The elevator doors closed with a muted sigh behind me as I stepped into the Strickland International executive wing. My heels clicked softly across the polished marble floor as I moved past a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass panels that overlooked the Manhattan skyline. Morning sunlight poured in, casting golden streaks across the office like a spotlight I hadn't earned.
I wasn't just here early. I was here with something to prove.
Since yesterday's unexpected moment in Damien Strickland's office, his voice low against my ear, his breath warm on my skin. I hadn't been able to stop replaying it in my head. The way he said my name. The restrained tension in his eyes. The silence that had lingered after, heavier than any words.
I didn't know what it meant.
And I didn't have time to figure it out. I needed to survive here. And thrive.
I pushed open the door to the executive assistant's bullpen where I shared a space with three others Amira, Carson, and Petra.
Amira was the first to look up. Early thirties, statuesque, and effortlessly chic. She was the kind of woman who could wear a vintage silk blouse with ripped jeans and still look like she belonged in Vogue. Her lipstick never smudged. Her voice never shook.
"Morning, Selene," she said, offering a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Morning," I replied, setting my tote on the desk and sliding into my chair. I booted up my computer and took a sip from the coffee I picked up downstairs.
Carson walked in moments later, balancing two oat milk lattes and humming along to whatever indie rock track was blaring through his headphones. He was charming, in a reckless puppy kind of way. Mid-twenties, with messy dark hair and a golden tan that suggested he hadn't been working too hard lately.
"Brought one for Petra," he announced, setting a cup on her desk even though she wasn't there yet. "And one for the woman of the hour."
He placed the second cup beside my monitor and winked. "Rough first day yesterday?"
I smiled at him. "You could say that."
Amira shot me a sidelong glance. "Word is Damien called you into his office yesterday. Alone."
I froze.
Carson's eyebrows shot up, curiosity practically radiating off him.
I kept my voice calm. "He wanted to make sure I understood the pace around here."
"Did he now," Amira murmured, her fingers gliding over her keyboard like she was typing a love letter to the devil. "That man doesn't call assistants into his office just to talk."
I didn't respond. I didn't need to. Petra arrived just then, her curls wild around her face, sunglasses shoved on top of her head. She gave us a breathless hello before falling into her seat and letting out a long sigh.
"Why does it feel like we work in a palace run by a vampire lord," she muttered, removing her heels and massaging her feet under the desk.
Carson laughed. "Because we do."
As they chatted, I opened my inbox and dove headfirst into work, blocking everything else out. But the truth clung to the back of my mind.
Damien Strickland had looked at me like I was a problem he wanted to solve. Slowly. Methodically. And maybe a little obsessively.
And I wasn't ready to know what that meant.
Around noon, I got a surprise email from Damien's executive scheduler. It was marked urgent.
"Please deliver the updated client risk report to Mr. Strickland in person. He's expecting it at 12:30 sharp."
I stared at it. I wasn't even on the finance team. But I had been helping Amira with her document prep this morning and maybe, somehow, the formatting I fixed made it onto Damien's radar.
I stood. Straightened my blazer. Tucked my hair behind my ears.
And walked to the lion's den.
His door was ajar, as if expecting me.
"Come in," came his voice.
I stepped inside and found him standing near the window, a phone in one hand, the other shoved in his trouser pocket. He wore a deep navy shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair tousled like he hadn't bothered looking in a mirror but still looked like sin in a thousand-dollar suit.
"Understood," he said into the phone. "Call me after the London call."
He hung up and turned.
Our eyes met. I held the report out.
He didn't take it.
Instead, he stepped closer.
"Did anyone see you come in?"
The question hit like a current. Not what I expected.
"No," I said carefully.
He nodded. "Close the door."
I hesitated for a breath. Then I obeyed.
He took the report from my hands, his fingers grazing mine. The contact was brief but deliberate.
His gaze didn't leave mine. "You corrected the margin errors on this?"
"Yes."
"The others didn't notice."
"I did."
He studied me like I was something he'd been hunting. Then his voice dropped.
"You're observant. And unafraid to speak directly. That's rare here."
I swallowed hard. "Is that why you called me up yesterday?"
"No," he said. "That was something else."
He moved closer. Close enough for me to smell the quiet spice of his cologne. Expensive. Masculine. Clean but intoxicating.
I held my ground.
He tilted his head. "You intrigue me, Selene."
My breath caught.
He leaned closer, voice low. "I don't like being intrigued."
Silence bloomed between us, thick and sharp.
Then he stepped back, as if the moment hadn't happened at all.
"You can go."
I left his office with my pulse hammering in my ears. Something dangerous had just passed between us. Something real. And I didn't know what it meant.
But I knew this: I wasn't just a face in a cubicle to Damien Vale.
And that made me both powerful and vulnerable.
That evening, as I walked home through the city's fading light, my phone buzzed with a text from a number I didn't recognise.
