CHAPTER 7 #3
Miley’s eyes widened slightly at the invitation, a look of genuine surprise crossing her face before it was replaced by that characteristic, unbothered confidence. She cleared her throat, her braids shifting over her shoulder as she leaned back in the Italian leather seat.
"Tell me, Miley," I said, leaning my chin into my hand, my eyes locked onto hers. "Do you actually like it here? Honestly. I want to know your impressions of E-Tech."
"Are you kidding me, Helisa?" Miley said, the enthusiasm breaking through her professional filter as she used my first name for the first time. The sound of my name rolling off those full lips made a fresh spike of heat hit my lower back. "This place is absolutely lit. For real. Your office has that real, filthy-rich spark to it. These office chairs are immaculate and pristine, and the view from this glass? It’s just chef’s kiss.
I feel like I'm looking at a movie set every time I stand up to get water. "
I let out a soft, genuine laugh, completely charmed by her lack of corporate stiffness.
"That's very nice to hear. It took three years of litigation just to get the zoning rights for this specific floor, so I’m glad the view is appreciated.
You seem to be bonding remarkably well with Ciara out there. "
"Yeah, I really like her vibe," Miley revealed, her fingers tracing the chrome armrest of the chair.
"She doesn't do that fake, uptight manager thing. She’s always showing me stuff when I don't understand the legacy software, and she actually listens when I suggest a different layout for the spreadsheets. "
"Good," I said, nodding slowly as I picked up a silver fountain pen from my desk drawer, marking out three main pointers on her briefing sheet that I wanted to emphasize during my call with Japan.
I set the pen down, looked up at her, and let the casual corporate mask slide away entirely.
"By the way, Miley... do you eat oxtail? "
Miley stopped tracking the pen, her eyes lighting up with a sudden, near-religious excitement. "My God, I love oxtail. It’s practically a staple where I'm from. Why do you ask?"
"Because," I leaned forward, a playful, low smirk on my face as I began to lay the trap Naomi had authorized.
"My maid-slash-cook—a phenomenal, terrifying woman from the Bronx named Naomi—is preparing a special dinner tomorrow night back at my penthouse. She’s been in a foul mood all morning, and she specifically instructed me to invite the new intern over so she could inspect you herself.
Would you like to come? And let me be entirely clear, Miley—it is completely, one hundred percent okay to say no if it feels too unprofessional or if you have other plans. "
I paused, holding her gaze with an intensity that made the room feel smaller. "But let me also tell you something as an absolute fact: Naomi cooks the best oxtail in the city of New York. And I mean that with every single fiber of my being. You won't find anything like it in a restaurant."
"Okay, I'll bounce!" Miley said instantly, her excitement so pure she nearly stood up from the chair. "Are you serious? Home-cooked oxtail on a Wednesday night? I am absolutely there."
"Excellent," I smiled, a profound sense of satisfaction settling into my chest. Step one was officially complete.
"I'll send one of my private drivers to your apartment to pick you up at around seven-thirty.
Dinner is served promptly at eight. Don't be late; Naomi views tardiness as an insult to her seasoning. "
"I like the sound of that," Miley chuckled, her dimples showing themselves again as she adjusted her position in the chair. "Private drivers and West Indian food? This internship is turning out way better than the brochure said."
"Well, we aim to exceed expectations here," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I took the leap I’d been debating since the shower. "And speaking of food... I want you to join me for lunch today."
Miley blinked, her braids swaying as she straightened up. "Lunch? Today?"
"Yes," I nodded, my eyes unblinking as I openly shot my shot, trying to feel her out, trying to see if that magnetic energy I felt between us was a mutual current or just my own corporate isolation playing tricks on me.
"I want to know you more, Miley. It seems to me that there’s a great deal to you.
You're a woman with many layers, and I've always been a student of complex architectures. "
Miley looked at me for three long seconds, her brown eyes scanning my face, checking for the boundaries of the joke.
When she realized I was completely serious, a soft, amused smile touched her lips.
"Okay... but where are we eating, Helisa?
