Chattering noise sprinkled with laughter fill the auditorium as this year’s batch of interns climbs up the stairs, searching for the best seats in the house. I leave them jockeying for the front rows and head straight to the last, at the very back of the room. Here, the shadows threaten to swallow me, and I surrender to it gladly. When you suffer from crippling shyness, not being seen is a good thing.

While waiting for orientation to start I flip through the company booklet included in our welcome kit. Worse comes to worst, I might get asked about the company’s history, so it’s better to be prepared.

The first page is a glowing tribute to the company’s CEO, a guy in his late twenties named Ethan Alexander.

Mm.

Alexander? Could this guy have anything to do with Alexander University, where I’m presently enrolled in my last year of college?

I go on reading the rest of his bio, which includes an insane list of accomplishments. The sheer number of it makes me wrinkle my nose in skepticism. Is it possible for a guy to be this good in business? Either that or he’s ruthless as hell.

Since the bio doesn’t come with a photo, I take my iPhone out, intending to Google him out of curiosity. But a moment later, I hear someone on the stage below start to speak.

“Everyone, please take your seats.” The large projector screen rolled out above the stage reveals an attractive but unsmiling woman in a stylish white pantsuit, with a powder-blue blouse unbuttoned low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. “We’ll be starting in five minutes sharp.” The words are spoken in a curt, no-nonsense voice, and it works like a charm on the crowd. In less than a minute, the noise has died down, backs have straightened, and all eyes turn towards the stage.

When orientation officially begins, another person comes up on stage and introduces himself as Milton, the company’s P.R. head. He starts his speech with a reminder of just how many students from all over the country submitted their application, followed by the tiny percentage that was accepted.

I’m not sure about others, but I get what he’s not saying. Internship with EA Inc. is highly coveted, so if we don’t do as they say, the company can and will have no problems replacing us – easily.

After, he tells us about how we’d be randomly assigned to different departments, with two lucky interns to be assigned to the executive floor. A good number of excited squeals greet this announcement, which surprises me. I’m guessing Mr. Alexander the CEO is more popular than I’m aware of.

“And speaking of the executive floor, you should consider yourself extremely lucky to be a part of this year’s batch of interns. Today – and this has never happened before – I’m honored to welcome on stage our CEO himself---”

When everyone jumps to their feet and starts clapping, I belatedly and hastily rise from my seat to do the same. Most of the girls around me are also screaming. It’s almost like I’ve been transported to a pop concert, and we’re just waiting for the main act.

How utterly bizarre, I think absently.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Ethan Alexander.”

My eyes narrow on the screen as I see a guy walk out of the backstage. Something about him is familiar, I muse. It’s a crazy thought, but the feeling persists as I watch him continue forward while the camera zooms closer and closer---

My jaw drops.

No way.

Just…no way.

It’s impossible.

And yet I know what I’m seeing is real.

Mr. Beautiful is my boss?

I squint and rub my eyes hard, but when I glance at the screen again, it’s the same gorgeous face that stares back at me. And this time, his whole face takes up the entire screen---

My heart skips a beat.

It really is him, I think dazedly.

The close-up shot allows me to pick up details I’ve never had the chance to glimpse in the past, like the fact that he has jade-green eyes or the way his lips have this aristocratic thinness that makes his mouth more cruel but beautiful when he smiles.

And then there’s his voice---

“Good afternoon.” His voice is low but clear, his diction precise.

Funny how I’ve watched this man from the second-floor window for half a year, but it’s only my first time to hear his voice.

And it’s even better than I imagine, I think reluctantly. The thought is entirely unwelcomed. I don’t like how I keep finding new things to like about Mr. Beautiful. It’s just not…advisable.

The woman in the pantsuit gestures to us to sit down as he speaks, and as I lower myself back to my seat I can’t help wondering who she is, to act like she’s his second-in-command. I’ve seen the company’s organizational chart and the person who’s next in line to the CEO is a guy.

So who is she?

Does it matter, my inner badass suddenly pipes out in a mocking tone. It’s not like you’re going to do anything if she turns out to be his girlfriend – or are you?

I almost grimace at the question that flashed in my mind. Imaginary conversation or not, my inner badass has a point. I’ve never been the type to bring attention to myself, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen if I’m foolish enough to show any kind of interest in our company’s CEO. Even if the woman beside him isn’t his girlfriend, she seems the type to scratch your eyes out if she thinks you’re looking at her man---

Which I am.

Mr. Beautiful still has the entire crowd dazzled, and it’s not just because he’s gorgeous enough to make everyone’s panties melt. There’s something about the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he looks at the crowd like he knows he owns every soul in this room.

