Beneath the Surface

The golden invitation sparkled under the dim light of my apartment. Its embossed lettering “Sinclair Foundation Annual Gala” seemed to taunt me. This was an event for people who had made it, who belonged. Not for someone like me, struggling to keep the lights on in a cramped one-bedroom in Queens.

Still, I couldn’t ignore what it represented: opportunity.

I adjusted the hem of my rented black dress for the fifth time, staring into the cracked mirror above my dresser. “You’ve got this,” I whispered, though my reflection looked unconvinced. The dress was elegant but simple, a far cry from the designer gowns I imagined would fill the Sinclair ballroom. Still, it would have to do.

The Sinclair Hotel loomed like a fortress of luxury in the heart of Manhattan. Its glittering chandeliers and polished marble floors whispered wealth and power. I clutched the invitation tightly, nerves bubbling as I stepped into the grand foyer.

Inside the ballroom, the grandeur was overwhelming. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a warm glow, and every surface seemed to gleam. Women in gowns worth more than my annual salary moved with effortless grace, their laughter mingling with the hum of a live orchestra. I felt small, almost invisible, as I made my way to the refreshment table for a glass of champagne.

The first sip barely touched my lips when a sharp jolt knocked me sideways.

“Oh!” I gasped, watching in horror as champagne spilled over the sleeve of a nearby man’s suit.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammered, reaching for a napkin. But when I turned to face him, the words died on my lips.

The man was tall, his sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes enough to make me forget how to breathe. He looked every bit the part of someone who belonged here—poised, powerful, untouchable.

“You should be,” he said, his tone clipped.

I flushed, hastily dabbing at his sleeve. “I—uh—I can pay for the dry cleaning,” I offered, though the words sounded ridiculous even to me.

He raised a brow, his gaze cutting through me like a blade. “Don’t bother. The suit’s worth more than your rent.”

My cheeks burned. I dropped the napkin, my embarrassment only deepening. “Well, I was trying to help.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, though his eyes remained cold. “And you’ve done enough damage, Miss…?”

“Bennett,” I said quickly, trying to salvage some dignity. “Lila Bennett.”

He extended a hand, his expression unreadable. “Drew Sinclair.”

The name hit me like a freight train. Of course. The Drew Sinclair, billionaire hotelier and host of the gala.

“Enjoy the evening,” he said dismissively before walking away, leaving me standing there with my cheeks flaming and my pride in shreds.

The memory of my humiliation lingered long after the gala. For days, I replayed the scene in my mind, wincing at every detail. But just as I resolved to put it behind me, a phone call turned my world upside down.

“Hello, this is Lila Bennett,” I answered, trying to sound professional despite the nerves fraying my voice.

“Miss Bennett,” came a polished voice. “This is Rachel, Mr. Drew Sinclair’s assistant. He would like to schedule a meeting with you regarding a business opportunity.”

I blinked, gripping the phone tighter. “I’m sorry…..what?”

“Mr. Sinclair was impressed by your tenacity at the gala,” Rachel explained, “and believes your company might be a good fit for one of his upcoming projects. Are you available tomorrow at noon?”

I agreed, though my mind raced with a hundred questions. Why me? What did Drew Sinclair see in someone like me?

The next day, I stood before Sinclair Enterprises, a gleaming glass tower that seemed to stretch endlessly into the Manhattan skyline. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored doors, pale and anxious.

Inside, Rachel greeted me with a professional smile and led me to a conference room. Drew was already there, seated at the head of the table. His posture was relaxed, but his presence filled the room.

“Miss Bennett,” he said, gesturing for me to sit.

“Mr. Sinclair,” I replied, keeping my voice steady.

As I launched into my pitch, explaining my approach to events management, Drew watched me with an intensity that made my pulse race. His expression was unreadable, his silence unnerving. When I finished, he leaned back, steepling his fingers.

“Interesting,” he said after a long pause. “But managing a hotel launch is a far cry from planning weddings and corporate dinners.”

I straightened in my seat, ready to defend myself, but his next words stopped me cold.

“I’ve done my research on you, Miss Bennett,” he said, opening a folder.

Inside were photos and details of past events I’d managed; charity galas, product launches, weddings. He flipped through them as he spoke.

“This gala for the arts? Beautifully executed. And this tech launch? Impressive.”

I stared at the photos, my heart racing. “Thank you,” I managed.

“But,” he continued, his tone sharp, “this project is bigger than anything you’ve handled. You’ll be managing a multi-million-dollar budget, overseeing a team of hundreds. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

I met his gaze, my resolve hardening. “Give me the chance, and I’ll prove it to you.”

"You've got the contract; for five months. Don't disappoint me."

Relief flooded me as I thanked him and left the room, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and disbelief. But as I stepped into the elevator, a nagging thought lingered in the back of my mind.

Why had Drew chosen me?

My first week at Sinclair Enterprises was nothing short of brutal. The team I was meant to lead wasn’t thrilled about an outsider taking charge, and every suggestion I made was met with resistance. The scale of the operation was overwhelming, with countless moving parts and unspoken rules I struggled to keep up with.

Then there was Drew. His critiques were sharp, his standards impossibly high.

“Miss Bennett,” he said one afternoon, his tone as cold as ever, “attention to detail isn’t optional here. I suggest you remember that.”

I bit back my frustration, forcing a polite smile. “Of course, Mr. Sinclair.”

By Friday, I was exhausted, questioning whether I’d made the biggest mistake of my career. That evening, Drew appeared in my office, his expression unreadable.

“There’s a corporate gala tomorrow,” he said. “You’ll attend. Consider it an opportunity to familiarize yourself with the brands you’ll be working with for the launch.”

The gala was another whirlwind of opulence and nerves. Drew stayed by my side for most of the evening, his presence both reassuring and unnerving.

I couldn't ignore the growing tension between us. It was in the way his hand lingered on my lower back as he guided me through the crowd, the way his gaze seemed to soften when he looked at me, and the way his voice dipped lower when he spoke to me

“You’re doing well,” he said at one point, his gaze softer than I’d ever seen it.

“Thanks,” I replied, my voice tinged with disbelief. “I’ve done my homework.”

He smirked faintly. “It shows.”

As the night wore on, the tension between us grew. When he finally leaned in close, his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Have a drink with me,” he said, his tone low and inviting.

The words sent a jolt through me, but I followed him to the bar. We talked, the conversation growing more personal with each drink.

“You’re full of surprises, Miss Bennett,” he said, his voice softer now.

“And you’re not as intimidating as everyone says,” I countered, a playful smile tugging at my lips.

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “Don’t let that get out. I have a reputation to uphold.”

The banter faded, replaced by a charged silence. His gaze lingered on mine, his eyes dark with something unspoken.

And then he kissed me, it was like a spark igniting a fire. His hands cradled my face, his touch both commanding and tender.

“Come with me,” he murmured.

My breath hitched, but I didn’t hesitate. As we stepped into the elevator, the tension crackled like electricity. By the time we reached his penthouse, all rational thought had disappeared, leaving only the heat of the moment.

"Are you sure about this?" Drew asked, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

I didn't answer with words. Instead, I closed the distance between us, my lips finding his in a kiss tha

t held all the unspoken emotions neither of us dared to voice.

This was reckless. It was dangerous. But it was also inevitable.