CHAPTER FOUR

Ken

She walked out with that same irritated look she always tried to hide, leaving me craving more of her scent. The magazine in my hand was only camouflage—a reason to linger until every employee left. I hadn’t noticed she was still around until then. Stressed, yet still radiating that smart-woman aura. Mira detested me in every conversation, and I couldn’t figure out why. I’d caught glimpses of the real her, but with me she was all calculation.

The company’s reports didn’t lie. Since she joined, productivity had spiked. She was exceptional—a force behind Gigs’ rising success.

But my presence here wasn’t as simple as I let on. Posing as an intern was just a façade Bernard and I agreed on. In truth, I’d come from Voughan Digital’s head office to train staff and evaluate employees. Most hadn’t impressed me. Some were bossy with the “new intern,” others unhelpful. If I were sentimental, I’d lump Mira in with them—but I knew better.

What Bernard didn’t know was a more deeper truth..

Gigs wasn’t thriving because of leadership. It was people like Mira who kept the wheels turning.

When the last light in the building dimmed, I returned to my small office, picked up my suitcase, and left. The security guards eyed me curiously as I drove out. Ten minutes later, I checked back into a modest hotel. Far from my usual luxury, but tolerable. Once this charade ended, I’d be gone.

Under the shower, a name echoed in my head. Mira.

Feisty. Relentless. Unwilling to let me in.

She stood out even among the other women at the firm. I’d met plenty of smart, beautiful women who’d bend over backwards for my attention—but Mira wasn’t one of them. She was different. I’d read her file—twenty-three, already surpassing her peers. Determination, elegance, intelligence. Add beauty, and she rose far above Gigs’ league.

Bernard had pressed me with questions about Voughan Digital, far beyond the company’s polished image. Publicly, Voughan was a corporate giant, seven years old, renowned for its digital innovations, with offices across the country. Rumors whispered it had been built by one man. Officially, I confirmed little. Employees there were envied for their pay and working conditions—that was enough to satisfy Bernard, though I knew it hadn’t.

I’d barely wrapped a towel around my waist when my phone rang.

“Yes, Davis.”

My assistant’s update stretched nearly an hour. Mother’s call came in after—I ignored it. Lying back on the bed, I let the silence settle. Traveling wasn’t new, but traveling under a false identity was. It carried a strange sense of freedom. Shame it wouldn’t last.

The alarm shattered my short rest. Calls had kept me awake past midnight—the last, at five-thirty, from my younger sister crying about Father’s “offer” to work at the company. She didn’t want to leave her friends. Technically, he had no right to offer her a position, but I let it slide. I’d always taken responsibility for my sisters, making sure they lived without worry. Her refusal to work didn’t surprise me.

Dizzy with fatigue, I forced myself up. The cold marble floor grounded me as I headed for the shower. I dressed simply, just enough to fit the role. In the mirror, the stubble and messy hair gave me a rougher look. Normally I kept a sharp look, but I liked the difference. My thoughts shifted to Mother. She was plotting again—she always was—and this time, she wouldn’t win.

Shoes laced, suitcase in hand, I headed out.

“Hi, Mr. Ken,” the receptionist greeted, smiling.

“Hello.”

“You didn’t call room service this morning,” she teased, leaning slightly forward.

“No, I’m good. Running late for work.”

“How about something light?”

Her badge only read Receptionist. She liked me. I could tell.

“Thanks, maybe later.” Her smile faltered. Good. She should focus on her job.

Outside, I paused, taking in the city air. So this was middle-class life—clocking in like every other worker. Instead of driving, I hailed a taxi, letting the city pass me by. For now, I was a bird out of a gilded cage. And I intended to savor it.

I arrived very early and headed to the cubicle of an office—an ironic contrast to the vast space I was used to. It felt like a confined cell, suffocating in its smallness.

While I waited for the others, I retrieved William’s file from the archive and kept myself busy going through it. Bernard had given me full access to the archive and all necessary information, without anyone else knowing. I was pleased with what I found—just as I had done with Mira, I had quietly observed William. He seemed like an ordinary guy: calm and friendly, yet with a sharp mind. Vaughan needed people with that kind of potential. I had already begun working on the list of candidates to be selected.

