In Love with my Stepfather

Chapter 4 — The Business Meeting

May’s POV

I jolted upright the next morning, my eyes snapping to the sleek clock on the wall. My heart immediately dropped.

“s**t! I’m late!”

Panic surged through me. I scrambled out of bed and hurried through my morning routine, my banging head not making it any easier. I hurried into the shower, feeling the hot water wash over me as my headache eased a little. Minutes later, I stepped out, dried off quickly, and slipped into a black professional dress and a pair of white stiletto heels. I slicked my hair back into a neat ponytail, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

Before leaving, I scribbled a quick note for Jeff—still asleep—and then dashed out the door, hailing a cab to the office.

I couldn’t afford to make a bad impression today. Not now, not when this opportunity meant everything I’d been working toward.

The city blurred past the taxi windows as I adjusted my hair and touched up my makeup in the backseat. My hands moved almost on autopilot, the precision of years of practice kicking in. I had to look perfect, even though my morning had been a mess.

I took a deep breath as the cab pulled up in front of the towering Zenith Corporation building.

Checking my reflection in the rearview mirror one last time, I straightened my posture. I’ve got this, I told myself, trying to steady the flutter of nerves in my stomach as I stepped out.

Zenith Enterprises wasn’t just any company. It was one of New York’s most prestigious firms—and today, I was about to start as the personal assistant to Devan Barlow, the CEO himself. I’d spent months preparing for this moment, absorbing every scrap of information I could find about the company, its vision, and its executives. The thought of working for Devan—known both as a strategic genius and a man with an enigmatic presence—thrilled and terrified me in equal measure.

Inside the gleaming lobby, the polished marble floors and sleek modern design made my heart race a little faster. I approached the front desk where a receptionist looked up and smiled warmly.

“Miss Howells?” she asked.

I blinked, surprised she knew my name so quickly. Her smile widened. “Mr. Barlow already sent me your details.”

“Oh,” I said, a flicker of relief washing over me.

“Vanessa will escort you up. Mr. Barlow’s office is ready,” she added, gesturing toward a woman stepping out of the elevator.

I nodded, thankful for the escort, and followed Vanessa down the hallway. She moved confidently, every step sure and brisk, clearly accustomed to this high-pressure world.

The elevator doors slid open onto the CEO’s floor. Vanessa led me to a sleek office and knocked lightly before opening the door. “Mr. Barlow, Miss Howells is here.”

“Come in,” came a calm, commanding voice.

Stepping inside, I caught my breath. There he was—Devan Barlow—standing by his desk like he owned the room. Tall, poised, and radiating effortless charisma. Despite being in his early fifties, he looked decades younger—his dark hair thick and stylish, his posture impeccable. When he smiled, it was rare but effective, instantly making you feel at ease, even if just a little awestruck.

“May Howells,” he said, extending a hand.

I shook it, trying to mask the quick appraisal I couldn’t stop myself from making. His eyes locked on me briefly, not in a way that made me uncomfortable, but as if he was quietly measuring me. I met his gaze steadily, forcing myself to stay professional.

“Please, call me Devan,” he said with a smile that felt both warm and professional.

“Thank you, Mr. Barlow,” I replied, but quickly corrected myself. “Devan.” I tried to keep my voice steady even though my heart thumped faster than I wanted to admit.

Devan gestured toward a chair. “I’ve reviewed your portfolio,” he said. “I’m impressed. Your qualifications and attention to detail are exactly what Zenith needs.”

A shy smile tugged at my lips. “Thank you. I’m eager to get started.”

“Good,” he said, his tone warm.

I felt my nerves ease a little at his approval, but I reminded myself not to get comfortable just yet. This was my chance to prove myself, and I wasn’t about to waste it.

“Let’s get you settled,” Devan said, leaning back. “I assume you’ve studied up on the company and your role?”

“Yes,” I replied, growing more confident as I spoke.

He nodded, then picked up a stack of papers from his desk. “I have a meeting in an hour with a potential partner. You’ll accompany me. Here are the details. You can go through them on the way,” he said, handing me a file.

I took it with a nod. “Yes, sir.”

He smoothed his jacket sleeves and stood. “Let’s go.”

⸻

We stepped into one of the VIP rooms at The Langston Restaurant, a place dripping with wealth and power—mahogany furniture, golden lighting, and a panoramic window showcasing the city skyline. The atmosphere was crisp but comfortably familiar to the men already seated.

Three heads turned toward us immediately: CEO Cole of Cole Corporation, CEO Smith of Wales Corporation… and then—

My heart stopped.

Carlos Rivas. Vice President of L’Wells Corporation. My mother’s husband.

My steps faltered, and I froze, the sight of him hitting me harder than I expected. It had been three years since I last saw him—the man at the center of my fractured family.

But I forced myself to recover. I had a job to do.

Devan greeted the men with warm confidence. “Gentlemen, good to see you.”

He gestured toward me. “This is my assistant, May.”

All three sets of eyes shifted to me.

“Oh, Devan,” Mr. Cole said with a grin, “you always did have a good eye for assistants.”

Mr. Smith leaned forward, his smile amused. “She’s beautiful and young, too. You’re spoiling yourself.”

Devan only smiled lightly at their teasing.

I stepped forward, keeping my voice calm and polite. “Good morning, Mr. Cole, Mr. Smith.”

Then my gaze drifted to the third man—my stepfather.

I pressed my lips tight, struggling to keep my composure.

“Mr. Rivas,” I said, voice smooth but cold.

His eyes met mine for just a beat—too long—and then slid away with lazy disinterest. A curt nod was all he offered.

My jaw tightened, irritation flickering at the edge of my lips.

“Miss May seems unhappy with me,” Carlos said mildly, as if commenting on the weather.

I froze for a moment, forcing a tight smile. His words sliced through the room, freezing time.

The men glanced among themselves, unsure how to react. But I wasn’t going to let him get under my skin.

“Mr. Rivas is imagining things,” I replied, voice far calmer than I felt.

Then Mr. Cole laughed, easing the tension. “What happened to your former assistant, Devan—Christine, was it?”

Devan chuckled. “She got married. Decided mornings were better spent making pancakes than prepping proposals.”

The men laughed warmly. “Ah, romance wins again. Hope Miss May isn’t planning on running off with a wedding dress anytime soon.” Mr. Cole’s eyes flicked playfully to me.

I returned a polite laugh, voice light. “No plans, sir. Work first. Marriage… maybe much later.”

They laughed again, but Carlos stayed silent, his expression unreadable.

Devan glanced at him, amusement flickering in his eyes, then moved things forward. “Let’s get down to business.”

The meeting began in earnest. Carlos spoke confidently on behalf of his company. Devan countered with figures I’d studied that morning. I stayed engaged, flipping between notes and contracts, catching Carlos out of the corner of my eye—but he didn’t look my way again.

When Mr. Smith raised a point about revenue sharing, I provided the breakdown of projections. Devan nodded his approval.

After some negotiation and adjustments, all sides reached an agreement. I handed out updated sheets as signatures filled the pages.

As the last signature landed, Devan leaned back, satisfied. Just then, servers arrived with trays of food and fine wine, and the atmosphere softened into something more relaxed, almost celebratory.