Chapter 6 Zatanna
ZATANNA
By lunch, I’m convinced I’ve wandered into a bureaucratic black hole.
“What exactly is my job?” I ask Lina, the HR girl with the pink lipstick, as she passes my desk for the third time.
She flashes me a quick, apologetic smile. “Someone will be with you shortly to go over your responsibilities. Just hang tight, okay?”
That was at ten a.m. It’s now after three, and no one’s shown up with a manual, a checklist, or even so much as a sticky note. Orientation was just HR running through benefits that were already listed. T
he only time anyone even looks my way is when Owen from accounts asks if I can help him sort through a tangle of expense reports. I say yes—because what else am I going to do?—and spend the next hour untangling his Excel formulas and color-coding receipts. At least it’s something I know how to do.
But every time I look up, the same question gnaws at me.
Why the hell am I here?
I glance at the CEO’s office as I pass with a stack of files—huge, sunlit, glass walls, the kind of view you only see in magazines.
He’s in there, suit perfect, posture carved from granite, eyes on his screen, looking like he’s ruling an empire and barely notices anyone breathing outside his door.
Not that I expect him to notice me. Guys like that don’t see girls like me.
I’m used to being invisible. In high school, I was the wallflower with the too-big backpack and messy hair.
In the city, I’m the anonymous voice in the dark, turning strangers on with words they’ll never imagine coming from someone like me.
Here, I’m just another pair of hands at a desk, another name in the HR database.
The position said “assistant,” but no one’s told me what to assist with. The CEO already has a secretary—a chic woman with heels for days and a phone glued to her ear. I catch her shooting me a look once, quick and dismissive, before she disappears into a meeting.
By four o’clock, my inbox is empty and my fingers are stained with highlighter. I sip bad coffee and pretend I don’t care. But underneath it all is a gnawing, panicky little voice. Was I hired by mistake? Was this some kind of clerical error?
No one says otherwise. No one says much of anything at all.
I tell myself I should be grateful. I’m not on the street. I’m not back in my parents’ house. I have a desk, a paycheck, and my name on a plaque.
But mostly, I just feel lost.
And for all the glittering glass and gold in this place, for all the fancy titles and expensive perfume, I’m as invisible here as I’ve ever been anywhere else.
It wouldn’t surprise me if I disappeared and no one even noticed. Most people forget my name five minutes after meeting me.
By the time the sky turns violet and the shadows stretch long across the city, the office is emptying out.
No one says goodbye. No one stops me at the door.
I slip my bag over my shoulder and move through the gleaming halls, still not sure what exactly Vasiliev Holdings does.
There are no product posters, no buzzwords pinned up on breakroom corkboards, nothing to anchor me in the ordinary world.
It’s all glass, silence, and a kind of hush that feels more secretive than professional.
And then there’s him. The CEO. Even thinking about him makes my pulse skitter.
There’s something about him I can’t pin down—something coiled and quiet, like a storm on the horizon.
He doesn’t move like a man who answers to anyone.
The way people talk about him, the way the air seems to shift when he walks past…
he’s more than just a boss. More than just a name on the building.
My phone buzzes just as I step outside into the golden wash of the city lights. It’s Frankie.
How was the first day? Still alive? Is the boss hot? (Details, Zee, I want DETAILS).
I smile despite myself. For a second, the loneliness lifts. I snap a quick selfie, wanting to remember this—my first real office job, the place where everything could change.
I turn, trying to angle the grand lobby into the frame, searching for the right light, something that makes me look like I belong here.
That’s when I hear the footsteps. “Excuse me, miss. What do you think you’re doing?”
I turn, startled. The security guard is young, bored, but suddenly alert. He squints at my phone. “No photos in the lobby or anywhere else in the building. That’s policy.”
“Oh, sorry,” I say, flustered. “I work here, I just—my friend wanted a picture…”
He looks me up and down, slow, skeptical. “Yeah, right. Staff? Sure, you are.” He gestures for my badge, lips curling. “Next time, don’t lie. I could report you, you know.”
Heat burns up my neck. I fumble for my ID, words tangling on my tongue. “I’m new, I—”
He cuts me off, shaking his head, already turning away, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You people. Always trying to sneak in somewhere you don’t belong.”
My chest tightens. I blink hard, refusing to let him see me cry. I feel so small, so foolish, as if the universe is reminding me just how out of place I am. The humiliation crawls down my spine, cold and sticky.
