Elle returned fifteen minutes later, holding a slim folder.
“Trina sent this over,” she said. “Apparently the intern writes detailed notes. Very detailed.”
Damien took the folder and opened it slowly.
The handwriting was neat, unpretentious. Bullet points organized by relevance, underlines used sparingly. Asterisks in the margins marked thoughts she clearly didn’t want to forget-sharp, observational, and unfiltered.
She hadn’t transcribed.
She’d translated.
He skimmed the first page, expecting the usual intern fluff-copied phrases from the screen, surface-level comments, maybe a few rushed takeaways. But what he found was something else entirely.
She’d been paying attention.
Not just to the content-but to the people.
She’d noted how one executive kept fidgeting when asked about the budget forecast. She’d flagged the subtle dip in another’s voice when discussing deliverables. Even more curious, she’d quietly remarked on his silence during the third quarter of the pitch.
“Marked shift in the boss’s energy during the financial slide. Still, observant. Silence intentional – analytical more than passive.”
Damien’s brow lifted.
That wasn’t a student scrambling to meet expectations. That was someone reading the room. Closely. Intuitively. Dangerously so.
Not just what was happening-but what wasn’t. What people weren’t saying. The weight of silence. The discomfort in pauses. She hadn’t been trying to impress. She’d simply… seen.
She saw more than she was supposed to. And she understood what it meant.
Now she had his full attention.
His brow rose slightly.
Most interns are taught to regurgitate. To copy. To play it safe.
She’d written like someone who didn’t realize the value of what she was seeing-or worse, someone who didn’t care if anyone else did.
He read the notes again. Then a third time.
There was no ego in them. No performance. Just raw, intelligent observation.
Dangerously perceptive.
He closed the folder slowly, fingers tapping once against the cover before placing it deliberately at the edge of his desk.
“She sees too much,” he murmured.
“Sir?” Elle asked.
He didn’t look up. “Keep an eye on her.”
Elle blinked. “Maya?”
“Yes. Discreetly. I want to know how she operates.”
Elle’s brow lifted just slightly. “And what exactly are we looking for?”
He paused.
“…I’m not sure yet.”
She gave a nod. “Understood.”
Then she turned and slipped out, heels silent against the floor.
And like that, she disappeared again.
Damien stood still in the quiet that followed, staring down at the closed folder on his desk.
It should’ve ended there.
But it didn’t.
He had a feeling this was only the beginning.
Maya woke up groggy, but grateful. Four hours of sleep wasn’t a luxury, just a step above survival – but it was still double what she’d gotten the night before. An extra hour made a difference. Her bones still ached, and her eyes burned from the weight of the week, but she felt just alert enough to function.
It was Friday-her last full day before her official three-days-a-week internship schedule began. She just had to survive one more day of juggling the four lives she was barely managing to keep afloat: barista, student, sister, and intern. Her schedule had been impossibly packed all week, stretching her to the brink. Grueling didn’t even begin to cover it. Thankfully, her coffee shop manager had been kind enough to approve a one-week unpaid leave. No income, but at least no extra shifts. If she could just make it through today, she’d be there for Jamie’s doctor appointment tomorrow. That was the deal she’d made with herself. Just one more day.
As she buttoned her blouse and tied her hair back into a low ponytail, her mind circled back to the day before-the impromptu pitch meeting, the cold stares from strangers in sleek suits, and the way Harper had smiled at her like they’d been friends for years. That part hadn’t been bad.
But what still sat heavy on her chest was Trina’s request.
No, correction-Trina’s command.
Maya, hand me the notes from the meeting. The ones you wrote. Yes, now. The original version, please. No need to edit.
No explanation. No chance to polish. No time to second-guess. She’d turned over her raw, unfiltered scrawl like it was nothing.
But it hadn’t been nothing. Those notes were… hers. Her thoughts. Her observations. She hadn’t written them to be read, especially not by someone higher up.
Maya exhaled slowly as she stepped out into the soft morning light. At least today would be easier. No meetings. No surprises. Just keep her head down, finish strong, and get through Jamie’s doctor’s appointment tomorrow. That’s all she had to do.
When the elevator doors opened to the PR floor, Maya immediately sensed… something off.
The air wasn’t buzzing the way it normally did with morning chatter and keyboard clicks. Instead, there was a strange hush. People glanced up from their desks, then looked away quickly. A few whispered something to each other as she passed.
Maya felt the hairs rise on her arms.
She walked faster.
At her desk, Harper was already there-grinning like she knew a secret.
“Finally!” Harper beamed. “Good morning, superstar.”
Maya blinked. “Uh… hi?”
Harper’s eyes sparkled with too much excitement. “You look so calm for someone who just got flowers.”
“What?”
Harper stepped aside with theatrical flair.
And that’s when Maya saw them.
A bouquet. Lush, understated, elegant. Crisp white lilies, delicate baby’s breath, and deep blue hyacinths arranged in a tall glass vase with a simple cream card tucked inside.
Maya froze. “Oh-those aren’t mine. They must be yours.”
Harper gasped. “Mine? Girl, I wish! But nope. They were already here when I arrived. Right on your desk.”
Maya blinked at the arrangement, heart thudding. “There’s no way… someone must’ve made a mistake. Maybe it’s for someone else?”
Harper leaned in conspiratorially. “I checked. Guard said the delivery log says ‘Maya Thompson, PR Division, West Wing.’ That’s you, sweetheart.”
Maya looked around, cheeks warming under the curious glances from across the department. “I don’t understand… who would send me-?”
Harper gave her a playful nudge. “Someone’s got a thing for mysterious interns. You’ve been here five minutes and already have a secret admirer.”
“I don’t have an admirer,” Maya whispered sharply. “This is a mistake. Maybe it’s a client appreciation thing or some office welcome thing-“
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.