The Playboy Billionaire's Secretary

Chapter One The Playboy CEO Adrian’s POV Warm skin , soft, and still faintly damp from the night before. Tangled sheets. The sharp, expensive scent of perfume that wasn’t mine, mixed with the deeper, sweeter smell of s*x that still clung to the air and the sheets and her. That was the first thing I registered before I even opened my eyes. The second was sunlight, cutting straight through a gap in the curtains and landing right across my face. I reached for my phone on the nightstand without lifting my head. 6:18 a.m. Board meeting at eight that gave me just enough time to shower, dress, and get out before this turned into a conversation. I sat up, rubbed a hand down my face beside me, the woman Sienna, I was fairly sure, though the name had gotten fuzzy somewhere around 2 a.m hadn’t moved. One arm was thrown over her eyes, the sheet kicked down to her hips. Her breasts were bare in the early light, full and soft, the pale skin marked with faint red lines from my mouth and hands. One thigh was bent, the other stretched long and bare, the curve of her hip and the soft space between her legs still open and unguarded. On the floor near the bed lay two used condoms, tied off and discarded at different points in the night, along with the empty wrappers. I always carried them. No exceptions. Last night had been no different. I got up and found my clothes scattered around the room. Trousers on the floor. Shirt over the back of a chair. Jacket by the door, right where I’d dropped it. Her black laced bra was on the floor beside the bed and I stepped around it and the used condoms without comment. The matching thong was half under the bed, forgotten. I wasn’t a man who stayed until morning unless I had a reason to, and last night hadn’t come with any promises attached. Neither of us had asked for one. I pulled my shirt on and started on the buttons, already thinking about the Hendricks contract. Behind me, the sheets shifted. “You’re leaving?” Her voice was thick with sleep, half a question, half an accusation. “I have work.” I fastened my watch without turning around. She pushed herself up against the headboard, hair a mess, the sheet slipping further until it pooled at her waist. Her breasts were fully exposed now. She made no move to cover herself. “Do you always leave this early?” “Usually.” Her mouth twitched. “Will I see you again?” I picked up my jacket and looked at her properly for the first time that morning. At least she’d just asked it outright instead of dancing around it. The sheet had fallen completely now. She sat there naked from the waist up, legs still tangled in the white cotton, the soft line of her stomach on full display like she thought the sight of her body might change my mind. “No,” I said. Her eyebrows went up. “You could at least sound sorry about it.” “I told you what this was from the start.” I shrugged into my jacket. “You really don’t do relationships.” She said it like she was confirming a rumor, not asking a question. “No.” “Not even a little curious?” “Not even a little.” She laughed and shook her head, more entertained than offended, still making no effort to pull the sheet higher. “I’d heard about you. Adrian Black doesn’t do mornings.” “Now you know it’s true.” I opened the door. “Have a good day.” “You too.” She was already reaching for her phone before I’d shut the door behind me, still bare and unbothered. Marcus was already at the car when I stepped out of the hotel lobby, engine running, door open before I got within ten feet of it. “Good morning, Mr. Black.” “Morning, Marcus.” I dropped into the back seat. He pulled into traffic before I’d even gotten my seatbelt on. “How bad is today?” I asked, scanning my phone. “Board meeting at eight, Investor meeting at ten thirty. Lunch with Anderson at one and Legal at three.” “And tomorrow?” “I’ll have the full schedule when we get in.” “Fine.” I looked out the window at the city sliding past glass towers catching the early light, the kind of view that had stopped meaning anything to me years ago. Being CEO of Blackwell Industries meant there was always something waiting. Meetings, reports, and decisions other people were too afraid to make themselves. I preferred it that way. Work made sense. You did what was expected, you delivered, and you were rewarded for it. Simple math. My personal life ran on a different set of rules or maybe no rules at all. The papers liked calling me a playboy, and they weren’t exactly wrong about it. I dated when I felt like it, slept with women