I hope it's nowhere too crazy or expensive. I’m living on an intern stipend right now, and my pockets are definitely not full enough for Mid-town luxury prices. "
I let out a low, smooth laugh, reaching over to tap the edge of my desk console. "You need not worry about your pockets for a single second, Miley. I've got you covered. It’s entirely my treat. Consider it a corporate expenditure for talent retention."
I slid the black leather folder into my briefcase and reached for my corporate smartphone, checking the digital clock on the screen.
"It's almost eleven. I’m leaving right now. You’re going to walk out with me through the main lobby.
And... Miley? You don't have to inform Ciara about where we're going.
Let's keep this particular meeting off the official calendar. "
Miley’s smile turned slightly mischievous, her dimples deep and dangerous. "Okay. Understood, boss."
"You can return to your desk and grab your coat, Miley. I'll meet you by the elevator banks in two minutes," I told her, my fingers already scrolling through my contacts list to find Kenji's direct encrypted line.
"See you there," Miley said, pulling herself up from the leather chair with a fluid, athletic grace that kept my eyes locked onto her form until she cleared the glass threshold.
As she walked out, the charcoal fabric of her pencil skirt moved with a slow, heavy sway that made me completely forget the first three paragraphs of the Tokyo shipping manifest. My God, the view from behind was an absolute masterpiece of geometry.
The glass door slid shut, and I immediately hit the dial button, lifting the phone to my ear as I walked over to the window one last time. The line rang twice before the deep, accented voice of my primary Japanese partner crackled through the encrypted speaker.
"Helisa," Kenji said, his voice tired but sharp, the background noise of a Tokyo boardroom faintly audible. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten about our deadline. The board is preparing to adjourn in fifteen minutes."
"I don't forget deadlines, Kenji," I said, my voice instantly returning to that cold, iron-clad velocity that had built E-Tech.
I opened the folder Miley had prepared and began reading straight from the briefing sheets she had written, my voice steady as I laid out the arguments.
"We are restructuring the Yokohama distribution hub effective immediately.
We're bypassing the local maritime tariffs by utilizing the third-party union exemption under section four of the regional code. "
"Wait," Kenji interrupted, the sound of papers rustling on his end sudden and frantic. "Section four? Our legal team stated that exemption was phased out during the winter treaty."
"Your legal team was looking at the maritime code," I replied, a small, proud smile touching my lips as I read Miley’s precise handwritten footnote.
"If you cross-reference the commercial tariff registry from last Tuesday, you'll see the exemption was extended for another twenty-four months for logistics providers with independent software integration. Which we have."
Silence stretched over the line for ten seconds while Kenji verified the data. When he spoke again, his tone was entirely different—heavy with a profound, professional respect.
"My God, Helisa," Kenji breathed. "This is... incredibly meticulous. The detail in this structural breakdown is astonishing. Your strategy team has exceeded themselves. Who wrote this brief? I want them on the logistics committee for the global rollout next month."
An strange, intense wave of possessiveness hit me straight in the chest before my corporate filter could catch it.
My grip tightened on the phone casing, my voice turning sharp and defensive.
"The new intern wrote it, Kenji. Her name is Miley Palmer.
And no, you cannot have her on the global committee.
She belongs to my executive floor, she is entirely mine, and she won't be shared with the Tokyo branch. "
Kenji let out a low, amused chuckle on the other side of the world.
"Wow. Defensive, are we? I didn't know the Ice Queen kept her talent behind a personal guard.
Relax, Helisa. I won't steal your prodigy...
yet. But I definitely want to meet this girl in person the minute I get back to the States next month. "
I cleared my throat quickly, my cheeks feeling slightly warm as I realized how unprofessional my tone must have sounded. "We will discuss personal introductions when the contract is finalized, Kenji. Let’s get back to the topic at hand—the container allocation numbers."
We spent the next twenty minutes hammering out the final clauses of the shipping agreement, the data flowing smoothly now that the structural barriers had been demolished by Miley’s brief. When I finally hung up, the clock on my wall read eleven-fifteen.
I grabbed my leather briefcase and my designer sunglasses, ready to head out, when my phone suddenly buzzed violently in my palm. It was Kenji calling back.