CHAPTER 9 ~ EXECUTIVE

ALEXANDRA’S POV

I stared directly up at Mr. Harrison's pale, sweating face. The large data analytics department was completely silent. Dozens of senior analysts and junior interns stopped typing on their mechanical computer keyboards and looked across the wide room at my small corner cubicle. My desk neighbor, Jessica, sat perfectly still in her rolling office chair with her mouth slightly open in absolute shock. I reached my trembling right hand up to my face and pushed my thick, black-framed prescription glasses higher up the bridge of my nose. The heavy plastic frames constantly slipped down my face whenever I felt anxious and my skin began to sweat. My palms were sweating profusely right now. I wiped my damp palms discreetly against the fabric of my navy blue pencil skirt.

"Did you hear my instructions, Alexandra?" Mr. Harrison asked loudly, his voice shaking slightly as he stood over my small desk. "The Chief Executive Officer personally called my office extension two minutes ago. He demanded that you gather your data reports and bring them directly to his private executive suite on the ninetieth floor immediately. Do you have the financial files prepared for his review?"

I felt a massive wave of imposter syndrome crash heavily against my logical thoughts. I was just a twenty-three-year-old intern who had only worked at this company for a few months. I felt completely unqualified to speak to a billionaire about a major corporate acquisition. However, I forced myself to take a deep, slow breath to calm my racing heart. I refused to let my severe insecurities make me look foolish in front of my strict department manager and all of my gossiping coworkers.

"Yes, Mr. Harrison," I replied softly, keeping my voice very professional and steady. "I have the financial files prepared on my computer. I will print the documents right now and take them up to Mr. Volkov's office."

"Do not keep the billionaire waiting," Mr. Harrison instructed strictly. He turned around and walked rapidly back toward his private glass office, wiping the visible sweat from his forehead with the back of his right hand.

The moment he closed his office door, the employees on the entire floor began whispering loudly to each other. I ignored the gossiping voices entirely. I turned my physical attention back to my computer monitor. I used my computer mouse to click the print icon located at the top of my corrected spreadsheet document. I pushed my rolling chair backward, stood up from my desk, and smoothed my hands down the front of my new navy blue pencil skirt to ensure the fabric sat perfectly flat against my wide hips.

"I cannot believe the CEO specifically asked for you," Jessica whispered loudly, leaning her upper body across the small gray partition that separated our desks. She stared directly at my black-framed glasses and my terrified brown eyes. "You are just a junior intern. He is going to fire you for touching the senior financial algorithm. Please tell me you did not accidentally delete the corporate revenue codes when you opened the file."

"I did not delete any codes, Jessica," I replied softly, keeping my posture very straight. "I found a massive mathematical error regarding the target company's physical asset depreciation values. I wrote a new formula to correct the financial calculation. I am going to show the correct numbers to Mr. Volkov."

I walked away from my desk before Jessica could ask me any more questions. I walked across the carpeted floor toward the large, industrial corporate printer sitting near the employee breakroom. I listened to the machine hum loudly as it printed my ten-page document. I smelled the warm, distinct scent of fresh printer toner in the air. I reached down and collected the warm papers from the plastic output tray. I tapped the bottom edges of the papers against the table to align them perfectly. I walked over to the supply cabinet, pulled out a professional black leather presentation folder, and placed my printed spreadsheet pages neatly inside the dark cover. I closed the folder securely and held it tightly against my heavy chest.

I walked toward the front entrance of the department. Every single employee stared at my body and my clothes as I walked past their cubicles. I kept my head facing completely forward and looked through the clear lenses of my prescription glasses to focus entirely on the silver elevator doors at the very end of the hallway. I reached the private executive elevator bank. I pulled my plastic intern badge from my leather purse and held the printed barcode under the red security scanner attached to the wall. The scanner beeped loudly, granting me high-level access to the ninetieth floor. The metal doors opened automatically, and I stepped inside the empty elevator car.

The doors closed, shutting me inside the quiet, small metal space. The elevator began to move upward at a very rapid speed. I felt an intense ache of anxiety form deep inside my stomach. The sudden change in elevation and my own nervous body heat caused the glass lenses of my prescription glasses to fog up slightly, blurring my physical vision. I transferred the black leather folder to my left arm. I pulled my glasses off my face with my right hand. I reached into my leather purse, pulled out a small microfiber cleaning cloth, and carefully wiped the condensation off the thick glass lenses. I placed my glasses back onto my face and pushed the black plastic frames firmly up the bridge of my nose. The digital red numbers above the door counted higher and higher until the elevator finally stopped moving.

The metal doors slid apart. I stepped out of the elevator and onto the ninetieth floor. The physical environment was completely different from the loud, crowded intern department. The executive floor was incredibly quiet. The floors were covered in thick, dark gray carpeting that completely silenced the clicking sound of my black leather heels. The walls were painted a pristine white color, and expensive modern artwork hung securely in thick wooden frames along the corridor.

I walked slowly down the wide hallway until I reached a large wooden reception desk located directly in front of a set of massive, dark oak double doors. An older woman with gray hair tied into a neat, tight bun sat behind the wooden desk. She wore a tailored black business suit and typed quietly on a modern computer keyboard. A small metal nameplate resting on the edge of her desk read 'Margaret, Executive Assistant'.

Margaret stopped typing and looked up at me. She stared at my navy blue pencil skirt, my white silk blouse, and my thick black-framed glasses with a very stern, evaluating expression on her face. She looked at my heavy curves without smiling.

"Good morning," I said politely, holding the black leather folder tightly against my chest to protect the printed documents. "My name is Alexandra Petrov. I am the data analytics intern from the forty-second floor. Mr. Harrison told me that Mr. Volkov requested to see my financial reports immediately."

"Good morning, Miss Petrov," Margaret replied in a highly professional, entirely emotionless voice. She pointed her silver pen toward the massive dark oak double doors located directly behind her desk. "Mr. Volkov is expecting you. He is currently waiting for you inside his private office. You may go inside."

I nodded my head to thank her. I walked away from her reception desk and stopped directly in front of the heavy wooden doors. I raised my right hand, curled my fingers into a tight fist, and knocked twice on the solid oak wood.

"Enter the room," Maximilian's deep, authoritative voice commanded loudly through the thick wood.

I reached down, turned the cold metal handle, and pushed the heavy door open. I stepped inside the massive corner office. The room featured tall, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that offered a complete view of the Chicago skyline. The bright morning sun illuminated the large space. Maximilian Volkov sat behind a massive, clear glass desk located in the exact center of the room. He did not look like the gentle, sweet man who cooked eggs and bacon for me in his penthouse kitchen just two hours ago. He wore a dark, perfectly tailored charcoal suit jacket over a crisp white shirt. His facial expression was completely ruthless, cold, and incredibly intimidating. He was operating in full corporate executive mode.

He looked directly at my face, staring intently through the clear lenses of my thick glasses.

"Shut the heavy door behind you, Alexandra, and walk directly over to my desk," Maximilian instructed strictly, his gray eyes narrowing slightly as he pointed his large hand toward the empty leather chair sitting opposite his position. "I want you to open that black leather folder and explain to me exactly why my senior financial analysts are completely incompetent."