Power Plays
511 Words
It took exactly two days for the entire floor to realize something was off between the new assistant and the CEO.
Not that Olivia was making it obvious.
She was the picture of professionalism—crisp blouses, neutral lipstick, polite smile. The kind of woman who probably alphabetized her spice rack and color-coded her emails.
But then there was Nathaniel Blackwell.
And he was a walking HR violation.
---
“Miss Lane,” he said one morning, stepping out of his office, “could you bring me the Harding file?”
Olivia nodded crisply. “Of course, Mr. Blackwell.”
He arched a brow. “So formal. You never called me Mister the other night.”
A choke came from someone nearby. A pencil snapped.
She marched into his office without a word and slammed the file down on his desk.
“Boundaries,” she hissed.
He smiled sweetly. “You're the one who keeps whispering ‘we should behave’ with that sultry little voice.”
“I did not whisper!”
“Mm. More like moaned it.”
She nearly committed murder right then and there.
---
It didn’t help that Nathaniel had a gift for flirting under the guise of corporate tasks.
“Miss Lane, join me in the conference room.”
Translation: Let’s be alone for an hour while I stare at you from across the table like I’m mentally undressing you.
“Olivia, take dictation.”
Translation: Let me say words like ‘position,’ ‘hard deadline,’ and ‘submission’ while looking you dead in the eyes.
She was losing her mind.
Especially when she caught him smelling the mug she’d left on his desk. “Was wondering if your lipstick tastes like cherry.”
She threw a stapler. He ducked, laughing.
---
It didn’t take long for gossip to explode.
One afternoon in the elevator, two interns whispered:
“I swear he looks at her like she’s a dessert menu.”
“She calls him sir like she means it.”
They didn’t realize Olivia was standing behind them.
She started taking the stairs after that.
---
By Thursday, the tension had become so thick even the office plants were uncomfortable.
Then came the final straw.
Olivia walked into his office to deliver a report—and tripped.
And Nathaniel—devil that he was—caught her. One hand on her waist. The other braced against the wall. His mouth inches from hers.
“Careful,” he murmured. “I’d hate to see you fall for me.”
She shoved him back and launched into a flurry of professional fury.
But the look in his eyes?
It wasn’t cocky anymore.
It was interested.
And maybe, just maybe… something deeper.
---
Later that night, as she lay in bed replaying every mortifying moment, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
> You’re intoxicating when you're angry.
— N
She stared at the screen.
Then threw her phone across the room and screamed into her pillow.
Because unfortunately?
She kinda wanted to reply.
---
- Writer
