First Impressions

POV: Michael Grey

It was just another ordinary day at the office—or so I thought. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead, the quiet chatter of my employees, and the rhythmic clatter of keyboards filled the air. I, Michael Grey, CEO of Grey Enterprises, sat in my glass-walled office overlooking the bustling sales floor below. My eyes swept over the rows of desks, each occupied by a diligent sales associate. My gaze stopped on one in particular—Isabella Reed.

She was a new hire, brought on board just two months ago. From the moment she stepped into this company, I knew there was something off about her. It wasn’t just her unruly chestnut hair or the way she always seemed to be lost in her own world. It was the way she carried herself, with a mix of confidence and recklessness that didn’t belong in the polished, professional environment I’d cultivated.

I watched as she leaned over her desk, laughing at something her colleague said, completely oblivious to the work piling up in front of her. I felt a familiar surge of irritation rise within me. Sales was a cutthroat world—there was no room for distractions, no time for unnecessary socializing. And yet, Isabella seemed to think this was all a game.

My fingers tightened around the sleek pen in my hand as I watched her carefree demeanor. She wasn’t the first one to waltz into this company with stars in her eyes, thinking she could coast by on charm alone. But I had made it clear to everyone—no one got a free pass under my watch.

I buzzed my assistant, Helen, who was always punctual, efficient, and, more importantly, shared my distaste for slackers. “Send Isabella Reed to my office,” I instructed, my voice cold and clipped.

Helen didn’t need to ask why; she understood that I had zero tolerance for anything less than perfection. Moments later, I heard a hesitant knock on my door.

“Come in,” I called, already anticipating the excuses she would offer.

Isabella stepped inside, her expression betraying a mix of nervousness and defiance. She was dressed in a simple blouse and pencil skirt, but there was an air of nonchalance about her that irritated me further. Didn’t she realize that appearances mattered here?

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Grey?” she asked, her voice softer than I expected.

I studied her for a moment, letting the silence hang between us. “Yes,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. “I’ve been observing your performance, Isabella.”

She straightened up slightly, as if bracing herself for the reprimand she knew was coming. “And?”

“And,” I continued, my tone sharpening, “it’s been less than satisfactory. You’re not here to make friends or to play around. This is a business—a competitive one at that. I expect every member of my team to be fully committed to their work.”

She didn’t flinch, but I could see the flash of indignation in her eyes. “With all due respect, Mr. Grey, I have been doing my job. My sales numbers are above target, and I’ve received positive feedback from clients.”

Her response was confident, almost challenging, and it took me aback for a brief moment. She wasn’t wrong—her numbers were decent, but that wasn’t the point. It was her attitude, the way she seemed to disregard the rules, that irked me.

“Numbers aren’t everything,” I replied curtly. “Your attitude is just as important as your results. I won’t tolerate any behavior that undermines the professionalism of this company.”

She met my gaze steadily, and I could see the fire in her eyes. “I understand, Mr. Grey. But I believe there’s more than one way to achieve success. I’m committed to my job, and I’m confident in my abilities. If that’s not enough for you, then I’ll work even harder to prove myself.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, I was at a loss for what to say. There was something about her—a determination that didn’t quite match the careless impression she gave off. But I wasn’t about to let her off the hook.

“See that you do,” I said finally, dismissing her with a wave of my hand. “And remember, Isabella—this is your final warning. I expect to see improvement.”

She nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Understood, Mr. Grey.”

As she turned to leave, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time we’d be having this conversation. Isabella Reed was trouble—of that I was certain. But there was something else there too, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

I shook my head, pushing the thought away. I didn’t have time to worry about one troublesome employee. I had a company to run, and that meant staying focused, staying in control. But as I watched her walk out of my office, I couldn’t help but wonder—what would it take to break that resolve of hers? And more importantly, why did I care?

With a frustrated sigh, I turned back to my work, determined to push Isabella Reed out of my mind. But even as I tried to concentrate, her defiant gaze lingered in my thoughts, refusing to be ignored.