Chapter 1 — The Elevator Incident

Andy

My first day at Kelex began with the kind of optimism only someone wearing her "Code Like a Girl" t-shirt under a blazer could muster. My blazer was sharp, my sneakers were practical, and my hair was pulled back in my standard ponytail. Around my wrist, snug and reassuring as ever, was my mom’s graduation gift: the engraved bracelet that whispered, “never.give.up();.” I felt ready.

Ready, that is, until I stepped into the Kelex lobby and was immediately swept into the current of tech’s finest, buzzing with purpose. The space was a sleek cathedral of innovation—glass walls gleaming as sunlight caught the digital displays behind them, and the faint hum of automated doors added to the symphony of keyboards clacking in the background.

I clutched my tote bag with the intensity of someone clinging to a lifeboat and got in line for the elevators, sneaking glances at the clock mounted on the wall. Twenty minutes to spare. Enough time to find my desk, breathe, and maybe even rehearse my introduction.

Or so I thought.

The moment the elevator doors slid open, I was pulled into a professional mosh pit. People filed in with military precision, juggling laptops, badges, and an alarming number of coffee cups. I pressed into a corner, my travel mug of hazelnut latte cradled protectively against my chest.

The elevator jolted as we began our ascent, suddenly halting mid-floor. My elbow caught on someone’s laptop bag, and time slowed. My travel mug lurched sideways, its lid popping off just enough to send a cascade of coffee arcing through the air.

There was a collective intake of breath, followed by a murmur of “Oh no...” from someone behind me. A stifled laugh escaped from another corner, quickly silenced by a sharp look from the unlucky recipient of my caffeinated chaos.

It wasn’t until I heard the groan of suppressed irritation that I realized where it landed: the back of an impeccably tailored navy suit.

“Oh no,” I breathed, my voice barely audible over the soft hum of the elevator resuming its climb. “Oh no, no, no.”

The man in the suit turned around. Slowly. Deliberately. His sharp cheekbones could have been sculpted by an algorithm, his piercing blue eyes holding a chill that rivaled the server room’s air conditioning. His expression was so icy I half-expected the coffee to crystallize on impact.

“I—I am so sorry,” I stammered, frantically digging through my tote bag. Somewhere between my laptop charger and emergency granola bar, I unearthed a crumpled napkin. “Here! This will—uh—help?”

He raised an eyebrow, the kind of perfectly arched brow that seemed to have been trained for maximum intimidation. “Help?” he repeated, his voice low and clipped.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t curse. He didn’t even sigh. But something about the precise way he said that one word made me wish the floor would swallow me whole—or at least drop me off at another company entirely.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and the crowd surged out, carrying him—and what remained of my dignity—into the hallway. I stayed rooted in my corner, clutching my napkin shield.

By the time I reached my floor, I’d convinced myself that Mr. Navy Suit would never remember me. There were bigger issues in the world of tech than a rogue coffee spill, right?

Wrong.

The walk to the conference room felt like navigating a minefield. The sleek, open-concept office space was all glass and steel, with collaborative workstations and colorful brainstorming walls. I passed clusters of employees chatting in hushed tones, their energy humming with ideas and ambition. I tried to steady my breathing and rehearse my introduction in my head. *Hi, I’m Andrea Walker. Call me Andy. I don’t normally weaponize coffee.*

I stepped into the glass-walled conference room for orientation, eager to reset the day’s trajectory, when the universe decided to personally deliver my karmic punchline.

“Good morning, everyone,” a poised voice announced from the front of the room. “I’m Alexander Coleman, co-founder of Kelex, and I’ll be leading today’s introduction.”

I froze mid-step, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. My heart sank as my eyes landed on the speaker.

Mr. Navy Suit—now Mr. Charcoal Blazer—stood at the head of the room, his piercing gaze sweeping across the crowd. His eyes paused briefly on me, and that eyebrow arched ever so slightly, as if he could smell the hazelnut latte still clinging to his dry-clean-only jacket.

Great. Not only had I spilled coffee on my new boss, but he also looked like the type to file it away under “Long-Term Grudges.”

Sliding into the nearest chair, I tried to disappear into the upholstery. Priya Kapoor, the woman who had introduced herself as my mentor earlier, leaned over with a curious look. “Everything okay?” she whispered, her tone warm and slightly playful.

“Absolutely,” I whispered back, forcing a tight smile. “Just, uh, soaking in the vibes.”

Alexander began his presentation, outlining Kelex’s mission to innovate and disrupt. His measured tone carried an undercurrent of authority, each word landing with precision. But every so often, his glacier-blue eyes flicked to me, as if daring me to spill something else.

By the time the meeting ended, my nerves were on par with a corrupted database. Priya nudged me as we filed out. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Worse,” I muttered. “A ghost with dry-cleaning expenses.”

She tilted her head, clearly confused, but before I could elaborate, a voice called my name.

“Miss Walker?”

I turned slowly. Alexander stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

“Yes?” I managed to squeak.

He gestured toward the hallway with a curt nod. “A word.”

Priya shot me a quick, reassuring smile before disappearing into the crowd.

Trailing behind him, my palms slick with sweat, I tried to mentally draft my resignation email. *Dear Kelex, It’s not you, it’s me. Specifically, me and my travel mug.*

He stopped outside a glass-walled office, turning to face me. Up close, his presence was even more unsettling—impeccably composed, with just enough intensity to make me feel like an untested line of code about to break.

“I trust you’re settling in,” he said, his tone as neutral as a system default font.

“Yes. Absolutely. Smooth sailing across the board,” I babbled. “Except, you know, the coffee thing earlier. Which, again, I am so sorry about. I’d be happy to cover the dry cleaning or—”

“Miss Walker,” he interrupted, holding up a hand.

I clamped my mouth shut, cheeks burning.

His gaze shifted to my bracelet, which had slipped out from beneath my sleeve. The sunlight streaming through the hall caught the binary engraving, making it shimmer faintly.

“Never give up,” he said, almost to himself. The corner of his mouth twitched—was that almost a smile?

I blinked, unsure how to respond.

He straightened, his ice-blue eyes meeting mine again. “Kelex values innovative thinkers, Miss Walker. Based on your résumé, I expect you’ll bring that to the table. Let’s focus on that moving forward.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, standing a little straighter.

“Good.” He nodded, his tone softening just a fraction. “I’ll see you in the team meeting tomorrow.”

With that, he stepped into his office, leaving me in the hallway with my thoughts spinning faster than a server under a denial-of-service attack.

As I walked back to my desk, one thought rose above the chaos in my mind: Day one at Kelex was proving to be far more complicated—and far more interesting—than I’d anticipated.