Chapter 17 17
Blair stepped into the boardroom… and immediately felt her stomach plunge.
A woman sat at the long table — stern face, sleek bun, crisp suit. Her glasses sat low on her nose as she flipped through a stack of printed documents.
The moment Blair entered, the woman’s eyes lifted.
Sharp and not friendly.
Blair’s heart thudded painfully.
She already knew she was in trouble.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
“Miss Rivers,” the woman said, her tone clipped. “Take a seat.”
Blair swallowed hard and obeyed, sitting at the very edge of the chair, fingers twisted together nervously in her lap.
The manager — Mrs. Hastings — adjusted her glasses and slid a file toward her.
“Your very first morning,” she began, “and we already have… complaints.”
Blair’s breath caught. “I—I didn’t mean—”
Mrs. Hastings raised a hand.
“Please. Spare us the excuses.”
Blair’s cheeks burned. She lowered her gaze.
“The CEO himself,” Mrs. Hastings continued, emphasizing each word,
“was seen inappropriately touched by you in the hallway. Coffee spilled everywhere. The staff believes you were… throwing yourself at him.”
Blair’s head snapped up, horrified. “No! It wasn’t like that— I slipped— the trays— I didn’t even see him—”
“Mm.” Mrs. Hastings scribbled something. “Convenient.”
Blair’s throat tightened.
Mrs. Hastings pushed her glasses up her nose and leaned forward.
“What exactly,” she said coolly, “are your intentions toward Mr. Brooks?”
Blair froze.
“My… intentions?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Hastings crossed her arms. “Women like you tend to take advantage of proximity. And Mr. Brooks has had enough… complications in his personal life.”
Blair felt her heart split with embarrassment and anger.
“I’m not ‘women like me,’” she whispered. “I just want to work.”
Mrs. Hastings stared at her for a long, cold moment.
The tension in the boardroom was already thick when the door opened again.
A second secretary stepped in, clearing her throat softly.
“Mrs. Hastings… she’s here.”
Mrs. Hastings beamed — the first genuine smile Blair had seen on her.
“Excellent. Send her in.”
Blair’s brows furrowed in confusion.
Then she walked in.
Tall. Curvy. Designer heels snapping sharply against the floor .
Hair glossy and perfectly styled. Her blouse was tight enough to make her intentions obvious, and her lipstick was bold.
“Everyone,” Mrs. Hastings announced proudly, “this is Selena Marquette. My niece. Head barista of La Rose d’Or, one of the top luxury coffee boutiques in the city.”
Selena flashed an intentionally sweet, fake smile.
“Pleasure,” she said, her eyes sliding immediately — hungrily — to Lucas.
Her pupils practically turned into hearts.
Lucas barely nodded.
Mrs. Hastings continued, folding her hands neatly on the table:
“Due to the… incident earlier,”
She shot Blair a sharp look.
“…we believe it’s best to determine who is more suitable for this position.”
Blair’s heart dropped.
“Therefore,” Mrs. Hastings said, voice crisp,
“there will be a coffee test.”
Selena smirked, touching her perfect curls.
“Oh, wonderful. I always love showcasing my skills.”
Then she gave Blair a slow, mocking once-over.
“And… I guess it’ll be fair. Even beginners deserve a chance.”
Blair clenched her hands on her lap.
Mrs. Hastings continued:
“Whoever makes the blend Mr. Brooks prefers… gets the job. Effective immediately.”
Blair felt cold.
Selena stepped closer, her voice dropping so only Blair could hear:
“Hope you’re ready, sweetie.” Her lips curled. “Men like Lucas only drink coffee made by women like me.”
Blair stiffened.
“And if not,” Selena added sweetly, tapping her own chest lightly, “maybe try implants? Might help distract him from your… lack of skill.”
Blair swallowed, heat burning behind her eyes.
Mrs. Hastings announced,
“You both have one hour. The equipment is already set up in the tasting room. Mr. Brooks will judge.”
Selena winked at Lucas.
“This is going to be fun, sir.”
Lucas’ expression stayed neutral… but his jaw twitched.
Then his eyes flicked to Blair.
Mrs. Hastings clapped once.
“Let’s begin.”
Blair stood slowly, hands trembling, heart pounding so loudly she could hear it.
Her job.
Her chance.
Maverick’s survival.
All of it depended on one cup of coffee.
Blair tied her apron tighter, her fingers trembling.
If I lose this… I’m finished.
Someone with my degree won’t get another chance.
Maverick… oh God.
She blinked hard, refusing to let the tears form.
A deep voice cut through the room.
“That’s enough.”
Everyone turned and everywhere went silent for a beat.
Lucas Brooks stood in the doorway, expression flat, suit sharp enough to slice oxygen.
Even Mrs. Hastings froze.
Lucas stepped forward, hands in his pockets, eyes landing briefly on the two competing cups before looking at Hastings.
“This bizarre circus ends today,” he said coolly. “We’re not running a talent show. We’re running a company.”
“But sir—” Mrs. Hastings began, smiling tightly.
He raised a hand.
“No more competitions, no more childish sabotage, and definitely no more forcing employees to perform for your entertainment.” His voice hardened. “And before you embarrass yourself further, let’s remember I’ve already rejected coffee from—” he gestured vaguely, “—half the staff here. Including your niece.”
Gasps grew like a wave.
Selena’s smile died instantly.
Lucas continued, tone mild but deadly, “So let’s avoid pretending there’s ever been a ‘contest.’”
Mrs. Hastings swallowed hard.
Selena looked like her soul left her body.
Lucas lifted one finger, almost bored.
“Dismissed. All of you.”
Lucas turned sharply, the cold expression on his face barely masking the chaos underneath, and walked out of the boardroom.
Blair remained standing at the counter alone, her fingers gripping the edge to steady herself.
The second the door closed behind Lucas, the whispers started.
She hadn’t even survived an hour in this job.
She whispered to herself, barely audible:
“Just… focus. Don’t fall apart now, Blair.”
But behind her, the gossip only grew, snaking through the workspace like wildfire.
“Watch. She’ll get fired.”
“No, she’ll probably get promoted.”
“Maybe she’s his secret fling.”
“Or his new toy.”
Blair squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, steadying the tremble in her chest.
“Coffee orders for Mr. Brooks!”
The cheerful bell on Blair’s counter chimed twice, snapping her out of her spiral.
She blinked, straightened, and forced her hands not to shake as she reached for the cups.
“Right—coming,” she murmured, mostly to herself.
She began preparing the blend exactly the way he wanted it: smooth pull, slow swirl, a little foam, no bitterness.
Her fingers moved on autopilot, muscle memory and survival instincts doing the work while her mind replayed the whispers.
Focus, Blair. Do not cry. Do not mess up again.
She turned her back for half a second to grab the lid—
And didn’t hear the soft footsteps behind her.
Didn’t notice the shadow slip inside the counter space.