Mira. My thoughts drifted to her. It was a few minutes past eight, and I knew she was in her office. I stepped out into the hallway.

She would hate to see me this early, but I couldn’t stop myself from walking to her door. It was quiet inside, yet I knew she was there. I knocked.

“Come in.” Her voice sounded normal, even inviting, so I did the natural thing and opened the door.

“Morning, Mira.”

Her face went rigid, eyes turning dismissive. What exactly was my offense?

“Ken.” She was clearly trying not to sound rude. “How can I help you?”

“Just came to say hi.”

Her lips curved—more smirk than smile—before she returned to the file in front of her. Silence stretched, heavy and awkward, though she seemed perfectly at ease. I lingered by the open door, torn between stepping in or retreating with some dignity. She treated me like air.

“Don’t you have work to attend to? Bernard would be furious if he saw you idle.” Her eyes never left the page.

I seized the moment and stepped fully into the office. The space was simple, basic—too plain for someone who carried this company on her shoulders.

“I don’t have much to attend to,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets to hold composure.

She finally looked up, sighing as though I were an unsolvable problem. I let my gaze wander, trying to ease the tension. Our eyes met briefly—long enough for me to notice the warm hazel shade that drew me in, the slight part of her plump lips, the neat bun that highlighted her heart-shaped face.

“Mr. Ken, I’d like a little privacy, please.” She twirled the pen between her fingers.

“Okay. And please—it’s just Ken.”

Her eyes snapped to mine, surprised I’d thrown her own words back at her. Before she could flare up, I slipped out, shutting the door quietly. She’d had enough of me.

I stood outside, smiling at the absurdity of it all. But truthfully, Mira rattled me. I’d improvised—hands In pockets to keep calm. I never lost composure. Not me. I’d signed contracts worth millions, debated with high-profile clients, walked boardrooms with men twice my age and always came out dominating. Yet here I was, disoriented by a colleague who dismissed me like a nuisance.

Always respected. Always in control. Yet Mira cracked something open in me. I told myself the attraction was only fleeting. I was a man, after all, and I admired beautiful, intelligent women. That was all.

“There you are, Mr. Ken.”

Bernard’s voice pulled me back. He was waiting at my office door.

I gave him a questioning look.

“Can you spare a few minutes?”

“Sure,” I nodded. Bernard was always careful with me. Respectful. The Voughan effect.

We entered his office. It was my third time here, yet the feeling remained—foreign. I wasn’t used to having a “boss.”

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the cushions before his desk. I sat, stiff and uncomfortable, while he rummaged through his files. His sharp eyes glinted behind glasses, lips pressed into a thin line. Early forties, but the grumpy demeanor of an old man. The wall of dusty files behind him only added to the image.

“Here it is.” He pulled out a folder and slid it across the desk.

I raised a brow, taking it. The name printed across the front—Clara Rudolph. I smiled faintly. For five minutes I scanned the contents, already guessing where this was headed. Closing the file, I handed it back with deliberate indifference.

“What do you think?”

“It’s okay.”

“Well… it belongs to one of our employees.”

I had memorized every name in this building. Clara Rudolph was no ordinary employee—she was the Director of Operations. He was downplaying her role, which only confirmed my suspicion.

“Apart from potential and intellect,” Bernard went on, “work attitude matters. You can’t base recruitment solely on talent and ignore drive.”

His voice grew firm, confident. “This file belongs to a high-quality employee with both attributes—as you’ve just seen.” He leaned forward, folding his hands, waiting for my agreement.

All I saw was mediocrity. How had she risen to that post? I masked my disdain. “So what do you think?” I returned the trap.

“I say you should consider her. I know everyone here. I can vouch for their abilities.”

“That’s true.” I kept my tone even. “But I’ll need to send her details to head office for consideration.”

That startled him. “Oh, I only meant you should consider it personally.”

“As I mentioned before, every decision is validated by head office.” My patience wore thin. I had no time for games.

“Anything else, sir?” I added, my mood already dampened.

“None for now.” He forced a smile, but I barely looked at him.

Respect for him evaporated. He was ready to trade the best for the average. Clara—always perched on her pedestal. What strings had she pulled to get this far? I didn’t care. She was of no consequence to me.