I was attracted to, and left before anything had the chance to get complicated. Marriage had never interested me. Love even less. I’d watched enough people mistake it for something permanent to know better. The car pulled up outside Blackwell Industries a little after seven. I got out, nodding at the handful of employees already filtering into the lobby. “Morning, Mr. Black.” “Good morning.” “Morning, sir.” I nodded back and headed for the elevators. I expected to find Evelyn at her desk when I reached my floor, coffee already poured, schedule already annotated in her sharp, efficient handwriting. Instead she was standing outside my office, a folder pressed against her chest. I slowed. “Evelyn?” “Good morning,” she said, a little too brightly. “You’re early.” “So are you.” A small smile. I studied her for a second. Something was off. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong.” “Then why do you look like you’re about to tell me something I won’t like?” She laughed, soft and a little guilty. “Because you probably won’t.” I opened the door. “Come in, then.” She followed me inside and shut it behind her. I set my phone down on the desk. “What’s going on?” She took a breath and set the folder in front of me. “I’ve decided to resign.” I looked up sharply. “You’re resigning?” “Yes.” “Why?” She sat down across from me without being asked. “Because I’ve been here almost six years, Adrian. I’m married, and I barely see my husband. Every time we plan a trip, something at this office blows up.” “You could take a longer vacation.” “I’ve tried that.” “And?” “My phone rang every five minutes anyway.” I didn’t have a comeback for that one. “You’ve been thinking about this a while.” “Months.” “When are you leaving?” “Three weeks.” I leaned back and exhaled. “That’s not enough time to find someone who can actually handle this job.” “I know. Which is why I’ll find your replacement myself.” I raised an eyebrow. “You?” “Me.” “You’ve already decided everything.” “Of course,” she said, that familiar dry note creeping into her voice. “Someone has to make sure you don’t end up with another secretary who spends more time trying to impress you than doing the job.” “I don’t encourage that.” “I know you don’t. That’s not the problem.” “Then what is?” “The problem is they don’t seem to care whether you encourage it or not.” She folded her hands on the desk. “Do you know how many secretaries you’ve had before me?” “Not exactly.” “Neither do I. I stopped counting.” I almost smiled. “Most of them start out perfectly professional,” she went on. “Then they get comfortable. Suddenly they’re dressing a certain way, finding reasons to walk into your office twice as often as necessary, angling for your attention.” “I never asked for any of that.” “I know. But you’re single, wealthy, and impossible to ignore in a room, Adrian. Some women see the job as an opportunity rather than a job.” I shook my head slowly. “And you think you’ve found someone who won’t?” “I know I have.” That got my attention. “How?” “Because I wasn’t looking for someone who wants to work for a billionaire. I was looking for someone who just wants the work.” “What do you have in mind?” “I’ve been going through applications for weeks and there’s one woman I keep coming back to.” “Name?” “Elena Carter.” I repeated it under my breath, testing the sound of it. “Age?” “Twenty five.” “Experience?” “Mostly temporary positions, but her references are strong. Organized. Sharp. Takes the work seriously more seriously than most people twice her age.” “Apparently?” “I called one of her old supervisors myself.” I nodded slowly. “What’s she like?” Evelyn’s mouth curved. “Quiet.” “Quiet.” “Very.” I glanced at the folder without opening it yet. “Does she know what she’s applying for?” “Yes. I spoke to her directly.” “And she still wants it?” “Very much.” I leaned back in my chair. “Bring her in.” “I was planning to,” Evelyn said, already standing. “Evelyn.” She paused at the door, looking back. “Thank you.” Something in her expression softened. “You’re welcome.” She left, and I opened the folder for the first time. A photo clipped to the corner of the first page. Plain background, no smile for the camera, just a woman looking straight into the lens like she wasn’t going to pretend this was a fun exercise. Elena Carter. Twenty five. Temporary experience. References solid. I closed the folder and set it aside for Marcus to log with HR, already thinking about the Hendricks numbers again. By the time the board meeting started at eight, I’d forgotten her name.