CHAPTER 3
2247 Words
REMI'S POV
I stood outside Wolfe Tower at exactly 7:45 AM on Monday morning, wearing my only professional outfit and trying to convince myself I wasn't about to make a huge mistake.
The building looked even more intimidating in daylight. Sixty floors of black glass and steel piercing the sky, making everything around it look small and insignificant. Which, I supposed, was exactly the point.
My hand instinctively went to my stomach. Still flat, but I knew what was growing inside. A tiny person who was half me and half the terrifying billionaire CEO whose office was somewhere high above my head.
"You can do this," I muttered to myself. "It's just a job. A really well-paying job with your one-night stand who doesn't know you're pregnant with his baby. Totally normal Monday."
A woman in an expensive suit gave me a strange look as she passed. Right. Stop talking to yourself, Remi.
I took a deep breath and walked through the revolving doors.
The lobby was exactly as intimidating as I remembered. All marble and modern art, with a reception desk that looked like it cost more than my entire life. The receptionist from Friday—the one who'd looked at me like I was lost—now nodded professionally.
"Miss Cole. Mr. Wolfe is expecting you. Fifty-eighth floor."
She handed me a sleek black badge with my name already printed on it in silver letters. Remi Cole, Executive Assistant.
My stomach did a weird flip that had nothing to do with morning sickness.
The elevator ride felt endless. I watched the numbers climb—20, 30, 40—and tried not to think about how high up I was going. Or how far I'd have to fall if this all went wrong.
When the doors opened on the fifty-eighth floor, Margaret Chen was waiting. She looked even more intimidating than she had on Friday, wearing a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my rent and an expression that gave nothing away.
"Miss Cole. Right on time. Follow me."
She turned and walked briskly down a hallway lined with glass-walled offices. I hurried to keep up, my cheap shoes squeaking slightly on the polished floor.
"First rule," Margaret said without looking back. "Mr. Wolfe values punctuality above all else. Fifteen minutes early is on time. On time is late. Late is unacceptable."
"Got it."
"Second rule: discretion. Everything you see, hear, or learn in this office stays in this office. You will sign a non-disclosure agreement so comprehensive that even thinking about our business outside this building is technically a violation."
"Understood."
"Third rule: Mr. Wolfe doesn't tolerate mistakes, excuses, or emotional reactions. Do your job, do it well, and you'll be fine."
She stopped at a door and turned to face me. "Emotional reactions?"
"Crying, yelling, fainting, throwing things." She ticked them off on her fingers. "I've seen assistants do all of those. None of them lasted long."
"I'm not much of a crier," I lied. I'd cried myself to sleep plenty of times in the past two months.
"Good." Margaret opened the door to reveal a medium-sized office with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the city that made my breath catch. A sleek desk sat in the center, already equipped with two computer monitors, a phone system that looked more complicated than a spaceship, and a tablet.
"This is your workspace. You'll coordinate Mr. Wolfe's schedule, handle his calls, manage his correspondence, and generally ensure his day runs smoothly." She gestured to the monitors. "Left screen is email, right screen is calendar. The tablet has all the files you'll need. Password is your employee ID."
I sat down in the chair—which was more comfortable than any furniture I'd ever owned—and tried not to look as overwhelmed as I felt.
"Mr. Wolfe arrives at eight," Margaret continued. "He'll want coffee immediately. Black, no sugar, temperature exactly 180 degrees. The coffee maker is in the break room." She pointed to a door I hadn't noticed. "There's a thermometer."
"A thermometer for coffee?"
"Mr. Wolfe has very specific preferences."
Of course he did.
"His first meeting is at eight-thirty with the finance team. You'll find the agenda on the tablet. Make sure you've read it before the meeting so you can take notes. He expects a summary within an hour of any meeting ending."
My head was spinning. "Is there anything else?"
Margaret's expression softened slightly. "Don't take it personally when he's cold. He's like that with everyone. Well, almost everyone." She paused. "He specifically requested you, which is... unusual. So either you made an impression, or you're about to have a very short career here."
Heat flooded my face. I'd definitely made an impression. The kind that resulted in pregnancy.
"I'll do my best," I managed.
"That's all anyone can do." Margaret checked her watch. "I have ten minutes to show you the office layout. Let's go."
The next ten minutes were a whirlwind of information. Break room with the apparently sacred coffee maker. Copy room. Conference rooms (large, medium, and small). Restrooms. Storage closets. The executive gym (just for the 58th floor). Margaret's desk near the elevators. And finally, the massive double doors at the end of the hall.
"Mr. Wolfe's office," Margaret said. "You only enter when called. Never interrupt a meeting unless the building is literally on fire."
"What if there's an emergency?"
"Define emergency."
"Like... someone's dying?"
"Send a text. He'll see it."
Right. No interrupting the terrifying CEO even if someone's having a heart attack. Got it.
We returned to my desk just as the elevator dinged. My heart jumped into my throat.
Dax Wolfe stepped out, and I forgot how to breathe.
He was somehow even more intimidating in person than in my memories. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a navy suit that probably cost more than my car, with dark hair that looked like he'd barely bothered to comb it. But it was his eyes—those steel gray eyes—that made my stomach do flips.
He walked past Margaret's desk without acknowledging either of us, heading straight for his office.
"Mr. Wolfe, this is—" Margaret started.
"I know who she is." His voice was cold, clipped. "Miss Cole, my office. Five minutes."
The double doors closed behind him with a definitive click.
Margaret looked at me sympathetically. "Welcome to Wolfe Enterprises. Try not to let him make you cry on your first day."
---
Five minutes later, clutching a cup of coffee that was hopefully exactly 180 degrees, I knocked on Dax's office door.
