Ms. Langford—calm, commanding, and stood in the middle and said
"Listen up, everyone," her voice slicing through the interns' buzz like a well-sharpened blade. "You'll be working in project teams—five groups of four. Each team will have a designated coordinator."
Coordinator.
That was the word she used, but everyone in the room knew what it meant.
The face of the team. The one who'd answer to the CEO directly.
A murmur passed through the room. Eyes flicked around. Some were excited. Others terrified.
Amelia? She just wanted to disappear into her ergonomic chair.
"And remember," Ms. Langford added, "the coordinator of each group will receive the project details directly from Mr. Lancaster's desk. You'll be reporting to him throughout the internship."
Amelia's stomach did a double somersault.
The groups were called out and quickly formed.
Amelia found herself with two girls—Ava and Lia, both sharp and confident—and a guy named Nolan who wore glasses and had a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. They exchanged polite nods and brief introductions before Ms. Langford raised her voice again.
"And the coordinators are as follows…"
Names were read out one by one. The room buzzed with quiet tension.
"Group Four… Amelia Rose"
What?
Amelia blinked. Surely there was a mistake. Her? Out of all the confident, overly prepped interns in the room?
Lia gave her a little clap. Ava winked. Nolan shrugged, clearly fine with someone else doing the heavy lifting.
She stood slowly, legs shaky but her spine steel. She could do this. She had to.
---
One by one, coordinators were summoned into the CEO's office to receive their project assignments.
When it was finally her turn, Amelia's pulse thrummed in her ears.
The assistant led her through the polished hallway, her heels clicking too loud on the floor. They stopped at a tall door with a golden plaque:
DAMIEN LANCASTER — CEO
The assistant gave a small knock and pushed the door open.
Amelia stepped inside.
And there he was.
Damien sat behind a minimalist black desk that screamed luxury and power. A floor-to-ceiling window spilled sunlight across the room, hitting his sharp jawline like a spotlight had been aimed just for him. His suit was dark, clean, and infuriatingly perfect. His sleeves were rolled slightly, revealing strong forearms and a luxury watch that probably cost more than her rent.
He didn't look up right away. His gaze was on a document. His pen moved smoothly across the paper. But she felt the pull—the gravity of him—like the entire office revolved around that one man.
Finally, he glanced up.
And those cold steel eyes met hers.
"You're late," he said flatly.
Amelia opened her mouth, then paused. "This time I'm exactly on time."
A flicker of something—amusement?—passed through his gaze.
"Miss Rose, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Interesting choice, Langford."
Ouch.
"Well," he continued, standing up and walking around the desk, "since you're the coordinator, your group's fate lies in your hands."
He handed her a sleek folder. Their project brief.
Their fingers brushed.
Amelia pulled back instinctively. But his gaze didn't waver.
"You'll present this outline by Friday. Keep your team in check. Any issues, you come directly to me."
"Understood," she said, clutching the file like a shield.
"And Amelia," he added, voice dipping just slightly as he stepped a little closer—too close
"Try not to drop your keys this time."
Her breath hitched.
He remembered.
"Maybe next time," she replied softly, "don't smirk like a villain and it won't happen."
A smile—genuine and dangerous—tugged at his lips.
"I make no promises."