He opens his mouth to say something else, but then his face changes. The blood drains from his cheeks; his eyes dart up, wide and panicked.
I turn, and suddenly my boss is there—tall, imposing, silent as a shadow. He fills the space, commanding it without a word, eyes glacial as he fixes them on the guard.
“Is there a problem?” Vasiliev asks, voice calm but edged in steel.
The guard stammers, retreating two steps. “No, sir. Just a—just a misunderstanding.”
Vasiliev doesn’t look away from him. “That’s what I thought.”
I stand frozen, the breath stolen from my lungs, trapped between embarrassment and awe. For the first time all day, someone actually sees me.
And it’s him.
I clutch my bag tighter, cheeks still burning with humiliation as I fall into step behind Aleksei. I gather my nerve, catching up just enough to speak.
“I’m sorry about the picture,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I didn’t know there were rules about photos in the lobby. And… thank you. For helping with the guard.”
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. He barely glances at me. “Follow the rules next time.”
Then he’s gone, his long stride swallowing the marble floors, the tailored lines of his suit disappearing into the elevator before I can say another word.
What a rude man, I think, biting back a frustrated sigh. Maybe this is how men like him survive—icy, untouchable, always above it all. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. I need this job. No, I desperately need it, and if keeping it means swallowing my pride, I’ll do that too.
I pause by the revolving doors, open my phone, and quietly delete the picture I’d taken for Frankie.
The guard’s words replay in my mind—You people.
Always trying to sneak in somewhere you don’t belong.
I close my eyes, count to three, and try to shake the feeling that I really don’t belong anywhere.
The subway ride home is a blur of screeching brakes and strangers pressed too close. My reflection flickers in the window: tired eyes, messy hair, mouth pressed in a hard line. When I finally emerge into the street, the city air feels thick, too heavy for early evening.
I hurry toward my apartment, focused on the cracked pavement and the pulse of my own footsteps. But after a few blocks, a prickling sensation crawls up my neck—a shift in the air, like someone’s gaze sliding over my back. I slow, pretending to check my phone, and glance behind me.
Nothing. Just a row of empty stoops and the distant glow of a corner deli. No footsteps but my own. Still, the feeling doesn’t fade.
I quicken my pace, heart thumping, telling myself it’s just nerves after a long, miserable day. I don’t look back again until I’m safely inside, triple-locking the door behind me and sinking to the floor, wishing I could leave the whole city outside.
My phone buzzes before I’ve even kicked off my shoes. Frankie’s face fills the screen, her curls wild and her grin wide.
I swipe to answer, slumping onto the edge of my mattress. “Hey.”
She leans in close, eyebrows up. “Well?”
“What?” I say.
“I texted you. You just ignored me on my face,” she pouts. “So how was it? Your first day?”
I sigh, remembering about my embarrassing incident. “Nothing much.”
“So who’s this guy who you’re assisting for?”
“Actually,” I say. “I still haven’t been assigned any work yet.”
She shrugs. “Well, it’s still just your first day.”
“Just… I don’t know. It was overwhelming. The place is insane. And my boss—” I hesitate, searching for the right word. “He’s… rude.”
Frankie’s eyebrows jump. “Rude, huh? What, did he yell at you? Or just too hot for human decency?”
I sigh, pushing my hair out of my face. “He barely said a word. Just this cold, silent type. Tall, scary. Saved me from this jerk security guard, then acted like it was nothing.”
A wicked grin curls on her lips. “Mmm. Sounds like he’s already gotten under your skin.”
That makes me bristle. “No! I mean—God, Frankie. No. I just need the job. I barely exist to him. I wish I could just blend into the wall and collect my paycheck.”
Frankie laughs, softer now. “Sure, Zee. Whatever you say. Just don’t let him drive you nuts. You’re better than that.”
Before I can answer, another text lights up my screen—a reminder from Jake, my other boss. Hey Zee, got a last-minute request. Can you record a ten-minute session for me? Clients love the new stories. Need it before Monday if possible!
I type back a quick response, keeping my voice neutral for Frankie’s sake. “I’ll be in this weekend. No problem.”
Frankie is watching me. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. I’m just… tired. It’s a lot. I’ll figure it out.”
She blows me a kiss through the screen. “You always do.”
I hang up, suddenly more alone than before, wishing I could believe her.