Unknown: Tomorrow. Seven AM. Top floor. Don't be late.
No name.
But I knew who it was.
And something inside me whispered that nothing would ever be the same after that meeting.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze.
I tried to focus on dinner. On the soft glow of my tiny apartment. On the novel, I cracked open just to give my mind something else to hold on to. But I couldn't stop thinking about the text.
Tomorrow. Seven AM. Top floor.
It wasn't just a request.
It was a command.
From a man who didn't ask for things. He orchestrated them.
I barely slept. When the alarm went off at five-thirty, I was already wide awake, staring at the ceiling, heartbeat thudding like a second hand on a clock I couldn't slow down.
I dressed carefully. Simple black blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt. Modest heels. Hair pulled back with a silk tie. Just enough makeup to look polished, not enough to look like I was trying.
I wanted to look competent.
Not affected.
Not nervous.
Not like my skin was still tingling from the way he'd looked at me yesterday.
The streets were quiet when I stepped outside, the city still wrapped in its early-morning silence. By the time I arrived the towering glass facade of Strickland International, my palms were damp.
I scanned my badge at the entrance and took the express elevator to the top.
The doors opened to a floor I hadn't seen before.
It was quieter. Sleeker. The interior is designed in tones of ash grey, stone, and gold. A private receptionist gave me a tight smile and nodded toward the double glass doors at the end of the hall.
"He's expecting you," she said.
I walked forward on unsteady legs and pushed the doors open.
Inside was Damien.
He stood alone beside a long marble table, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a tablet in his hand and a cup of black coffee on the table beside him. He looked calm. Composed.
Dangerous.
He didn't look up right away.
When he finally did, his eyes settled on me like I was an answer to a question he hadn't asked out loud.
"Sit," he said simply, motioning to the seat across from him.
I sat.
"I'm bringing you into a special project," he said without preamble. "Discreet. High-level. You'll be reporting directly to me. Not your team. Not Amira. Not even my scheduler."
My throat tightened. "Why me?"
"Because you're capable. And I trust my instincts."
He slid a file across the table. I opened it. Inside were contracts, NDAs, and project outlines.
The header on the first page read:
PROJECT HEMLOCK – INTERNAL ACQUISITION STRATEGY
"I can't discuss it until you sign," he said.
I glanced up. "So I'm not just your assistant now?"
His gaze darkened slightly. "No, Selene. You're something else entirely."
I picked up the pen and signed.
The moment I set it down, something shifted in the room.
Damien sat across from me. "You'll be helping me prepare for an upcoming acquisition. The company in question is strategic, dangerous, and tied to several legal landmines. We can't afford leaks. We can't afford mistakes."
I nodded slowly. "Understood."
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. "This will require long hours. Discretion. Complete loyalty."
"I can give you that," I said, the words surprising even me.
His voice lowered. "Can you also promise not to fall for me?"
Silence stretched.
It wasn't a joke. His eyes didn't waver. He didn't smile.
I swallowed. "Do I need to?"
"Only if you want to survive this," he said.
And then, like it meant nothing at all, he stood and walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back.
"Your first task is gathering data on Evercrest Holdings. You'll find the access credentials in the drive I gave you. I want your full report by tonight."
He turned back toward me.
"And Selene," he added, his voice quieter now, "if you ever lie to me. Just once? I'll know."
I spent the rest of the day in a daze of research.
Evercrest Holdings was a ghost company. On the surface, it appeared legitimate. But dig a little deeper and there were layers of offshore accounts, encrypted communications, and silent partners that made my skin crawl.
One of those partners was a name I recognised from the news.
A senator is currently under investigation.
Another had been connected to a collapsed charity scam in Brazil.
This wasn't just a business play. This was personal for Damien. I could feel it in the pressure building behind every word in that file.
And I hadn't even scratched the surface.
By the time night fell, I was still at my desk, half the office already empty.
That's when I heard it.
Footsteps.
Then a voice behind me.
"You stayed late."
I turned. Damien stood in the doorway of the side conference room I'd taken over. His tie was loosened. His shirt sleeves were still rolled.
He looked at me like I wasn't just part of his team but part of something else entirely. Something forbidden.
"I had a lot to cover," I said quietly.
He stepped inside and closed the door.
"I read your summary," he said, glancing down at the tablet in his hand. "You caught three red flags our internal team missed."
"I thought you'd want it fast."
"I want it right. You gave me both."
He walked closer.
Every step sent adrenaline surging through me.
He stopped in front of my chair and looked down.
"Selene," he said slowly, "do you know what happens when you become important to someone like me?"
I looked up at him.
"I think I'm beginning to."
He studied my face.
And then, for the first time, he let something flicker across his own.
Regret.
Longing.
And something deeper. Something that scared me.
But he didn't act on it.
He turned and walked away.
And just before the door closed behind him, he said one last thing.
"Don't trust anyone here but me."