90 Days With My Ex-Boss

Aria stared at the gold-embossed card in her hand until her fingers went numb. Kairo Blackwood. CEO of Blackwood Holdings. Billionaire. The man who fired her in front of 40 people exactly 90 days ago. "Personal Assistant. 90 Days. $90,000," the card read in sharp black ink. No feelings. No past. Just business. That’s what it said underneath, in smaller letters. She was broke. Rent was due in 3 days. Her mother’s hospital bills were stacked on her kitchen table. Her pride was already gone the day he called her “incompetent” in a board meeting and made her pack her desk. That was 90 days ago. 90 days of job applications with no replies. 90 days of pretending she was fine when her friends asked. 90 days of hating his name. So when his assistant called this morning, she almost hung up. "Mr. Blackwood would like to see you. Tonight. 8PM. Penthouse office." No explanation. Just an address that cost more per month than she made in a year. Now she was here. The elevator doors opened to the 90th floor and her breath caught. Glass walls from floor to ceiling. The whole city of Accra glittered below her like broken diamonds. No receptionist. No waiting room. Just one massive office with a desk the size of her apartment. And him. Kairo stood with his back to her, looking out over the city. Suit jacket off. White shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. The same back she used to watch from across the office when she was his junior marketing lead. The same back she dreamed about for weeks after he fired her. "You’re late," Kairo said, voice cold as ice. He still didn’t turn around. "You have exactly 60 seconds to explain why I should keep this offer open, Ms. Cole." Aria’s throat went dry. 90 seconds felt too long to stand in silence. "I’m not late. Traffic from Tema was—" "Not an excuse I accept," he cut in. Finally, he turned. Same dark eyes. Same sharp jaw that could cut glass. Same suit that cost more than her car. But something was different. When he was her boss, he barely looked at her. Now he was looking at her like she was a problem he intended to solve, or destroy. He walked to his desk. No greeting. No “how have you been.” Just a thick stack of paper and a black fountain pen slid across the marble surface. "Personal Assistant," he said. "90 days. $90,000 paid upfront on day one. You start tonight." Aria blinked. "$90,000? For 90 days?" "Do you want it or not?" She did. God, she did. Her mother’s surgery was in 2 weeks. "There are conditions," Kairo continued, picking up the contract. "Rule 1: You work for me. Only me. No other clients, no other jobs." "Rule 2: You don’t question me. Not my decisions, not my schedule, not my life." "Rule 3: You don’t touch me. Under any circumstance." "Rule 4: You don’t speak unless spoken to, in meetings or in private." "Rule 5: After 90 days, we never speak again. No contact. No emails. Nothing." Rule 3 made her stomach drop like an elevator with cut cables. Because the last time he touched her, it was accidental. A Christmas party, 91 days ago. She’d slipped on the hotel hallway carpet, and he caught her wrist to stop her fall. His hand was warm. Solid. For 2 seconds he didn’t let go. His eyes dropped to her mouth and for a second, she thought— He fired her the next morning. No explanation. No warning. Just HR and a box for her things. Her hand shook as she picked up the pen. $90,000 would save her mother. It would save her. "Sign here," Kairo said, tapping the last page. His signature was already there, bold and aggressive across the bottom. Aria signed. Her name looked small and scared next to his. Kairo watched her the entire time. When she looked up, his eyes weren’t cold anymore. They were dark. Possessive. Like he’d just won something he’d been waiting 90 days for. "You should have run, Aria," he said softly. So soft she almost missed it. "You have no idea what 90 days with me will cost you." "I need the money," she whispered. He nodded once. "Then we start now. My first instruction: Dinner. My place. My driver will take you. Be there in 45 minutes." "That’s not in the contract." "No," he agreed. "But you signed Rule 2. You don’t question me." The driver was waiting downstairs. A black Maybach. Of course. The penthouse was in Airport Hills. