"Don't embarrass me, Grayson." Damien Voss's voice was low, clipped, and laced with disdain as he adjusted the cufflinks on his custom black tuxedo. "You'll be representing Vortex at this gala, but let's be clear, you're only here because X-17 is your responsibility now. Try not to trip over your own shadow."
Nora clenched her jaw. She looked up at the towering Vortex building before her, its sleek silver design glowing under the city lights. She shifted uncomfortably in the deep red satin gown she'd borrowed, tugging at the hem. "You invited me last-minute. I didn't exactly have time to prepare."
"Then that's your problem. Not mine." He shot her one last look, sharp, unforgiving, before striding through the golden doors into the ballroom.
Nora followed, heels wobbling slightly on the marble floor as chandeliers sparkled above. The gala was already buzzing with laughter and champagne. Executives from rival firms, potential investors, and board members were scattered across the room. She was in completely foreign territory, and Damien knew it.
But she wasn't just an outsider anymore. The Whirlybird, her collapsible turbine from college, had gotten Damien's attention in his office just three days ago. He'd challenged her to build it again under his watch, and she had only three days left to deliver. Between that, the planted bomb in X-17's core, and a missing Team 3, her nerves were stretched to the limit.
Still, tonight she had to smile, nod, and play nice. A tray passed. She grabbed a glass of wine and tried to melt into the crowd.
It was going fine, until it wasn't.
As she turned to move across the ballroom, the train of her dress snagged under her heel. She stumbled, wine sloshing in her glass, and lurched forward.
"Dammit," she hissed, arms flailing.
A strong hand caught her just before she collided with a waiter's tray of shrimp cocktails. She blinked up into Damien's sharp gaze.
"You're a walking disaster," he muttered, not even bothering to lower his voice. "I told you to stay out of trouble."
"I didn't mean to…" she started.
"Save it," he cut her off, releasing her arm. "This is why I don't trust people with flair and no discipline."
He disappeared again, leaving her seething. But she refused to fall apart.
Minutes later, a silver-haired man approached her near the back terrace. "You're Miss Grayson, aren't you? Heard you're the brains behind X-17's redesign."
"Something like that," she replied cautiously.
They talked turbines, sustainability, and her Whirlybird concept. His questions were sharp, but fair. And for the first time that night, Nora felt like more than just the girl who nearly tripped into a buffet table.
She didn't notice Damien standing across the room, glass of whiskey untouched in his hand, eyes locked on her. His jaw was tight, his stare unreadable.
"She's got presence," an investor beside him remarked. "Genuine charisma."
Damien didn't respond. The tension in his shoulders deepened.
He was already furious about the sabotage. The CCTV footage only revealed a hooded figure entering Floor 42, the face hidden, the timestamp barely visible. All signs pointed to an inside job. And the carved 'H' on the device left no doubt. Helix, his rival company, was behind this. Someone from Team 3 had betrayed him.
And now, the same girl who tripped into the gala was the only person he could work with.
After the event, Nora stepped outside for air, relieved to be away from the heat and perfume.
"You clean up decently," Damien's voice came from behind her.
She turned, surprised. "Was that a compliment or a backhanded insult?"
"Doesn't matter," he replied. "You still nearly took out a waiter and a $10,000 wine bottle."
"I also kept a major investor interested for fifteen minutes. But sure, let's talk about the wine."
He gave her a look. "Don't get cocky."
Nora folded her arms. "I haven't forgotten. One more day to build the Whirlybird. Still ticking."
"And the mole?" he added coldly. "Team 3 didn't vanish on their own."
She swallowed. "You think they ran?"
"I think one of them planted that bomb. And I think you're the only one close enough to sniff them out."
She frowned. "I barely know their names, Voss. It's my first week."
"Then get familiar. Quickly. Because if we don't expose the rat, Helix wins. And if you slow me down…" He leaned in, voice ice-cold. "You're out. Prototype or not."
She stared at him, defiant. "You're unbelievable."
"No," Damien said, turning to walk away, "I'm your boss."