5. One Shoe, Once Chance.

SADIE’S POV

I didn’t know what to say after that. “Not forgettable”? That wasn’t exactly a compliment. It felt more like a threat wrapped in velvet.

He just stood there, arms crossed now, watching me like he was trying to decide whether to erase me from the building… or promote me out of sheer spite.

“I should fire you,” he said.

The air in the room dropped ten degrees.

I didn’t respond.

“I should fire you for misconduct. For insubordination. For attempted assault with a four-inch block heel.” His brow lifted slightly, like he was daring me to argue.

I swallowed, head down. “You could.”

He stepped closer—just one step, but it felt intimate and dangerous. “But I won’t,” he said. “Not today.”

My breath caught. I wasn’t sure if this ‘one chance’ was good news or a ticking time bomb.

“This,” he continued, gesturing vaguely at the awkward, muddy memory of tonight, “won’t go in a report. It won’t reach HR. There won’t be any official consequence.”

Relief bubbled up in me—but only for a second.

“But don’t misunderstand me, Miss Summer.”

His voice dropped—lower, firmer. Ice beneath steel.

“This is a one-time exception. You get one outburst. One mistake. One chance.” He leaned in slightly, his face half-cast in shadow from the dim light above us. There was something feral in his expression.

“After this… you will act accordingly. Or you will be gone.”

He stood there, backlit by the city lights bleeding through the glass, like some tragic prince carved out of shadow and fire. Cold eyes. Sharp jaw. A presence so commanding, it felt like the entire room bent around him.

Damon Prince. Even his name sounded like danger dressed in silk.

He wasn’t kind—not with his words, not with his gaze. But that didn’t stop my heart from stuttering every time his eyes met mine.

Like now.

That look... like he saw straight through me. Tore through all my layers—and somehow, still remained unreadable himself.

He gave me one last chance. His tone was a warning, not an invitation. But wow, he looked like sin in a suit.

His sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms dusted with veins. Hands I shouldn’t be imagining on my skin. And that voice—low, rough—curled through my chest and sank into the places no one was supposed to reach.

I shouldn’t be thinking about his hands. Or how his jaw flexed when he was holding back—something dark, something dangerous. Or how his suit framed him like it had been tailored by temptation itself—broad shoulders, strong chest, narrow waist that drew my gaze and stole my breath.

He was the kind of man you could get lost in—recklessly, completely, with no promise you’d ever make it out the same.

My chest tightened. My fingers gripped the shoe like it was the only anchor I had.

Weird, that under the circumstances, I could still be thinking about all of that.

He straightened and stepped back. “Put on your shoes. Go home. And come back tomorrow like nothing happened,” he said, walking past me toward the large window behind his desk.

I was ready to get fired. I mean, I didn’t want to—but I had mentally braced for it the moment the elevator doors opened and I saw the CEO himself waiting at my desk with a mission.

Even though it wasn’t entirely my fault.

I was just… upset. Like a normal, reasonably frustrated person would be after getting drenched in street muck by a stranger’s car.

Except this stranger happened to be my boss.

My very powerful, cold, and evidently prideful boss.

But power doesn’t come with fairness.

It comes with choices.

And Damon Prince had every right to fire me on the spot—for less than what I’d done.

And who was I? Just an insignificant junior assistant with half a pair of shoes and a few too many worries.

So even though my chest ached with the injustice of it, even though I wanted to explain or argue or scream into a pillow, I did what I always did when the walls closed in.

I walked toward his desk. I tossed the heel onto the floor--gently, not in a sassy way and bent to strap it back on.

Bham!

My head hit the table.

Oh, my slipper.

Could this night get any more humiliating?!

I quickly stood, clutching the side of my forehead, trying to steady myself. Ignored the pain. Or the dizziness. Maybe I wasn’t fully sober anyway.

The strap was still loose, and it made me stumble again. And in that moment, I just let it go. Whatever happened, happened.

I was ready to fall flat on the floor.

But someone caught me. Hands gripped my waist, steady and strong.

My boss. Damon Prince. The CEO.

Between my shock and the heat I felt from his touch, I pulled away. Turned my body and leaned on the table.

“Is being careful really that complicated for you?” His voice was cold. Sarcastic.

“I’m sorry—” I muttered, one hand still on my head.

What surprised me even more—he grabbed my wrist and checked the spot gently, his brows pinched with something that looked like concern.

It lasted only a second.

He looked like he was surprised too—like he hadn’t meant to care.

“You should go home—before you destroy anything else. Or is even that too much to ask?”

I straightened my spine. Forced a little smile. And said, “No, Sir.”

Because that’s what insignificant people like me do in the presence of men like him.

“A-and thank you! For everything,” I blurted, my voice a little too loud, a little too eager.

I saw it—just the slightest twitch in his jaw when I said that.

A muscle popped along his cheekbone the moment my words left my mouth. Subtle. Sharp. Like a crack in glass.

His face remained unreadable—a fortress of cold restraint.

But that one flicker… it was enough to knot my stomach tighter.

Then, without a word, he turned and walked out of the room.

No goodbye. No dismissal.

Just the low thud of his polished shoes fading into the hallway.

I stood frozen for another moment, unsure if it was a trick—if he’d come back with another blow.

But the door stayed open. Empty.

Only then did I let my back sag against the edge of the table.

My shoulders dropped.

I took a breath—my first real breath in what felt like ten minutes—and let it out in a shaky sigh.

My legs were wobbly.

I didn’t even realize I’d been holding myself so stiff until the tension drained all at once.

My reflection shimmered faintly in the glass—half put-together, half a mess. A girl who came to change her shoes and ended up facing a storm in a suit.

And survived it.

For now.