By Monday morning, I'd convinced myself the entire weekend had been a stress-induced hallucination.
No courier. No midnight panic. No confidential contract assigning me to… whatever that "partner" thing was.
Just my overworked brain inventing chaos like it always did.
Except I knew it hadn't been invented. My signature was still on the receipt the courier made me sign. And my phone still had the call log from Adrian Cole.
But denial was free, and I used it generously on my first day.
I wore my nicest blouse—white, slightly wrinkled, but in a charming way, I hoped—and tucked my hair behind my ears so many times it stayed there out of pity. I checked the address badge HR emailed me three times before walking into the Cole Global lobby.
Nina had texted me fifteen times before 8 a.m.
Nina: SEND ME A PIC OF YOUR CEO ON DAY ONE Nina: WHEN YOU MARRY INTO WEALTH REMEMBER I LIKE ROSE GOLD Nina: Wear perfume. Rich men love perfume. I read that somewhere.
I didn't respond. My nerves were already staging a coup.
I checked in at the front desk, got a visitor badge for the day, and headed toward the elevators with the confidence of a shopping cart with a broken wheel.
Thirty floors. Marketing lived on thirty.
The elevator filled with people wearing clothes that never wrinkled. Everyone held expensive coffee. I held the cheap one I'd brewed at home that tasted like cardboard and doubt.
I pressed 30. The elevator chimed politely and whisked us upward.
When the doors opened, the floor looked nothing like the sleek headquarters tour videos on Cole Global's website. It looked livable. Cubicles. Plants. The faint smell of someone microwaving oatmeal. People chatting. Normal office things.
My chest finally loosened.
Okay. I could do this.
I found the sign for Marketing – Campaigns & Digital, straightened my blouse, and stepped forward—
"Ms. Hart?"
I froze.
A woman in a navy blazer approached, tablet in hand, walking with purposeful steps. She looked familiar in the way you remember someone from a crisis: this was Elise. The assistant who'd texted me. The one who'd told me the CEO was calling. The one who'd arranged the courier.
"Oh," I said, forcing a smile. "Hi. I'm reporting to the marketing director. HR said—"
"Yes," she said. "About that."
Never a good phrase.
She gave me a tight, polite smile. "Mr. Cole needs to see you first."
My stomach dropped like an elevator missing its cables. "He… what? Why?"
"I wasn't given details," she said. "He asked that I bring you to him as soon as you arrived."
"But—I'm supposed to start onboarding," I said. "Shouldn't I meet the team first? Or at least learn where the coffee machine is before meeting the CEO?"
"Elise" wasn't the type to bend rules or reality. "He was clear," she said, already turning.
I followed, panic nipping at my heels. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," she said.
The way she didn't look at me while saying it did not reassure me.
We walked past the elevators, past the cubicles, straight toward a private glass room. For a moment, I thought she was taking me to a manager's office.
Then she kept walking.
And walked.
And walked.
Right to the private executive elevator tucked behind frosted glass.
"Elise," I whispered. "This is not marketing."
"No," she said.
The elevator opened soundlessly.
"Floor forty-two," she said to the panel. Then she stepped back. "He's waiting."
"You're… not coming up with me?"
"He asked to see you alone."
Those were words I did not want a CEO to say about me. Ever.
The doors slid closed. I stared at my reflection in the metal walls. Wide eyes. Flushed cheeks. The face of someone who had never met a billionaire alone before and had absolutely no idea how to do it.
When the doors opened, the air felt different. Cooler. Quieter. Expensive.
I stepped out.
There he was.
Adrian Cole stood at the end of the hallway, hands in his pockets, suit perfect and intimidating in that effortless way certain people were born knowing how to pull off. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes lifted as soon as I appeared.
And I swear—just for a flicker—his posture eased. Like he'd been waiting.
"Ms. Hart," he said.
"Mr. Cole," I managed, hoping my voice didn't betray the fact that my heart was trying to escape my ribcage by climbing upward into my throat.
He nodded toward a room. "Follow me."
I did.
Inside wasn't a conference room—it was smaller. Warmer. A private office-adjacent space with two chairs and a low table. Too intimate to be formal. Too expensive to be casual.
He waited until I sat before he did.
"You received the courier," he said.
