Chapter 2 — First Impressions

Third Person

Annabelle straightened the stack of onboarding papers on her desk, her fingers trailing over the edges as if the act might stabilize the unease curling in her stomach. The office hummed with quiet efficiency—the clicking of keyboards, the muted ring of phones, the soft shuffle of papers. Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a harsh glow over the sea of identical cubicles. Glances flickered over the tops of partition walls like shadows, quick and fleeting, as if her presence were an unwelcome ripple in the office’s pristine rhythm.

The antiseptic chill of the air-conditioning seeped into her skin, but her eyes caught on the folded corner of Lucy’s drawing peeking out from her tote bag. Bright, uneven shapes in pinks, yellows, and blues shone defiantly against the grayscale monotony of her surroundings. Annabelle’s lips curved into a faint smile as she brushed her fingers lightly over the edge of the paper. A small burst of warmth settled in her chest. This was why she was here. For Ethan and Lucy. For the future she was determined to build for them.

Her fingers briefly adjusted the cuff of her embroidered blazer, a calming ritual. She let the soft, golden stitching anchor her. The blazer, like Lucy’s drawing, felt like a quiet rebellion against the sharp sterility of the office. She straightened her shoulders and inhaled deeply.

“Alvarez!” The sharp voice cut through the ambient noise of the office, yanking her back to the present.

Annabelle glanced up to see a tall man with thinning hair standing at the edge of her cubicle. His badge read "Darren Park—Senior Associate," and his pinched expression suggested he didn’t have time for niceties.

“Conference Room A. You’re late.” Darren’s tone was clipped, his gaze scanning her from head to toe before flicking away dismissively.

Annabelle’s eyes darted to the clock on her desk: nine o’clock exactly. She wasn’t late, but Darren’s pointed tone made it clear that “on time” wasn’t good enough. She gave a polite nod, grabbing her notebook and pen. “On my way.”

As she followed Darren through the maze of cubicles, the faint murmur of whispered conversations trailed behind them. Eyes lingered on her for just a moment too long before darting away, their owners retreating behind screens and papers. The tension in the office seemed almost tactile, woven into every glance, every calculated silence. Darren’s pace was brisk, his voice barely turning back toward her as he spoke.

“Quarterly review this afternoon,” he said, his tone edged with impatience. “Good chance for you to prove you belong here.” The faint sneer in his voice made his meaning clear: Darren had already decided she didn’t.

Annabelle swallowed the irritation rising in her chest. She thought of Fredrick, of all the times she’d endured worse condescension. She wouldn’t rise to Darren’s bait. “Thank you,” she said evenly, keeping her tone polite but neutral.

The conference room was half-filled when they arrived. Employees sat around a long, polished table, their postures stiff, their expressions carefully blank. The floor-to-ceiling windows lining one side of the room offered a panoramic view of the city skyline, though the breathtaking view couldn’t dispel the charged tension that hung in the air.

And there he was. Gregory Blackwell. He stood at the head of the table, tall and poised, his presence commanding the room without effort. His navy suit, crisp white shirt, and meticulously knotted blue tie made him look almost untouchable, every detail sharp and immaculate. Gregory’s piercing blue eyes swept across the room, cool and calculating, landing on Annabelle for a fraction of a second. Her breath caught. His gaze was like a scalpel, precise and unyielding, as though he were dissecting her with a glance. Then it moved on, leaving her feeling strangely exposed.

She slipped into a seat near the middle of the table, her notebook open and pen poised. “Let’s begin,” Gregory said, his voice low and deliberate, each word cutting through the room like a blade. There was no preamble, no effort to soften his entrance. He launched directly into the company’s quarterly performance metrics, his tone sharp and unrelenting.

Annabelle’s pen raced to keep up with the stream of data and critiques. Gregory’s analysis of the previous quarter’s initiatives was surgical, each sentence as precise as his movements. “The product launch from Q2 underperformed by 12%, a direct result of an uninspired campaign,” he said coldly, his gaze sweeping the table. “Mediocrity is unacceptable here. If we’re not leading, we’re losing.”

The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his words. Annabelle noticed the woman beside her stiffen, her pen frozen mid-word. No one spoke. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive. Gregory’s gaze moved deliberately across the table, lingering on each person just long enough to make them shift uncomfortably.

“If anyone has insights to offer,” Gregory said, his tone clipped and faintly skeptical, “now would be the time.”

The silence deepened. Annabelle felt her pulse quicken, her grip tightening on her pen. Her mind churned. She could stay silent, like the others, and let the moment pass—or she could take the risk. She thought of Lucy’s drawing, of Ethan’s teasing grin the night before, and of all the times she’d stayed silent in the past. She thought of Fredrick and the cost of her silence then.

“I might have a suggestion,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady.

The words broke the silence like a ripple on still water. All eyes turned to her. Heat rose in her cheeks, but she kept her focus on Gregory, whose icy gaze locked onto hers. His expression didn’t waver, but there was a flicker—something sharp and inquisitive, like he was recalibrating his assessment of her.

“The campaign leaned heavily on digital ads,” Annabelle began, her tone calm but measured. “But the content didn’t engage. It felt generic, like it was trying to appeal to everyone and ended up connecting with no one. If we targeted the messaging more directly—specific demographics aligned with the product’s features—I think we’d see stronger engagement.”

Gregory didn’t interrupt, his gaze fixed on her, dissecting her words as if weighing their merit. Annabelle’s palms felt damp against the pages of her notebook, but she didn’t falter. When she finished, the silence stretched again, the room holding its collective breath.

Gregory nodded once, a small, almost imperceptible motion. “Noted,” he said simply before moving on.

It wasn’t praise, but it wasn’t dismissal either. Annabelle exhaled quietly, her grip on her pen loosening. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a few colleagues glancing her way—some curious, others wary. Darren, seated near the end of the table, smirked faintly, his expression a mix of mockery and surprise.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of numbers and directives, but Annabelle couldn’t shake the weight of Gregory’s gaze brushing over her now and then, fleeting but deliberate. By the time the meeting ended, she felt both drained and strangely exhilarated. She gathered her things quickly, avoiding the lingering stares, and stepped into the hallway.

The breakroom was empty when she arrived, save for the quiet hiss of the coffee machine. The faint aroma of roasted beans filled the air, a small comfort amidst the day’s chaos. Annabelle poured herself a cup, savoring the warmth against her palms, and let herself exhale.

“Not bad for your first day,” a voice said from the doorway.

Annabelle turned to see Kendra leaning casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed, a faint smile playing on her lips. She looked relaxed, but her sharp eyes were anything but idle.

Annabelle smiled faintly. “Was it that obvious?”

“Everyone’s first day here is a trial by fire,” Kendra said, stepping into the room. Her tone was light, but her words carried a weight of understanding. “You handled yourself well in there. Gregory doesn’t give compliments, but the fact that he didn’t shut you down? That’s a win.”

Annabelle wasn’t sure whether to feel reassured or more nervous. “Thanks, I think.”

Kendra grinned. “You’ll get used to him. Or you won’t. Either way, welcome to the Blackwell Group.”

As Kendra left, Annabelle allowed herself another sip of coffee, her fingers brushing the button bracelet on her wrist. The uneven construction and bright colors were a silent, grounding reminder of Lucy waiting for her at home. No matter how imposing this office felt, she had something warm to hold onto.

But as she returned to her desk and caught sight of Gregory through the glass walls of his office, standing tall and composed with his back to her, she couldn’t help but wonder what it might take to crack the icy veneer of a man like that.

For now, though, survival was enough. One day at a time.