Off Limits: The Billionaire's Forbidden Assistant

Promoted to Secretary

Sofia

Two days and twelve hours.

That's how long it's been since I did the thing I swore I'd never do — sleep with a stranger.

Turns out it's hard to get someone off your mind once you're done with them. I try not to think about it. I just shove it down where all my bad decisions live rent-free.

Because right now, I need my head clear. I'm standing in front of my dream company, and the building is tall enough that it genuinely feels like it's leaning over me.

Apex Corporation, a thirty-four floors of glass and steel, gleaming like it owns the sky. Which, technically, it might. The exterior mirrors everything back at me: traffic, tourists, the massive LED screen looping corporate ads in digital display. All I can really see is my own reflection. Small, wide-eyed.

I pause on the sidewalk and breathe once and again.

Calm down.

I clutch my leather folder tighter to my chest. It's just a new job, a new start. After eighteen months of being the person everyone dumped their overflow on at half the pay she deserved, this is the reset I promised myself. The thing I can't afford to screw up.

I swipe my new ID at the security panel. It blinks green.

Game on.

Inside, Apex is a different world: cold light, marble floors that seem to swallow sound, people in neutral-toned suits moving responsibly but fast and certain. I already feel a step behind.

A woman with sleek dark hair and an earpiece meets me in the lobby. "Sofia Mendez?"

"That's me," I say, trying not to sound like I just stepped out of a dream.

"I'm Brenna. You're on the Strategy & Innovation team, Floor 39. Follow me."

The elevator ride is fast. I catch my reflection in the polished doors and smooth my hair, feeling like everyone in this building was born knowing something I don't.

Floor 39 opens into a wide, glass-walled workspace of chrome desks, a skyline view that makes my knees a little unsteady. A man in a navy suit crosses to meet us, tablet under his arm, easy authority in his stride.

"Sofia?"

"Yes. Hi."

"David Scott, head of Strategy. Welcome aboard — we're glad to have you."

"Thank you. I'm really excited to be here." My voice comes out a touch too bright.

He walks me through the floor — Market Analytics, Product Forecasting, Risk Oversight — introducing me to a small crowd at the team bullpen.

"Everyone, this is Sofia, joining the team this quarter." A few polite nods, a couple of curious glances.

Then the door bursts open.

A tall man in a dark vest strides in with the kind of urgency that makes the whole room go quiet.

"Scott. Sorry to interrupt."

David straightens. "Mr. Paul."

Paul doesn't smile. "The CEO just let his secretary go. We need someone temporary, now. Pick someone sharp. Quick. Discreet." His eyes land on me like a file he doesn't have time to read properly. "You. New hire?"

"Yes," I say, half answer, half question.

"You're promoted. For the week."

"Wait — what?" I shoot David a look. He gives me an apologetic shrug.

"You said you wanted exposure to the executive side while on phone yesterday."

I nod. Exposure. Right. Somehow I don't think this is what he meant.

"Come," Paul says. "He's waiting."

Behind me, murmurs ripple through my new almost-colleagues.

"He's only been CEO a month and he's already gone through three secretaries."

"Good luck to her."

"She just got here, too."

A new CEO. Of course nobody mentioned that in the job posting. Way to go, Sofia... skip the research and surprise yourself on day one.

I follow Paul into a different elevator, my heart climbing faster than the floor numbers. When it dings open, we step onto a hallway of black-tinted glass, carpet thick enough to silence footsteps.

Paul gestures at the double doors at the end. "In there. Try not to get fired before lunch." Half a smile. Mostly a warning. I quickly sensed why he already had three fired.

Then Paul is gone, and it's just me.

I push. The door doesn't move. I pull instead. It opens.

Great start, Sofia.

He's standing at the far end of the office, back to me, jacket off, sleeves rolled to the elbow, looking out over the city like he owns the horizon. Given the nameplate on the desk, apparently he does.

But I know that back.

I know the set of those shoulders, the line of that forearm, in a way I've spent two days trying very hard to unknow.

He turns.

Slate-gray eyes. A jaw that ticks once before going still.

The same man from the hotel. The one who left before sunrise and signed a note with a single letter.

Neither of us says anything. The silence stretches thin enough to hear it crack.

I glance down at the gold nameplate on the desk between us.

Romero Hernandez.

He looks at me like he's never seen me before in his life.

Like two nights ago didn't happen.

Like I'm not currently having the single worst, most catastrophic realization of my professional career.

I slept with my new boss.