Elara Hart had survived exactly forty-eight hours as Damien Kane's assistant, and already she felt like she'd run three marathons.
Two days, and she'd:
Mastered his coffee order (mostly).
Taken notes during a board meeting without fainting.
Developed a healthy loathing for his smirk.
Which, of course, was a problem. Because the smirk wasn't the worst of it.
The problem was that Damien Kane was magnetic. Not just the kind of attractive that made people turn their heads, but the kind that bent the room around him. He spoke, and everyone leaned in. He moved, and everyone shifted to follow.
And Elara? She hated that she wasn't immune.
Which was why she kept reminding herself of her rules. No crushing on the boss. No falling for the smirk. And absolutely no—
"Elara," Damien's voice cut through her thoughts.
She jumped. "Yes?"
He didn't look up from his computer. "Reschedule my eleven o'clock. And call Mr. Callahan's office—tell him the merger terms are non-negotiable."
"Got it."
She slid into her chair outside his office, dialing numbers, typing emails, juggling tasks like the pro she wanted to be. But her ears kept pricking at the sound of his voice through the half-open door.
Another call. This one sharper. More personal.
"I told you, I don't mix business with pleasure."
The words sliced through the hum of her typing.
Elara froze, the phone halfway to her ear.
His tone was cool, clipped. Final.
"Because it complicates things," Damien continued, clearly to whoever was on the other end. "Emotions have no place in my office. I keep them separate. Always."
Elara's stomach did a weird flip. Her hand tightened on the receiver.
Of course he doesn't. He's Damien Kane. Billionaire. Ice king. Too important for feelings.
Still, the words stung more than she wanted to admit. She wasn't planning on mixing anything, thank you very much, but overhearing it felt like being splashed with cold water. Like he'd slammed a door shut she hadn't even tried to open yet.
Her brain, traitorous as ever, whispered: Why does it bother you so much, Elara?
She shook it off, forcing her attention back to the call she was supposed to make. Professional. Focused. Detached.
But later, when Damien strolled out of his office in that tailored suit, sliding on a watch that probably cost more than her car, Elara found herself watching him differently.
Not just the sharp jawline. Not just the confident stride. But the fact that beneath it all, he was a man who had drawn a very clear line in the sand.
And she? She was determined not to cross it.
---
The rest of the day blurred by in a flurry of meetings, calls, and Damien's impossible standards. But the line kept echoing in her head.
I don't mix business with pleasure.
At lunch, she stabbed her salad like it had personally offended her. Her best friend, Tasha, FaceTimed her mid-bite.
"You look like you're auditioning for a murder trial," Tasha said cheerfully.
"Thanks." Elara sighed, lowering her fork. "I just overheard my boss say he doesn't… well, basically, he doesn't do office romance."
Tasha's eyes widened. "Ohhh. And why exactly is that making you pout like someone stole your fries?"
"I'm not pouting."
"You so are."
Elara groaned. "It doesn't matter. I'm not interested in him."
"Uh-huh." Tasha smirked. "And yet you sound like you just got dumped, even though you've literally never dated him."
"I—no—it's complicated."
"It's not. He's hot, you're hot, you're working in close quarters. It's classic forbidden-romance setup. Honestly, I'd read the hell out of it."
Elara buried her face in her hands. "You are not helping."
Tasha cackled. "I'm saying… maybe don't write him off just because he spouted some ice-king nonsense. Guys like that? They melt."
"Not this one," Elara muttered. But even as she said it, her chest tightened.
Because deep down, she wasn't sure if she wanted to believe her own words.
---
That evening, Damien called her into his office with a brisk, "Hart, in here."
She stepped inside, notebook in hand, determined to be the epitome of professionalism.
He glanced up, eyes catching hers. "Tomorrow night. Charity dinner. You'll attend with me."
Elara blinked. "Me?"
"You're my assistant. My time is your time."
"But… a dinner?"
His lips curved faintly. "Is that a problem?"
She scrambled for words. "No, I just—do I need to prepare anything?"
"A dress," he said smoothly. "Something elegant. You'll be on my arm in front of cameras."
Her pulse stuttered. On his arm. Cameras. A dress.
Professional. It's just professional.
She swallowed hard. "Of course, Mr. Kane."
For a heartbeat, his gaze lingered on her face, unreadable. Then he nodded, dismissing her.
As she left his office, Elara's mind raced. She should be focused on the logistics, the schedule, the guest list. Instead, all she could hear was his earlier voice, cold and final.
I don't mix business with pleasure.
She told herself it didn't matter. She told herself she didn't care.
But as her reflection caught in the glossy glass of Kane Corp's windows, Elara couldn't ignore the truth.
She cared more than she should.
And that was dangerous.