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Marble floors. A dining table set for two, but only one chair was pulled out. Kairo was already there when she arrived. No suit jacket now. Just the white shirt, top two buttons undone. "Sit," he said. She did. The food was untouched. He hadn’t eaten either. "Why me?" Aria asked before she could stop herself. Rule 4, broken in minute one. "There are 1000 assistants in Accra who would kill for this job." Kairo studied her like she was a contract clause he hadn’t read yet. "Because you looked me in the eye when I fired you." "Because you didn’t cry. You didn’t beg. You just picked up your box and left." "Because for 90 days, I haven’t been able to forget your face." Aria’s heart stuttered. "That’s not business." "No," he said. He leaned forward. "It’s not." For a second the air between them felt dangerous. Like the contract didn’t matter. Like the rules were paper thin. Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and the mask slammed back on. "Cold," he said. "Eat. We have work at 6AM tomorrow." She picked up her fork. Her appetite was gone. That night, in the guest room he assigned her, Aria couldn’t sleep. $90,000 was in her account by 11PM. The hospital called to confirm payment. Her mother would live. But as she stared at the ceiling, Kairo’s last words echoed. "You have no idea what 90 days with me will cost you." She didn’t. But lying there in a billionaire’s penthouse, she was starting to understand that some contracts are impossible to break. And the most expensive price might not be money at all. It might be her heart. The next morning came too fast. 6:00AM sharp, Kairo’s driver was at her door. No message. No call. Just a black car and an expectation. He was already in the office when she arrived. Coffee in one hand, three phones on the desk, and eyes that hadn’t slept. "You're 2 minutes late," he said without looking up. "It’s 5:58." "Exactly." He finally glanced at her. Dark circles under his eyes, but his shirt was perfect. "Rule 2, Aria. You don’t question me." She swallowed. "Yes, Mr. Blackwood." "Good." He pushed a tablet toward her. "Today’s schedule. Board meeting at 7. Charity gala prep at 11. Flight to Lagos at 4PM. You’re coming." Aria stared. "I don’t have a passport." "You do now," he said. "My assistant handled it last night. It’s in the bag by the door." She hadn’t even told him she needed one. The board meeting was brutal. 20 men in suits. Kairo didn’t introduce her. He just pointed to the chair behind him. "Take notes," he said. "Every word." For 3 hours she wrote. Financial reports. Acquisition talks. A hostile takeover that made her head spin. No one looked at her. She was furniture. His furniture. At 11AM, he finally spoke to her directly. "Stand up." She did. "Turn around." Her face burned, but she did it. He walked a slow circle around her, eyes cold,assessing. Like she was a new hire. Like she was a problem he needed to inspect. "That dress won’t work for Lagos," he said finally. "Too conservative. You’ll wear the black one in your bag. Tonight." "I didn’t pack—" "My stylist did," he cut in. "Rule 2, Aria." Her cheeks went red. He’d picked clothes for her. Without asking. Without her being there. By 4PM she was on a private jet. Leather seats. Champagne she didn’t touch. Kairo worked the whole flight. Emails. Calls. Cold silence. But when turbulence hit over the ocean, his hand shot out and grabbed hers without thinking. For 5 seconds they held on. His palm was warm.She didn’t pull away. Not yet. The plane shook again. Turbulence. Thunder outside the window. His grip tightened. Warm. Steady. Nothing like the cold emails he sent. Nothing like the contract he made her sign. 90 days. That’s all she had. 90 days to play his fake fiancée. 90 days to save her career. Her heart was loud. Too loud. She risked a glance at him. Kairo. Stone face. Eyes on the aisle. Like he didn’t feel it. Like her hand was nothing. But his thumb moved. Once. Barely. Against her skin. And she froze. The turbulence stopped. He let go. Just like that. Cold silence again. As if those 5 seconds never happened. She stared at her palm. Still warm. Lagos was waiting below. And so was the lie.[End Of Chapter 1]