You just know he’s a take-charge kind of guy, and it makes you wonder.

Will he be the same in the bedroom?

Probably, I answer myself with a gulp.

This man is built to dominate your senses completely. He’s going to kiss you so damn hard he’ll take your breath away. He’ll make your body burn so hot you’ll realize you’ve never felt so alive until that moment. And oh, when he enters your body---

He’s going to take you over and over, not even if you beg him to stop, to slow down, to be gentle.

He won’t do it because he knows.

You really want it that way---

“Thanks for your time.”

The host’s words haul me back to the present, and I feel a flush coming over my cheeks as I realize I’ve lost myself in my fantasies.

How shameless, my inner badass mocks, but I thoroughly approve.

The host invites us to come forward. “Mr. Alexander will stick around for a few minutes so he can get to know some of you.”

Most of the interns have surged towards the stage even before he finishes speaking, and the host shakes his head in amusement. “You’ve created a stampede,” he murmurs as an aside to the CEO, but the microphone still catches his words.

The live-feed camera captures Mr. Beautiful’s reaction to the screen. A brief, dismissive shake of his head that succinctly says he’s not going to let such a thing get to his head.

I take my time rising from my seat, nibbling on my lower lip as anxiety slithers down my spine at the thought of having to be face to face with Mr. Beautiful. Surely no one would mind if I make a beeline for the exit?

I’m nobody important, anyway.

The thought cheers me up like no other, and my shoulders straighten a little as I avoid the crowd of interns and head towards the exit doors. I make sure to keep my head lowered at all times, knowing from experience that it’s usually good enough to discourage people from talking to you.

In the corner of my eye, I see a couple of male interns heading for the same direction, and I automatically slow down, allowing them to walk past me.

Every day is like this for me, a cat-and-mouse game that I can only win if I survive the day without being forced to interact with other people.

And it’s easier said than done, I think exhaustedly.

Behind me, I hear female interns letting out sighs of disappointment, and I catch a few phrases here and there.

I didn’t get a selfie with him!

He’s so much hotter in person!

My Snapchat’s exploded ever since I uploaded his video.

I mentally shake my head at the reactions. I get it that Mr. Beautiful is some kind of big shot, but is he really that popular? Who’d have thought the man I’ve been covertly watching (stalking) in the past six months---

Someone bumps into me from behind, and I nearly skid forward at the impact.

Sheesh! What the heck was that? Did a bulldozer appear out of nowhere at my back?

As I straighten, a warm, strong hand presses against the small of my back, and my body jerks involuntarily at the touch.

Why does this stranger’s touch feel too terrifyingly familiar and possessive?

“I’m sorry, Miss.”

My face pales. I know that voice. But…it can’t be. Right?

“I’m afraid my bodyguard’s rather vigilant in protecting my private space.”

My head starts bobbing as soon as I hear the word ‘bodyguard’. I just want to get rid of him, now that I know who he is.

And it’s Mr. Beautiful of course.

Without raising my head, I mumble under my breath, “I’m o-okay.” Please, please, please go. I can already feel so many people staring at us – at me – and it’s literally making me feel sick.

“Are you certain?” His voice is still soft but firm. It’s telling me there’s something he wants that I’ve yet to give, and he won’t leave until---

You give him what he wants. My inner badass’ voice is insidious. So give it, and live your life for once. It’s like having the serpent from the Garden of Eden living in my head, slithering here and there as it searches for ways to make mischief.

Knowing there’s no other way, I say once more, “I’m okay.” But this time, I force myself to look up---

Our eyes meet, and my knees immediately knock against each other at what I see.

Oh God.

The gleam in his jade-green eyes is unmistakable.

He knows.

“I’m glad.” Mr. Beautiful’s voice is smooth, but the gleam in his eyes makes a mockery of it.

Oh God, I can’t be mistaken.

He knows I’ve been watching him.

The thought leaves me quietly agitated, but years of wearing a mask to hide my shyness enable me to stay still and gaze back at him expressionlessly.

Questions race in my mind as I watch the CEO turn away.

Is it over? Will he play nice and let it be? Can I start breathing now?

Relief starts to spread inside of me when Mr. Beautiful turns his back on me completely.

Oh thank God. I guess I was wrong. Or I was being paranoid. I guess---

Mr. Beautiful starts to walk past me, and that’s when I hear it.

It’s my turn to watch you.

The words are almost inaudible, but I know what I heard, and I know who said them.

My head snaps up, but it’s too late.

He’s walking away, and I can only stare after him, heart in my throat.