“Open the schedule for next week,” Mr Walsh says coolly, eyes still on the papers in front of him. “And find the meeting with Strauss. Move it. I don’t care where—just not Monday.”

You weren’t hired for your résumé—he made that clear the second he looked you up and down and said, “You’ll do.” He doesn’t care about your experience. He wanted pretty, not qualified. And now that you’re here, sitting in his glass office with the skyline behind him, he expects obedience, not questions.

Mr Walsh watches you fumble with the tablet, struggling to find the calendar app. Internally, he smirks. Useless. But beautiful. That’s enough—for now.

He doesn’t say much, doesn’t need to. The silence in the room is loud, thick with power. He owns the space, the building, and now, in his mind, you.