The Worst First Meeting
Rolling Rock Building
Cold A/C air hit her face. It smelled like old wood and expensive cologne. The executive hallway was dead silent.
Sunlight poured over the marble floor. It showed her reflection，back straight, chin up. The charcoal suit fit perfectly. She looked like a woman who owned the world.
Riiiiiip.
The tiny sound cracked like a whip.
Clara froze.
Cold air rushed against her bare skin. Looking down, she cursed. The sharp zipper of her briefcase had snagged her tights. A huge run raced down her thigh.
Her perfect image was gone.
She did not do flaws. Not today.
Eyes searching the hall, she saw a heavy door. It was slightly open.
“Thirty seconds,” she whispered, slipping inside.
The lounge was dark. Tiny wall lights gave off a low, amber glow. Suddenly, the scent of cedar hit her. It was thick. Deep. Pure alpha male.
Clara kicked off her heels. Balancing on one foot, she yanked her skirt up. Her fingers hooked into the ripped fabric, pulling it down fast.
Click.
A door opened at the back of the room.
Clara went totally stiff.
A man stepped out of the shadows. He wore a white dress shirt buttoned to the throat. The sleeves were rolled up with slow care.
His presence was huge. Suffocating. He was way too big for the space. Broad shoulders filled the dim room, blocking out the light. Everything about him was sharp，a strong jaw and eyes that cut right through her. He looked like visual sin.
They stood less than six feet apart. Clara could not move. One leg was completely bare. Her skirt was bunched up at her waist.
Breathing became impossible.
The man did not blink. His heavy gaze dropped, tracing the curve of her bare leg with agonizing slowness. It was a predator looking at prey. His eyes lingered on her lips，bitten red from nerves before snapping back to her burning face.
The look was freezing cold, but it made her skin burn hot.
“I’m sorry… I thought I was alone,” Clara choked out. Her hands scrambled to pull her skirt down.
Haste made her clumsy. Her shoulder hit a heavy wood cabinet. A sharp hiss escaped her teeth from the pain.
The man did not move. He did not help.
He walked right past her toward the exit. A wave of cold cedar wrapped around her like a cage. At the door, his chin tilted up.
“This isn’t your dressing room,” his voice came out as a low, deep rasp. “If you think this display gets you the job, try another floor.”
Shame flooded her chest, turning her ears bright red.
Clara dropped her head, pulling her shoulders in. “I am so sorry, sir,” she whispered. Her voice sounded sweet. Soft. Perfectly submissive.
A low, mocking snort left his throat. His hand reached for the door handle.
The second his back turned, the good girl mask fell off.
Clara glared at his broad back, twisting her face into a wild, angry grimace. She shook her fist at his head, her mind screaming.
Who the hell do you think you are? I hope you stay single forever, you stone-faced freak.
The man’s body jerked tight.
Knuckles turned white on the metal handle. He stood completely frozen, like he just got hit by electricity.
He heard a voice. A woman’s voice. Inside his head.
He whipped around.
The sudden move caught Clara off guard. Her angry face did not have time to change. For a split second, she looked totally crazy.
Then, acting for her life, she forced her eyes wide with innocent shock.
“Sir? Is there something else?” Her voice dripped with sweet honey.
The man stared, narrowing his eyes into slits.
Her mouth was shut. She looked completely confused.
Scowling, his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. The late nights were making him crazy. He was hearing things. Giving her one last icy look, he pushed the door open and let it slam.
“Prick,” Clara snapped.
She ripped the ruined tights off and stuffed them into her bag. After fixing her lipstick, she took a deep breath. She walked straight to the waiting area.
The other girls sat on plush sofas. Wearing heavy makeup and holding a designer bag, Emily Smith looked up with a smirk.
“No stockings, Clara?” Emily whispered loudly. “Are you that desperate?”
Clara sat down smoothly and opened her folder. She did not even look at her.
“Relax, Emily,” Clara said, her voice cool and flat. “No one is looking at your legs. Worry about your test.”
Emily’s face turned bright red. She opened her mouth to fight back, but the assistant called her name. Shooting Clara a final glare, Emily walked inside, her heels clicking loudly.
Ten minutes later, Emily walked out.
The attitude was gone. Her face was pale. Her eyes were red and watery. Without a word, she pushed past everyone and ran out. Her footsteps sounded messy and scared.
The room went dead silent.
Clara closed her folder. Her eyes were cold. She was next.
