No Names After Midnight

Chapter 8 - The problem with Alice

Alex’s POV

I don’t like Mondays.

That’s not entirely true. I don’t particularly care what day it is. Monday, Friday, Sunday—one day ends and another begins. The work doesn’t stop, and neither do the responsibilities that come with running a company worth billions.

But today, I’m in a particularly bad mood.

And I know exactly who’s responsible.

Alice Richmond.

I glance at the clock on my office wall. 6:42 a.m.

She has eighteen minutes.

I specifically moved the Harrington meeting from Tuesday to Monday because I need the acquisition proposal reviewed before we meet with the board. It’s an important deal, and the last thing I need is someone making a mistake with the paperwork.

Again.

I rub a hand over my jaw and return my attention to the documents spread across my desk.

I shouldn’t have to worry about whether my assistant can do her job. I’ve hired people with impressive qualifications, years of experience and references that could fill an entire folder.

And yet, somehow, I’ve managed to go through five assistants in four weeks.

Four quit.

One was fired.

I’m beginning to think the problem isn’t entirely them.

The thought irritates me enough that I immediately dismiss it.

No. The problem is that people come into this building expecting an easy job, a generous salary and a prestigious title. They want to work for Alex Underwood because they think it’ll look good on their CV.

They don’t understand that I expect competence.

I expect effort.

And I expect people to take their responsibilities seriously.

The office phone rings.

I answer without looking at the screen.

“Yes?”

“Good morning, Mr Underwood. Alice Richmond has arrived.”

Elijah.

I glance at the clock.

6:47.

“She’s early.”

“She seems to be making a habit of that.”

I hear the amusement in his voice.

“Is there something funny?”

“Not at all.”

“Then why do you sound like you’re smiling?”

A pause.

“Must be the weather.”

I hang up.

Unbelievable.

Even Elijah seems to have developed an interest in my new assistant.

I return to the documents, but my concentration has already been disrupted.

Alice is different from the others.

Not necessarily better. It’s too early to make that judgement.

But different.

The others either tried too hard to impress me or became so intimidated that they could barely string a sentence together. Alice, on the other hand, manages to look terrified and annoyed at the same time.

It’s an unusual combination.

And an irritating one.

Especially when she decides to speak before thinking.

Your Majesty.

I lean back in my chair.

The memory brings an unwelcome twitch to the corner of my mouth.

She actually called me that.

To my face.

Most people wouldn’t dare.

Most people are sensible enough to recognise that insulting their employer isn’t a particularly effective career strategy.

Alice Richmond apparently missed that lesson.

I should be annoyed.

Instead, I find myself wondering what she’ll say next.

That thought is enough to make me straighten in my chair.

I have work to do.

And she has a meeting to prepare for.

Nothing more.

⸻

At exactly seven, there’s a knock at my office door.

“Come in.”

Alice steps inside carrying her iPad and a folder. She’s dressed professionally today, her blonde hair pulled into a neat bun. She looks awake, organised and, judging by the expression on her face, thoroughly unimpressed with the world.

“Good morning, Mr Underwood.”

“You’re early.”

She glances at the clock.

“It’s seven.”

“You’re usually early.”

“Would you prefer me to start arriving late?”

Her eyes widen fractionally, as though she’s only just realised she’s said that aloud.

I look at her.

She looks at me.

Interesting.

“No,” I reply. “I wouldn’t.”

“Good. Because I wasn’t planning on it.”

I suppress a sigh.

“Sit down, Alice.”

She takes the chair opposite my desk and places the folder in front of her.

“The Harrington meeting has been moved to nine-thirty. I’ve confirmed the attendees, updated your calendar and sent the revised schedule to Elijah. The board documents are organised in the order you requested.”

I look at her.

She continues.

“I’ve also checked the acquisition files twice, because apparently one misplaced folder is enough to cause a national emergency.”

There it is.

I put down my pen.

“Are you finished?”

“For now.”

I should reprimand her.

I should explain that sarcasm isn’t a substitute for professionalism.

Instead, I open the folder she’s brought me.

Everything is in order.

The documents are organised correctly, the relevant notes are attached, and the revised schedule is printed neatly at the front.

I scan the first page.

Then the second.

Then the third.

Nothing is missing.

I turn another page.

Still correct.

I glance up at her.

She’s watching me, trying very hard not to look as though she’s waiting for me to find something wrong.

“You’ve checked everything?”

“Twice.”

“Why twice?”

Her expression becomes flat.

“Would you like me to say three times?”

I stare at her.

She stares back.

Then she looks down at her hands.

“Sorry.”

