you know?"
"Because you are you."
Her cheeks warmed again. She looked down at her hands. I could not stop watching her. I took in every small movement. Every breath. Every shift.
"Is this why you took my interview?" she asked softly.
"No."
"Then why?"
I looked at her. Really looked at her. At her eyes. At the details of her face. At the freckles that formed tiny stars on her nose. At the dimples that appeared even when she tried to hide her smile. At the softness of her mouth. At the spark inside her.
She made the world feel different.
She made me feel different.
And I hated how much I liked it.
"Because I wanted to see you," I said again. "I wanted to talk to you. That is all."
Her breath caught. Her fingers stilled on the pendant.
"Asher," she whispered. "We barely know each other."
"Maybe. But I want to. I want to know everything."
She looked at me with wide eyes. Scared. Confused. Curious. Like she could not decide if she wanted to run or stay.
"Why?" she asked again. Softer this time. Almost like she wanted the answer.
I smiled. Only a little. Only for her.
"Because you are the only person I cannot stop thinking about."
She froze.
Her lips parted.
Her lashes fluttered.
Her heartbeat was almost visible in her throat.
I said nothing else.
I did not move closer. I did not touch her. I did not push.
But I did lower my voice.
Very low.
Only for her.
"Do not look at me like that, Amara" I whispered. "You might make me say something I cannot take back."
Her breath hitched.
She sat there tense and quiet and beautiful.
And then the smallest smile appeared.
Small.
Slow.
Soft.
Her dimples formed again.
And my heart felt like it was kicking at my ribs.
If she smiled at me like that again, I would break.
And I would not mind.
Not at all.