The office was quiet, the late afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Hart Global's headquarters. Olivia Hart sat behind her massive mahogany desk, perfectly poised, her hands folded in front of her. Her mind, however, was far from calm.
Ethan Cole had been assigned as her personal secretary that morning. Officially, it was supposed to be purely professional—scheduling, memos, emails, and the occasional business call. But nothing about Ethan's presence was "purely professional."
He moved around the office with the ease of someone who belonged. His dark hair perfectly combed, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the subtle definition of his forearms, a white shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. Every step he took toward the printer, toward the filing cabinet, toward her desk seemed calculated, confident, almost… predatory.
Olivia shifted in her chair, a flicker of irritation—and something far more dangerous—burning in her chest. She hated that he affected her this way. She hated that her pulse quickened every time he leaned slightly closer to retrieve a document. She hated that she thought about him the way she did the morning he had kissed her in the restroom.
And yet, she could not deny it.
When he finally approached her desk with a carefully stacked pile of files, she looked up and met his gaze. The usual calm she wore like armor was slipping, thread by thread.
"Here are the reports for tomorrow's board meeting," he said softly, voice low, smooth, but carrying that subtle authority that made her stomach twist.
"Thank you," she replied curtly, glancing at the top file. Her fingers brushed against his as she reached for it. She immediately pulled her hand back, though her skin still tingled where he had touched hers.
He noticed. Of course, he noticed. He had the kind of attention to detail that went beyond professionalism. "You're not upset, are you?" he asked, his tone teasing but restrained.
"I am perfectly fine," she said, her voice clipped. "Now leave."
He didn't move immediately. Instead, he lingered by her desk, studying her with that sharp, measured gaze. "You're pretending to be fine," he said. "But I can tell when someone isn't telling the truth."
Olivia's jaw tightened. "I don't owe you explanations."
"No," he agreed, taking a step closer. "But you might owe yourself the truth."
Her hands clenched slightly in her lap. She wanted to snap at him, push him away, reclaim the ice she had worked so hard to maintain. And yet, something about the way he looked at her—intense, unwavering, controlled but commanding—made her knees weak.
He reached out, just slightly, his fingers brushing hers as he placed another file on her desk. The touch was deliberate, controlled, dominant, but respectful. Olivia's breath hitched, just slightly, before she forced herself to look away.
"You're going to drive me crazy," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him.
"I already have," he said softly, low enough that only she could hear.
Her head snapped up. His gaze was steady, unwavering. Her ice walls trembled, imperceptibly, but enough for her to feel exposed in ways she hated.
And then, without thinking, without warning, she said something she instantly regretted.
"Why did you do it?"
Ethan raised a brow. "Do what?"
"The restroom… that morning. Why?"
He smiled faintly, a slow, dangerous curve that made her pulse thunder. "Because it needed to happen," he said. "And neither of us would have admitted how much we wanted it otherwise."
Her lips parted, heat flooding her face. She wanted to hate him, to push him away, to remind herself that she was in control, that she was untouchable. But her body remembered—every inch of it—the way he had held her, kissed her, taken control without being cruel, dominant without being disrespectful.
She swallowed hard. "That… was a mistake."
"Was it?" he asked softly, leaning just slightly closer. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the subtle scent of his cologne, sharp, clean, intoxicating.
Olivia shook her head, heart hammering. "I said leave, Mr. Cole."
He straightened, but didn't leave. Instead, he dropped his voice, low and deliberate. "I'm not going anywhere, Ms. Hart. Not if this is going to be hard for you. Not if it's going to drive you insane the way it does me."
The words sent shivers down her spine. She hated that they did. She hated that they made her think about all the nights she had been alone, all the times she had craved… him. She hated that she wanted him, wanted to lose control, and yet… feared that desire more than anything.
And then, before she could react, the door opened, and one of the junior assistants stepped in, breaking the tension instantly. Ethan straightened, professional once more, his piercing gaze replaced with calm efficiency. He handed over a few more documents and excused himself, leaving Olivia to stare after him, mind spinning.
Alone, she leaned back in her chair, hands gripping the edges of the desk. Ice, she reminded herself. Control. Ice.
But deep down, she knew she was falling. Falling for the man she shouldn't, the man who had crossed every boundary, the man who was slowly breaking her carefully constructed walls.
And she hated it.
Yet a small, stubborn part of her—a dangerous part she refused to admit—wondered just how far he would go.
How far she would let him take her.
And somewhere deep inside, Olivia Hart, the untouchable ice queen, realized that for the first time in her life… she might already be lost.