Mr. Ceo Wants Me

ARIA VALE

There were two kinds of people who walked into Blackthorne Atelier, those who belong there and those who never will. As I stood in the towering lobby of one of the world's most prestigious fashion houses, I wondered which category I was about to fall into.

A woman in impossibly high heels clacked past me, her perfume lingering in the air like a cloud of judgment. I squared my shoulders and tighten my grip on my leather portfolio.

Nerves churn in my stomach, but I had gotten good at hiding them. Confidence was part of the game in my line of work, and no matter how intimidating this place felt, I wouldn't let it show.

"Ms. Vale?" The receptionist called my name with an air of polite disinterest. She barely glanced up from her computer. "Mr. Blackthorne will see you now. Top floor."

I nodded, murmuring a quick thank you, and made my way to the elevator. As the doors slided open, I step inside and took a deep breath. I had walked into high-stakes meetings before. CEOs, boardrooms, billion-dollar negotiations. I had seen it all. But Elliot Blackthorne? He was in a league of his own.

Everyone in the fashion industry knew his name. At thirty-four, he had built Blackthorne Atelier into an international powerhouse, a brand synonymous with luxury, precision, and perfection.

His suits were as sharp as his reputation, impeccable, impossible to ignore, and utterly untouchable. He was the man who single-handedly saved his family's legacy and turned it into an empire, all while making headlines for his icy demeanor and the women desperate to crack his armor.

The elevator dings, and the doors opened revealing the top floor, a sprawling, glass-walled office space with panoramic views of New York City. The air smelled like expensive leather and something faintly citrus. For a moment, I was distracted by the skyline stretching out ahead of me.

For exactly three seconds, I allowed myself to marvel at the view. New York City sprawls below like a glittering promise of ambition and chaos, but I didn't have time to admire it. A sharp voice, smooth and commanding, cuts through the air, pulling me into the present.

"I don't care how much they're asking," Elliot Blackthorne growled, his tone clipped. "If that shipment isn't here by tomorrow, heads will roll. Do I make myself clear?"

I froze mid-step as I took in the room. Elliot stood with his back to me, silhouetted against the wall of windows, phone pressed to his ear. Even from behind, he was a commanding figure, broad shoulders encased in a charcoal-gray suit, every inch of him exuding power.

But it was not just him that caught my attention. I quickly noticed four women standing nervously off to the side, each clutching sleek black folders. Their posture varied; one fidgeted with her sleeve, another bit her lower lip, but they all wore the same tense, uncertain expression. Like they were waiting to be judged.

I hesitated. Was I supposed to join them? My stomach twisted at the sight of the others, consultants, assistants, interns? I didn't know, but they all looked as if they had been handpicked for this moment. One of them glanced over at me, her gaze sharp and assessing, as though she had already sized up the competition.

I took a slow breath, refusing to let their nerves infect me, and quietly made my way over to join them. I didn't know why were all here at the same time, but I was not about to show weakness.

Elliot's voice rose slightly, his frustration evident. "I don't care if the supplier's on vacation. Find him. Wake him up. Bribe him. Do whatever you have to, but if those fabrics aren't in my office by tomorrow morning, I'll pull every one of his accounts from our list."

He disconnected the call with a sharp flick of his hand, muttering something under his breath before turning toward us.

And that was when I saw him...really saw him.

Pictures in magazines, photoshoots in glossy editorials, and perfectly curated TV appearances did him no justice. Up close, Elliot Blackthorne was something else entirely.

His suit fitted like it was stitched directly onto him, every line sharp and deliberate. His dark hair shined under the sunlight spilling into the office, neatly styled but with just enough disarray to hint at something less controlled.

And then there were his eyes. Steely gray and piercing, they flickered across the room, pausing momentarily on me before shifting to the others. My breath hitched, just for a second, but I quickly recovered, locking my expression into something neutral.

"Good. You're all here."

His voice cuts through the silence, as crisp and sharp as the edge of a blade. He stepped forward, sliding his hands into his pockets with the kind of effortless confidence that takes years to perfect.

"Let me make one thing very clear," he said, his gaze sweeping over us like a spotlight. "I don't have time to waste, and neither do you. I expect results, not excuses. If you're standing in this room, it means I think you might be capable of fixing what's broken. But the truth is, most of you won't make the cut."

One of the girls shifted nervously, and Elliot's gaze landed on her. She froze under the weight of it, her face flushing.

"Which brings me to the point," he continued, pacing slightly in front of us. "Blackthorne Atelier is on the brink of its most important merger yet. I'm not interested in half-measures or hand-holding. Whoever earns their place here will work harder than they ever have in their lives. If you're not up for that, leave now."

His words hung in the air, daring someone to step back but no one moved.

I stood tall, refusing to be intimidated. My job wasn't to impress Elliot Blackthorne with charm or theatrics. I was here because I was damn good at what I do, and if there was anyone who could fix the chaos lurking beneath his empire, it was me.

Elliot's gaze finally settled on me. For a long moment, he said nothing, and I resisted the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. It was like being pinned under a magnifying glass, hot, uncomfortable, and revealing.

He didn't look away, as if testing my resolve.