Ava’s POV:
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I understood two things:
One, Liam Duarte was even more intimidating up close. Two, I was absolutely going to blow this.
He crossed the room like he owned every square inch of the building—and probably did. Dark suit, darker eyes. Controlled. Reserved. Maybe bored. His expression gave me nothing, and that was worse than disdain.
No handshake. No greeting. Just a slight nod as he sat across from me.
God. He was beautiful in that terrible, rich-boy, emotionally unavailable way. The kind of man who didn't make small talk because he didn't need to. The kind who didn’t ask for respect—he extracted it.
“I’ve reviewed your resume,” he said finally, flipping through it like it was a grocery list. His voice was low, even, the kind of smooth that was meant to disarm. “It’s...impressive. On paper.”
Which meant: not in real life.
I tried not to shift in my seat. “I know there are gaps.”
He looked up at me then. Those eyes—cutting and unreadable.
“I didn’t have access to a traditional path,” I said, steadying my voice. “But I’ve followed Duarte Tech’s evolution for years. From when you pivoted into predictive intelligence models—that was bold. And smart.”
One of his brows ticked up slightly. “That was a very unpopular move at the time.”
“I know. But it worked. Your whole product line shifted from support tools to strategy drivers. You repositioned the company from behind-the-scenes tech to front-end innovation. That was... visionary.”
His expression didn’t change, but I could’ve sworn something flickered. Interest? Curiosity? A pulse beneath the marble?
“I take it you like a challenge,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied before I could think. “Because no one expects you to succeed when you’re not supposed to be there.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You’re young,” he said simply, factually.
“I know.” I sat up straighter. “But I’ll outwork everyone. I have before. I don’t come from connections or money—”
I stopped myself. Not a lie, technically.
“I don’t expect shortcuts,” I finished. “I expect to earn it.”
The silence that followed was long. Weighted.
Finally, he said, “That’s the exact philosophy I had when I took over this company.”
That stopped me. I blinked. “Oh.”
A flicker of something passed through him then. Not warmth—but a kind of amused approval.
“I want to hire you,” he said, just like that, no pause. “On a probational month. You’ll be working directly under me. You’ll sink or swim based on your own merit.”
I stared. “Seriously?”
He didn’t blink. “Is there something unclear about that?”
“No!” I practically shouted it, then immediately covered my mouth. “I mean—no, not at all. It’s just—”
And then, because I was sleep-deprived and half-starved and so full of adrenaline it hurt—I stood and hugged him.
Full body, arms-around-his-neck, hugged him.
I felt him freeze, stiffen like he hadn’t been hugged in years—or not like this, anyway.
Shit.
I pulled back like I’d been electrocuted. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. That was wildly unprofessional, I—”
He was smirking. Full-on smirking.
It was terrifyingly attractive.
“Well,” he said, adjusting the front of his jacket where I’d wrinkled it, “you’re not boring. That’s a point in your favor.”
I groaned under my breath and sat back down, clutching the resume folder like it might shield me from imploding.
“First day is Monday,” he said, already standing.
“I won’t let you down,” I whispered.
He paused at the door, then glanced back. His voice was quiet.
“I think I’ll enjoy watching you try not to.”