4. A Shoe and a Spark.

SADIE’S POV

I followed him.

More like… trailed behind him, trying to keep my nerves from spiraling.

The hallway felt darker than before. Or maybe that was just me, finally realizing I was walking toward the lion’s den.

Each step I took was met with the coldness of the floor and silent steps from my bare foot.

I should’ve just wear my flat shoes instead of following him right away instead of clutching my half-pair heel like a ridiculous trophy in my hand.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t look back.

Just walked with a calm, unhurried authority that made my skin crawl. Like he knew I would follow. Like he didn’t need to ask—he expected it. Expected obedience. Deference.

At the end of the corridor, he pushed open a black door, sleek and expensive, with a silver plate that gleamed under the dim overhead light: Damon Prince – CEO

He held it open just enough, but didn’t wait for me to pass. He simply stepped inside and left me to follow. As if I was invisible.

I swallowed hard and entered.

The office was... minimalist. Immaculate. A skyline view glittered behind glass that took up the entire wall. But my attention snapped to his desk, where under a soft amber light sat—

My shoe.

Perfectly placed. Like a warning.

I blinked. “You—”

“I assume you recognize it,” he said coolly, walking behind his desk.

His voice was deeper than I’d imagined, clipped, unreadable. The kind that didn’t beg for attention—it demanded silence.

I nodded slowly, heart thudding. “Yes. I didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t ask for an apology,” he interrupted, his eyes flicking up from the shoe to me. “I asked if you recognized it.”

I straightened instinctively. “I do. Thank you for… keeping it.”

He let out a quiet, humorless exhale—maybe a scoff.

“I don’t make a habit of retrieving trash from my windshield,” he said, voice laced with cool disdain. “But yours was... hard to ignore.”

I flinched. “I didn’t mean to throw it at you. I didn’t even know it was you—I thought—”

“Exactly. You didn’t know,” he said, stepping forward slowly. “Yet you threw it anyway.”

I didn’t know where to look. The ceiling? The floor? Certainly not him. Not with the way he was watching me now—eyes sharp, like he was dissecting every breath I took.

“I saw your ID,” he continued, voice quiet but heavy with judgment. “You work for me. And yet, you didn’t think twice about acting like some unhinged—”

“I was soaked in dirty rainwater,” I snapped with reason, before I could stop myself. “And that shoe is one of the only pairs I own for work.”

His eyes flicked to the shoe on the table, then back to my face.

“And now it’s back in your possession,” he said simply, walking back behind his desk. “Problem solved.”

I said nothing.

He pulled out the chair opposite his and gave it the slightest nudge, a silent command.

“Sit.”

I hesitated.

“I won’t ask twice, Miss Summer.”

“But my dress is wet…” I muttered, weakly. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to obey him—I just didn’t want to leave another ruin on something he owned. In this case, his sofa.

He didn’t say a word. Just stared. And that stare said everything.

He wouldn’t ask again.

My legs moved before I gave them permission. I sat, clutching the shoe in my lap like a child caught misbehaving.

He studied me in silence for a moment, the tension in the room stretching tighter than my nerves could handle.

“Is this your idea of professionalism?” he asked finally, tone low, deliberate. “Throwing footwear at passing vehicles? Screaming in the street? Showing up to the office after hours looking like—”

“I was upset--and I came back here because I couldn’t walk home barefoot,” I muttered.

His jaw ticked. “Then you shouldn’t have thrown the damn shoe in the first place.”

Silence.

I stared down at the desk, cheeks burning.

I took another glance at my missing heel.

Still perfectly centered on his desk.

Then I blinked up at him, confused. “Why do you… kept it?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Let’s just say I don’t like unsolved puzzles.”

The air shifted.

His expression is unreadable, but colder now. Not playful, not flirty.

Calculating.

“I wanted to see the kind of woman who would throw a shoe at a stranger,” he said. “And if she really worked under my roof.”

“...And now that you’ve seen her?” I asked, voice tighter than I intended.

He paused.

“I’m still deciding.”

I swallowed, clutching my shoe a little tighter.

The silence stretched between us like a wire pulled too taut, just waiting to snap.

But then—I couldn’t help myself.

I took a breath. My voice came out smaller than I’d hoped, but steady enough to carry across the desk.

“Well… in case you decide to fire me,” I said, eyes flicking up to him, “I’d like to at least say my piece.”

He tilted his head slightly. A silent, dismissive gesture that somehow dared me to continue.

“In my defense… I had a few drinks,” I said. “And to be fair, you were the one who splashed us first.”

That caught his attention. His gaze sharpened.

I felt it like a spotlight hitting me full-force. My heart skipped, but I didn’t stop.

“You drove through a puddle. You soaked us. I reacted. Was it… mature? No. But it wasn’t unprovoked either.”

He leaned forward slowly, resting his forearms on the edge of the desk, fingers steepled.

“I see,” he said, voice low and cutting. “So now it’s my fault.”

“I didn’t say that,” I said quickly. “I just meant—maybe next time, you could drive more carefully. Especially in a company car, near your own building.”

There was a beat of total stillness.

No movement. No breath.

Then—

His lips curved. Not a smile. Not warmth. But a faint, cold smirk that sent a chill straight through my spine.

“Interesting,” he murmured. He rose from his chair in one smooth motion, and I instinctively stiffened as he moved around the desk toward me. Not fast. Just… deliberately.

Like a lion circling prey he wasn’t quite ready to eat.

“You know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper now, “most employees in your position would be groveling right now.”

I stared up at him. “I considered it.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

I hesitated, then shrugged a little. “Because… it wouldn’t be honest. And because I’m already soaked, embarrassed, and missing a shoe. If I’m going down, I might as well say what’s on my mind.”

He studied me, eyes flicking between mine. Something unreadable passed through his expression—something volatile, sharp.

“You’re bold for someone who knows nothing about who she’s talking to,” he said.

“I know enough,” I replied softly. “I know you’re the CEO. I know you could have had someone else deal with this but instead you waited for me. And I know you still haven’t told me why.”

His jaw clenched slightly.

“Do you always talk this much?”

“No,” I said honestly. “Just when I’m terrified and trying to cover it.”

For a moment, just a moment, something flickered behind his eyes. Surprise? Respect? Amusement?

Whatever it was, it didn’t last.

“I haven’t decided what to do with you yet, Miss Summer,” he said finally, voice back to that cold, unreadable timbre.

He turned back toward his chair, unhurried.

“But you’ve made one thing very clear.”

I frowned. “What’s that?”

“You’re not nearly as forgettable as the rest of them.”