I rushed through the gleaming glass doors of Thornton Industries, my breath coming in short gasps as I clutched my portfolio to my chest. I was already ten minutes late for the most important interview of my life, and the sleek lobby with its marble floors and impossibly tall ceilings only emphasized how out of place I felt.
"Excuse me," I said, approaching the reception desk where a perfectly coiffed woman regarded me with a raised eyebrow. "I'm here for an interview with HR about the marketing position."
"Name?" the receptionist asked, fingers poised over her keyboard.
"Eliza Bennett."
The woman's perfectly lined lips curved into a frown. "Your appointment was at 9:00. It's now 9:12."
"I know. I'm so sorry. The subway had delays and then—"
"Ms. Bennett?"
The deep voice from behind me sent a shiver down my spine. I turned slowly, already knowing this couldn't be good.
Standing there was the most devastatingly handsome man I'd ever seen. Tall and broad-shouldered in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than my rent. His dark hair was styled impeccably, and his piercing blue eyes were currently narrowed at me with unmistakable disapproval.
"Y-yes?" I managed.
"I'm Alexander Thornton." He didn't extend his hand. "You've kept me waiting."
Alexander Thornton. The CEO himself. The thirty-four-year-old billionaire who had transformed his father's struggling company into a global powerhouse. The man who was supposed to be in Tokyo this week, according to the business news I'd devoured in preparation for this interview.
"You?" I blurted. "I thought I was meeting with HR."
One dark eyebrow arched upward. "I interview all candidates for the senior marketing strategist position. Or did you think this was for some entry-level role?"
My cheeks burned. The job listing had been vague, mentioning only "marketing position" and a salary that had made my eyes widen. Now it made sense.
"I didn't—"
"Follow me," he cut me off, turning on his heel and striding toward the elevator.
I hurried after him, my sensible heels clicking against the marble. Inside the elevator, Alexander Thornton stood perfectly still, not acknowledging my presence as we ascended to the top floor. The silence was suffocating.
"I apologize for being late, Mr. Thornton," I finally said. "It won't happen again."
His eyes flicked to me briefly. "No, it won't. Because there won't be again."
The elevator doors opened to reveal his corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. Alexander walked to his imposing desk and sat down, gesturing for me to take the seat across from him.
"Your resume," he said, not looking up from the paper in front of him. "Stanford MBA, previous experience at Morris & Klein. Impressive for someone your age."
"Thank you," I said, trying to regain my composure. This was my chance, late or not. "I've followed Thornton Industries' growth for years. Your expansion into sustainable tech is particularly—"
"Why were you fired from Morris & Klein?" he interrupted, his gaze suddenly locked on mine.
I swallowed hard. "I wasn't fired. I resigned."
"After proposing a campaign that the board rejected. A campaign that, I believe, was later adopted by their competitors and increased market share by twenty-two percent."
How did he know that? "Yes. That's correct."
A flicker of something—respect, perhaps?—passed over his face. "And you're here because..."
"Because Thornton Industries isn't afraid of innovation," I said, emboldened. "You've built this company by taking calculated risks and ignoring conventional wisdom when necessary. I want to work somewhere my ideas won't be dismissed simply because they challenge tradition."
For the first time, Alexander Thornton looked at me—not through me or at my resume, but at me. His gaze was intense, assessing.
"You're still late," he finally said.
"And you're still interviewing me," I countered, immediately regretting my boldness.
To my surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. Not quite a smile, but close. "Tell me about this rejected campaign."
For the next hour, I outlined my vision, answering his incisive questions and challenging his assumptions when necessary. With each passing minute, I felt more confident, more in my element. This was what I was good at—ideas, strategy, and seeing possibilities others missed.
Alexander leaned back in his chair when I finished. "You'll start Monday. My assistant will email you the details."
I blinked. "I got the job? Just like that?"
"Unless you've changed your mind?"
"No! I mean, no, I haven't. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Thornton."
He stood, signaling the end of the interview. "Alexander."
"Pardon?"
"My employees call me Alexander." He walked me to the elevator. "Don't be late on Monday, Eliza."
The way he said my name—like he was tasting it—sent another shiver through me.
"I won't," I promised as the elevator doors closed between us.
I exhaled slowly as the elevator descended. I had the job. I would be working directly with Alexander Thornton, the most infuriating, intimidating, and intriguing man I'd ever met.
What had I gotten myself into?
By Friday of my first week, I had learned three important things about working at Thornton Industries.
First, Alexander Thornton was brilliant. His mind worked at a speed that left others struggling to keep up, connecting dots and seeing patterns that weren't obvious until he pointed them out.
Second, he was impossible. Demanding, exacting, with standards so high they seemed designed to make people fail. He expected immediate responses to emails sent at 3 AM and solutions to problems before others even recognized them as problems.