"Yes," I said. "I gave him the contract. I didn't look at it again, I swear. I didn't even breathe near it."
He didn't smile, but something in his eyes shifted. "Good."
I waited for him to say more. He didn't. So the silence stretched until my nerves broke.
"Am I in trouble?" I blurted.
"No."
"Then why am I here?"
He leaned back slightly. "There was another mistake."
My stomach dropped so hard it probably dented the chair. "Another?"
His jaw tightened. "Regarding your file."
I blinked. "My… file file? Or the weird contract file?"
He hesitated.
Dangerous sign.
"Both," he said.
My brain flashed an internal fire alarm. "I didn't do anything—"
"I'm aware," he said. "The errors occurred internally."
I twisted my fingers together. "Do I still have a job?"
"Yes," he said instantly, firmly. "Your position in marketing is secure."
Okay. Good. That was good.
"But," he continued—
The worst word in every language.
"—there is something you should know before your onboarding continues."
He reached for a folder on the table, identical to the one I'd received from HR. Same gold embossing. Same thickness.
My throat closed. "Is that another… personal agreement?"
"No," he said. "This is the corrected file."
"Then what was the other one?" I asked, trying not to sound like I was interrogating the person who signed my paychecks.
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he studied me. Not with suspicion. With… consideration. Like he was weighing something he hadn't decided whether to share.
Finally, he said, "That agreement was intended for a separate candidate."
"A candidate for what?"
His eyes met mine.
"Something extremely confidential."
I swallowed. "Okay…"
He steepled his fingers, expression steady. "And your name was placed on it because of a system anomaly."
"Right," I said quietly. "A glitch."
"A rare one."
I felt like we were circling something he wasn't quite saying.
Then he asked, "Ms. Hart… did you tell anyone about what you saw?"
"No," I said quickly. "Only you. Elise. And the courier guy, but he didn't know anything. And my cat. She's very discreet."
He almost—almost—smiled. The kind of almost that was gone before I could decide if I imagined it.
"Good," he said softly.
The room felt smaller suddenly.
He tapped the folder. "This is your actual onboarding file. Everything in it is standard."
"Okay," I said. "That's great. Really great."
But he still hadn't handed it to me.
He took a slow breath, the kind that meant he was choosing his words carefully.
"The contract you saw," he said, "is part of a private arrangement. One that requires exact conditions. Discretion. And the right individual."
I nodded, unsure if I wanted to hear the rest.
He continued, voice lower now. "Your name being placed on it, even briefly, created complications."
"Complications," I echoed.
He nodded.
Something cold slid down my spine.
"Complications like… what?"
"Like expectations," he said.
I stared. "Expectations… of me?"
"Yes."
I sat there in utter confusion. "But I'm not involved in whatever that arrangement is."
His eyes met mine again, steady and unreadable.
"You weren't supposed to be."
The implication hung in the air.
Weren't.
Past tense.
Before I could form a single coherent thought, Elise knocked lightly on the door and poked her head in.
"Mr. Cole," she said. "The board is waiting."
He nodded once. "I'll be there in a moment."
She left.
He stood.
"So," I said, standing too. "I should… go meet marketing now?"
"In a moment," he said.
Then he did something that made my breath catch—
He stepped closer.
Not enough to invade my space.
Just enough to make the air change.
"Ms. Hart," he said quietly. "If anyone asks, you did not see that document. You know nothing about it. You and I have had no conversation regarding it."
"Of course," I breathed. "I understand."
"And if anything else unusual occurs…" His gaze held mine. "You come directly to me."
My heart thudded. "Okay."
He nodded once, like sealing an agreement.
Then he handed me the new folder. "Welcome to Cole Global."
I stepped back, grip tightening on the folder. "Thank you."
He opened the door for me.
Just as I crossed the threshold, he said my name again.
"Lena."
I froze.
He rarely used first names.
When I turned, his expression was guarded—but something flickered there. Something I didn't have the experience to interpret.
"You handled all of this better than most people would have."
My pulse kicked.
"Thank you," I managed.
He nodded again. "Now go meet your team."
I walked to the elevator on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else.
But as I pressed the button for floor thirty, one thought kept replaying:
He still hadn't told me what the arrangement was.
Or why my name had been on that contract in the first place.
And worst of all—
He didn't look like he believed it was just a glitch.