Shadows Of Desire

Chapter One

Nauxr’s POV

Every morning, I wake up feeling like my life is a nightmare. The endless loop of job hunting and barely scraping by in a city that’s as relentless as it is expensive has drained me.

Today, though, I have an interview at Reed Enterprises for the junior executive assistant role I found online. It’s Friday, and this will be my fifth interview this week. Five rejections in one week—that has to be some sort of record.

I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, trying to shake off the weariness clinging to me. My apartment in Manhattan is as tiny as they come: one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen barely big enough to turn around in, and a cramped living room.

After a quick shower, I blow-dry my hair and slip into a black pencil skirt, a red button-up shirt, and black stiletto heels. I grab my purse and phone and head out, hoping today might be different.

The streets are buzzing with the usual traffic, and cabs whiz by, ignoring me entirely. Checking my phone, I see it’s nearly 8:00—exactly when the interviews are supposed to start. Great. First impression? Not ideal.

Finally, at 8:10, a cab pulls over. I’m already late, and anxiety gnaws at me as we crawl through the morning gridlock.

The towering Reed Enterprises building comes into view, gleaming and massive. Whoever owns this place is filthy rich, but I don’t have time to gawk. I dash inside, heart pounding.

At the reception desk, I try to keep my voice steady. “Good morning. I’m here for the junior executive assistant interview.”

The receptionist raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Aren't you, like... half an hour late? Interviews started at 8:00.”

“I’m so sorry—I got caught in traffic and couldn’t find a cab,” I stammer.

She sighs, unimpressed. “Save it for Mr. Reed. Just head up to the 20th floor. I’ve got work to do.”

As I walk away, I resist the urge to snap back. If I weren’t here begging for a job, I’d have a few words for her.

I find the elevator, which thankfully whisks me up to the 20th floor without a hitch. A woman, maybe in her 50s and with a warm, motherly smile, greets me.

“Good morning,” I say, mustering a smile of my own. “I’m Nauxr Thompson, here for the junior executive assistant position.”

She nods and smiles kindly. “Nice to meet you, Nauxr. I’ll let Mr. Reed know you’re here. And don’t worry too much about the timing; he hasn’t chosen anyone yet. He’s particular about who he hires… Most women come in dressed to seduce rather than for business. You’re the first one who seems to understand the difference.”

“Oh, thank you! I really need this job, so I hope it goes well.”

She picks up the phone and alerts Mr. Reed. “You can go in. Just… knock first. He can be a bit, well, intense.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking a deep breath as I head toward his office. My nerves kick into high gear, but I knock twice.

A gruff voice answers from within. “Come in.”

Across the room, at a desk backlit by floor-to-ceiling glass windows, a man sits buried in paperwork. The city sprawls behind him, and I can almost feel the weight of it all.

“Good morning, sir. I’m here for the interview,” I manage, fighting to keep my voice steady.

“Sit,” he says, his voice low and commanding, like he’s accustomed to issuing orders.

I bristle but obey, sinking into the chair across from him. He finally looks up, and the air seems to thin around us.

He’s… stunning. There’s no other word for it. His cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass, his blue eyes piercing, and his presence… magnetic. It’s as if he were carved by some divine artist who understood beauty in all its nuances. Our eyes meet, and there’s a strange tension, a moment of unspoken understanding before he breaks the gaze.

“Hand me your résumé,” he says, his words both clipped and commanding.

I fumble in my purse, passing it to him, and our fingers brush briefly. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I pull my hand back quickly, trying to ignore the spark.

“Where have you worked before?” he asks, scanning my résumé.

“A dealership and a restaurant,” I reply.

“Did you leave, or were you fired?”

There’s an edge to his questioning that grates on me, but I keep my tone even. “I was fired.”

“And why was that, Ms.…” He glances at my résumé. “Thompson?”

“I was late once, and then I missed a day due to illness,” I explain, keeping my gaze steady.

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Author’s Note

Hi everyone! I’m new to writing novels, and usually, I’m just a reader. This is my first attempt, so please go easy on me! Excited to see where this story goes—constructive feedback is welcome, but no hate, please. Thanks for reading!