The freezing air hit the back of her neck. The hallway still smelled faintly of that man’s cedar cologne. Her thumb pressed against her resume, wrinkling the paper. Her heart drummed against her ribs. All around her, other girls whispered with nervous energy.
“Clara Bennett. Your turn.”
The assistant’s voice cut through the air. Clara stood up, pulling her blazer tight with a sharp tug. Her heels clicked against the marble as she walked. Steady. Confident.
At the door, she took a long breath and knocked three times.
“Come in,” a deep voice called out.
She pressed her palm against the cold wood and pushed.
The room was bright. Three interviewers sat behind a long table. Clara’s eyes swept across them, then stopped dead.
In the corner, leaning back in a dark leather chair, sat the man from the lounge.
His white shirt was perfect. A dark pen turned slowly between his long fingers. The cedar scent was heavy here, making her chest tight.
Kian Voss. The man she had just insulted was the CEO of Rolling Rock. He sat in the middle, the most powerful man in the room.
The shock felt like a punch, but she did not blink. Digging her nails into her palms, the sharp pain brought her back. Her back went straight. She gave a small nod, keeping her voice totally flat.
“Good morning. I’m Clara Bennett.”
She sat down, locking her hands over her knees. Perfect posture.
The questions started. They asked about her resume and her past jobs. Clara was fast. Her answers flowed easily as she talked about managing big schedules and tight deadlines. She stayed calm, cool, and professional.
The HR manager leaned forward, a sharp smile on her lips.
“Let’s say Mr. Voss has an emergency tomorrow. He needs a two-year report in one hour. At the same time, Marketing drops a secret file, and an angry partner is screaming on the phone. What do you do first? This job is a nightmare. Late nights. No weekends. Why won’t you crack?”
Clara did not hesitate. “Secret file goes in a locked drawer. Ten seconds. Then the partner. I tell them the CEO is in a high-priority meeting and promise a call back in ten minutes. That keeps them happy. The rest of the hour goes to the report. I pull the data fast so he does not have to waste time.”
She paused, letting her eyes meet Kian’s for a sharp, bold second.
“As for the pressure—I don’t bring feelings to work. My last boss tore up six schedules in one night. The final one was done at midnight, and I was at the airport by seven. I don’t care about a late-night text. Just tell me what needs to be done, and I will handle it.”
She leaned in closer. “An assistant saves the CEO time. I am here to take care of the mess so he doesn’t have to. That is why you hire me.”
Silence hit the room. Only the sound of pens scratching broke the quiet.
Kian finally moved. His pen stopped. Looking up, his dark eyes showed absolutely nothing. He wrote a few words in his notebook. The air felt thick, heavy with a strange tension.
The HR manager looked at Kian. He gave a tiny, silent nod.
“Clara, that’s all,” the manager said with a fake smile. “We will email you. You can go.”
Clara’s heart dropped. No praise. No feedback. Just the exit. Keeping her face blank, she stood up. “Thank you for your time.”
She turned and left. The moment the door clicked shut, she let out a huge breath. Her hands were wet with sweat. Her shoulders slumped before she forced them straight again. She answered perfectly, but that room felt like a freezer.
Walking down the hall, she passed a giant glass wall. Her reflection stared back，sharp, pretty, and totally stressed. Clara stopped. She fixed her hair, smoothed her jacket, and nodded at herself.
“Honestly,” she muttered to the glass, “I crushed that. If they don’t hire me, they are stupid.”
She was so focused on herself, she did not hear the footsteps. Then, the heavy scent of cedar crashed over her.
Clara froze.
Turning slowly, her face turned bright red.
Kian Voss stood two steps away, walking toward the elevators. His face was pure ice. But his dark brows were pulled together in total irritation. He looked like a man who had heard every single word she just said to the window.
The embarrassment was heavy. She could barely breathe. “I... I was just... talking to myself,” she stammered.
Kian did not say a word. He just stared down at her, his heavy gaze locking onto hers for a beat too long. Then, his massive frame stepped right past her.
Clara did not wait. She ran toward the stairs, her heels clicking in a wild, messy rhythm.
Getting into her car, she dialed her best friend.
“Sophia! It’s over!” she screamed into the phone. “I did amazing on the questions, but the CEO is the guy from the lounge! The one I called a freak! And then he caught me talking to myself in the hallway like a crazy person. You have no idea. My life is over.”
“Get over here right now!” Sophia yelled back. “Tell me everything!”
Clara hung up, a small, tired smile finally hitting her lips. She did her best. The rest was up to the giant man with the cedar scent and the dark, dangerous eyes.