"Come in."
I pushed through the heavy doors and—
Holy s**t.
The office was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls offering a view that made the entire city look like a toy model. Sleek furniture in blacks and grays. A desk that could comfortably seat six people. And in the corner, actual living trees in planters. Trees. Inside an office.
Dax sat behind his desk, typing on his computer, not looking up.
I stood there awkwardly, holding his coffee and wondering if I should say something or just wait.
He kept typing.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably thirty seconds, he glanced up. His eyes landed on the coffee, then traveled up to my face.
"Coffee," he said flatly.
I crossed the space between us—which felt like a mile—and set the cup on his desk. "180 degrees. Black, no sugar."
He picked it up, took a sip, and his expression didn't change. I couldn't tell if that meant it was perfect or terrible.
"Sit."
I took one of the chairs across from his desk, perching on the edge like I might need to make a quick escape.
Dax leaned back in his chair, studying me with those intense gray eyes. The same eyes that had looked at me very differently two months ago in a bar.
"We need to establish some ground rules, Miss Cole."
Miss Cole. Not Remi. Not oatmeal. The distance in his voice made something in my chest ache.
"First, what happened between us before is irrelevant to your employment here. It won't be mentioned or referenced. Understood?"
"Understood," I said, even though my hand wanted to press against my still-flat stomach.
"Second, I expect complete professionalism at all times. You'll be exposed to confidential information. If I find out you've shared anything—"
"I won't," I interrupted, then immediately regretted it when his eyes narrowed. "Sorry. I mean... I understand discretion."
"Good." He picked up a tablet from his desk. "Third, your performance will be evaluated weekly. If you're not meeting expectations, you'll be informed immediately. I don't believe in second chances."
The coldness in his voice was so different from the man who'd made me laugh at the bar. Who'd called me oatmeal with that slight smile. Who'd touched me like I was something precious.
"Any questions?"
About a thousand. Like why did you really hire me? And do you remember that night at all? And how am I supposed to work for you while carrying your baby?
"No questions," I said instead.
"Then let's discuss your first task." He pulled up something on his tablet. "I have a meeting with Sterling Enterprises next week. Their CEO, Jade Sterling, is..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "difficult. I need complete research on their latest quarterly reports, their board members, and any recent press coverage. Can you handle that?"
"Yes."
"I need it by Friday. Comprehensive but concise. No more than ten pages."
That gave me four days. For something that sounded like it would take four weeks.
"I'll have it ready," I said, with more confidence than I felt.
"Good. You can go."
I stood, turned to leave, then stopped. I couldn't help myself.
"Mr. Wolfe?"
"What?"
"Why did you hire me?"
The question hung in the air between us. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I saw something flash in his eyes. Something that looked almost like... longing?
But then it was gone, replaced by cold professionalism.
"Because Margaret is moving to a different position, and I needed a replacement. You were qualified."
"I was a waitress."
"You managed schedules, handled difficult customers, and trained new employees. That suggests organizational skills and the ability to deal with challenging personalities." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you lied on your résumé?"
"No, I just—"
"Then I suggest you get started on that research. Friday is four days away, and I expect thoroughness."
Dismissed.
I walked out of his office, my face burning. What had I expected? That he'd admit he couldn't stop thinking about me? That he'd pull me into his arms and—
No. This was business. He'd made that abundantly clear.
I needed to keep my job, support my baby, and stop fantasizing about a man who clearly saw me as nothing more than an employee.
Even if that man was the father of my child.
---
The rest of the morning was a blur of information overload.
I learned the phone system (which had more buttons than a spaceship), figured out the email system (three separate accounts for different types of correspondence), and started reading through the existing files on Dax's calendar.
He had seventeen meetings scheduled for this week alone. Seventeen. Plus calls with international clients in different time zones, which meant some of his "work days" stretched from 6 AM to 11 PM.
No wonder he looked exhausted.
Around ten-thirty, a man appeared at my desk. Tall, athletic build, with light brown hair and a friendly smile that felt completely out of place on this floor of intensity.
"You must be the new assistant," he said, extending his hand. "Marcus Stone. I'm the COO."
I shook his hand, grateful for the friendly face. "Remi Cole."
"Surviving your first day?"
"Barely."
He laughed. "Dax can be... intense. But he's fair. Do good work, and he'll notice. Screw up, and he'll notice faster." He leaned against my desk casually. "Between you and me, you're already doing better than the last three."
"How so?"
"You're still here. Last assistant quit before lunch on her first day." He lowered his voice. "She brought him coffee at 175 degrees."
I couldn't tell if he was joking.
"She lasted four hours. The one before that made it two days. The one before that..." He trailed off. "Let's just say Dax has high standards."
"That's reassuring," I said dryly.
"Hey, I'm rooting for you. We all are. Margaret's great, but she's been trying to move up for years. This is her chance." He glanced at Dax's closed door. "Just don't take his moods personally. He's—"
The door opened, and Dax appeared. His eyes immediately went to Marcus, then to me, then back to Marcus.
"Marcus. Don't you have a department to run?"
"Was just introducing myself to your new assistant." Marcus's smile didn't falter. "She seems much more competent than the last one."
"That's not a high bar."
Was that supposed to be a compliment? I honestly couldn't tell.
Marcus pushed off from my desk. "Lunch at one?"
"Fine." Dax's eyes flickered to me. "Miss Cole, I need the finance meeting notes in twenty minutes."
"They're almost done."
"'Almost' isn't good enough."
He went back into his office and closed the door.
Marcus gave me a sympathetic look. "See? Intense. But underneath that cold exterior is a slightly less cold interior."
- Writer