The apology comes so quickly that it almost catches me off guard.

I close the folder.

“It’s fine.”

Her head lifts.

I can practically see the surprise crossing her face.

“Sorry?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Do you need me to repeat myself?”

“No.”

“Then we’re finished here.”

She stands, collecting her iPad.

For a moment, she looks as though she wants to say something else.

Instead, she nods.

“I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

She reaches the door.

“Alice.”

She turns.

“Yes?”

“The documents are well organised.”

She blinks.

I continue before she can mistake the comment for something it isn’t.

“Keep it that way.”

Her lips press together, and I suspect she’s fighting a smile.

“Of course, Mr Underwood.”

She leaves.

I stare at the closed door for several seconds.

That was unnecessary.

The compliment, I mean.

I don’t make a habit of praising employees for doing what they’re paid to do.

Yet somehow, telling Alice she’d done a good job feels more complicated than it should.

I pick up my pen.

I have a meeting in two hours.

I have a company to run.

I do not have time to think about my assistant’s smile.

⸻

By nine-thirty, the Harrington meeting is underway.

Alice sits near the end of the table, taking notes while Elijah presents the revised proposal. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t fidget and doesn’t make the mistake of trying to contribute to a discussion she doesn’t understand.

She’s paying attention.

Actually paying attention.

I notice because most new assistants spend their first few meetings either trying to look important or desperately attempting to keep up with the conversation.

Alice does neither.

She listens.

She writes.

Occasionally, she looks up when someone mentions a term she hasn’t heard before, making a small note beside it.

I recognise the habit.

I used to do the same thing when I was younger.

Before Star Industries became what it is today, I spent countless nights reading reports I barely understood, researching competitors and trying to work out how people built businesses that survived beyond their founders.

Nobody handed me the answers.

I had to find them myself.

I respect that kind of determination.

Even if I haven’t decided whether Alice possesses it yet.

“Mr Underwood?”

I look towards the man speaking.

“Your thoughts on the proposed acquisition?”

I return my attention to the meeting.

“The valuation is too high. We’ll revise the offer and return with a more realistic figure.”

The discussion continues.

Alice keeps taking notes.

When the meeting ends, the attendees begin collecting their documents.

I remain seated while Elijah walks around the table.

“She’s doing well,” he says quietly.

I don’t look at him.

“She’s doing her job.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

I close my laptop.

“Then what exactly are you saying?”

Elijah smiles.

“I’m saying she seems to be learning quickly.”

“She filed an acquisition folder incorrectly.”

“And corrected it.”

“After I pointed it out.”

“That’s generally how people learn, Alex.”

I give him a flat look.

He laughs under his breath.

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Usually by people who have just met you.”

I stand and gather my papers.

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“I do. Unfortunately, observing your increasingly entertaining relationship with your assistant has become a distraction.”

I stop.

“My what?”

Elijah looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“Your relationship with Alice.”

“She’s my employee.”

“Yes, Alex. I understand how employment works.”

“Then act like it.”

He raises his hands.

“Fine. I’ll leave you to it.”

He walks away, still smiling.

I watch him go.

Then I return to my office, already regretting the fact that I let him get under my skin.

⸻

At eleven, Alice brings me coffee.

She sets the cup beside my laptop without saying a word.

I look at it.

Then at her.

“What’s this?”

“Your coffee.”

“I can see that.”

“Excellent. We’re both making progress.”

I look back at the cup.

Triple espresso.

One sugar.

Exactly as requested.

I take a sip.

It’s right.

Of course it’s right. I told her what I wanted, and she’s clearly remembered.

I should simply thank her and get on with my work.

Instead, I find myself looking at her.

She’s standing beside my desk with her iPad held against her chest, waiting for me to complain about something.

I set the cup down.

“Thank you.”

She blinks.

For the second time today, she looks as though I’ve said something extraordinary.

“You’re welcome.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

I raise an eyebrow.

She sighs.

“It’s just unusual.”

“What is?”

“You saying thank you.”

I stare at her.

She immediately seems to regret opening her mouth.

“I mean—obviously, you have manners. I’m sure you have excellent manners. Somewhere.”

I slowly put down my pen.

“Somewhere?”

Her cheeks turn pink.

“I’ll go.”

“Probably wise.”

She turns towards the door.

I take another sip of coffee.

“Alice.”

She stops.

“Yes?”

“One sugar tomorrow as well.”

She looks over her shoulder.

“I’ll alert the press.”

The door closes before I can respond.

I stare at it.

Then, against my better judgement, I laugh.

It’s brief.

Barely more than a breath.

But it’s real.