And third, most disturbingly, I couldn't stop thinking about him.
"He wants to see you," announced Vivian, his executive assistant, poking her head into my new office. "Now."
I gathered my tablet and notes, taking a deep breath before walking the short distance to Alexander's office. I knocked once and entered to find him standing by the windows, phone pressed to his ear.
"That's unacceptable," he was saying, his voice cold. "I don't care what your engineers say. Fix it." He ended the call and turned to me. "The Singapore presentation. Where are we?"
"I've completed the market analysis and projections," I replied, moving to his side to show him the data on my tablet. "We're positioned to capture thirty percent of the regional market within eighteen months if we launch with the right partnerships."
Alexander leaned closer to look at the screen, his shoulder brushing against mine. The subtle scent of his cologne—something woodsy and expensive—momentarily distracted me.
"These projections are too conservative," he said, taking the tablet from my hands. His fingers brushed against mine, and I tried to ignore the jolt of awareness that shot through me. "We can aim for forty percent."
"With respect, that's not realistic given the established competition."
His eyes narrowed. "Thornton Industries doesn't aim for realistic, Eliza. We aim for exceptional."
"Even exceptional needs to be grounded in reality," I countered. "I can revise to thirty-five percent, but only if we increase the marketing budget by fifteen percent and secure the Kim partnership before launch
Alexander studied me for a long moment, and I forced myself to hold his gaze despite the flutter in my stomach. Working with him was like standing too close to a fire—dangerous, uncomfortable, yet impossible to step away from.
"Fine," he finally said. "Thirty-five percent. But I want daily updates on progress."
"Of course."
He handed the tablet back to me. "Join me for dinner tonight."
I nearly dropped the device. "Dinner?"
"To discuss the Singapore strategy further. Seven o'clock. I'll have a car sent to your apartment."
It wasn't a request, and I knew I should object to the presumption. This was work, I reminded myself. Just work.
"I'll be ready at seven," I said, turning to leave before he could see the flush creeping up my neck.
That evening, as the sleek black car pulled up outside my modest apartment building, I second-guessed my outfit choice for the tenth time. The simple black dress was professional enough for a business dinner but still elegant. My hair fell in loose waves around my shoulders—a departure from my usual office updo.
The restaurant was exclusive and intimate, with only a dozen tables spaced widely apart. Alexander was already seated when I arrived, rising as I approached. His eyes traveled over me in a way that was decidedly unprofessional, and I felt my pulse quicken.
"You look lovely," he said simply, pulling out my chair.
"Thank you." I sat, smoothing my dress nervously. "This place is beautiful."
"The chef trained in Paris. I invested in his first restaurant five years ago." Alexander poured me a glass of wine from the bottle that was already open and breathing on the table. "Try this. It's from a small vineyard in Tuscany."
The wine was exquisite, of course. Everything in Alexander's world seemed to be.
As we ate, the conversation flowed more easily than I had expected. We discussed the Singapore expansion, yes, but also art (he collected contemporary pieces), literature (we disagreed passionately about Hemingway), and travel (we'd both fallen in love with Kyoto, though years apart).
"Why marketing?" he asked as we shared a dark chocolate dessert. "With your analytical skills, you could have gone into finance. Made more money."
I smiled. "I like understanding people—what moves them, what they connect with. Numbers are important, but stories are what change the world."
Alexander's gaze intensified. "You're unlike anyone I've ever hired."
"Is that good or bad?"
"I haven't decided yet." His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it with a frown. "I need to take this. Excuse me."
As he stepped away from the table, I took a moment to gather my thoughts. This dinner felt dangerously like more than a business meeting, and the way Alexander looked at me sometimes... No. I couldn't afford to misinterpret. My career was finally taking off. Romance—especially with my boss—was not part of the plan.
Alexander returned, his expression tense. "I apologize, but I need to cut our evening short. There's an issue with our Berlin office that requires my immediate attention."
"Of course," I said, trying not to feel disappointed. "The Singapore presentation—"
"Will wait until tomorrow." He signaled for the check. "The car will take you home."
Outside the restaurant, as we waited for our respective cars, an awkward silence fell between us.
"Thank you for dinner," I finally said. "It was... illuminating."
Alexander stepped closer, his eyes searching mine. "Illuminating. That's a careful word."
"I choose my words carefully."
"And what word would you choose for this?" he asked softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my face.
My breath caught. "Complicated."
His lips curved into a rare genuine smile. "I like complicated, Eliza."
Before I could respond, his car arrived, and the moment was broken. He stepped back, once again the untouchable CEO.
"Good night," he said formally. "I'll see you tomorrow."
As my own car drove me home through the glittering city streets, I tried to make sense of the evening. Of Alexander Thornton. Of the way my heart raced when he was near.
Complicated, indeed.