And that is precisely the problem.

I haven’t laughed at work in weeks.

⸻

By late afternoon, I’m reviewing the revised Harrington proposal when I notice the light still on in Alice’s office.

It’s nearly six.

I check the time again, then stand and walk out of my office.

She’s sitting at her desk, surrounded by documents, with her hair coming loose from its bun and a look of intense concentration on her face.

She doesn’t notice me at first.

I watch her move a folder from one pile to another, cross-reference something on her screen and make a note on her iPad.

She’s not pretending to be busy.

She’s working.

Harder than I asked her to.

“Richmond.”

She jumps.

Her hand flies to her chest.

“Jesus Christ!”

I stop.

She stares at me, breathing quickly.

I look at her.

She looks at me.

“Do you always sneak up on people?” she demands.

“I walked through an open doorway.”

“Quietly.”

“Would you prefer I announce myself with a marching band?”

“Honestly? At this point, yes.”

I glance at the documents spread across her desk.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking tomorrow’s schedule.”

“Tomorrow’s schedule is already complete.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then why are you still here?”

She looks at me as though the answer should be obvious.

“Because I wanted to make sure everything was right.”

I study her for a moment.

“You’ve already checked it.”

“I know.”

“Twice?”

“Three times, actually.”

I almost smile.

She notices.

Her eyes narrow.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever you’re about to say.”

“I’m not about to say anything.”

“Good.”

She turns back to her computer.

I should leave.

Instead, I find myself looking at the small photograph tucked into the corner of her desk.

Two people, standing close together, smiling at the camera.

Her parents, I assume.

There’s something about the way she’s arranged her workspace that makes the photograph seem important. It’s the only personal item on an otherwise immaculate desk.

I look away.

“You should go home.”

“I’m nearly finished.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

She swivels in her chair.

“And there it is.”

“What?”

“The part where you remember you’re the boss.”

I fold my arms.

“I am your boss.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Then you’ll understand why I’m telling you to leave.”

She stares at me for a moment.

Then she closes her laptop.

“Fine.”

She gathers her things with slightly more force than necessary.

I watch her put her iPad into her bag.

“You’re angry.”

She lets out a short laugh.

“That’s an interesting observation.”

“Alice.”

“What?”

“You can tell me what’s wrong without turning it into an argument.”

Her expression changes.

For a second, the irritation disappears, replaced by something more guarded.

“I’m not angry because you told me to go home,” she says quietly. “I’m angry because I never know whether I’m doing something right until you tell me I’ve done it wrong.”

I don’t immediately respond.

She looks down at her bag.

“I know I’m still learning. I know I’ve made mistakes. But I’m trying, Alex.”

It’s the first time she’s used my first name without sounding sarcastic.

And I don’t like how much I notice.

I glance towards the desk.

The documents are organised. The schedule is complete. Her notes are thorough.

She’s right.

I haven’t made it particularly easy for her.

“I know you’re trying,” I say.

She looks up.

“Do you?”

The question is simple.

Her expression isn’t.

For once, I don’t have an immediate answer.

I take a breath.

“You’ve done good work today.”

She watches me carefully, as though she’s waiting for the qualification that usually follows.

It doesn’t come.

“Thank you,” she says eventually.

Then, because apparently she can’t leave a moment of sincerity alone, she adds, “I’ll be sure to document this historic occasion.”

There she is again.

I shake my head.

“Go home, Richmond.”

She smiles.

“Goodnight, Alex.”

She walks past me and disappears down the corridor.

I remain outside her office for a moment, looking at the empty chair behind her desk.

Then I return to my own office.

⸻

By seven, the building is almost empty.

I loosen my tie and pour myself a glass of water.

My phone lights up with a message from Elijah.

ELIJAH: How’s the new assistant?

I stare at the screen.

ME: She’s doing her job.

His reply comes almost immediately.

ELIJAH: That wasn’t my question.

I put the phone down without responding.

I don’t know what Elijah expects me to say.

That Alice is competent?

She is.

That she’s stubborn?

Undeniably.

That she irritates me more in one day than most people manage in a month?

Absolutely.

But none of those things explain why I find myself remembering the expression on her face when I told her she’d done good work.

Or why I noticed how tired she looked.

Or why, when she finally walked out of the building, the office seemed strangely quiet.

I take a drink of water and look out across the city.

This is ridiculous.

She’s my assistant.

She’s twenty-one, ambitious and clearly determined to prove herself.

I’m her employer.

There are boundaries for a reason, and I have no intention of crossing them.

Whatever else I think of Alice Richmond, it has nothing to do with attraction.

Nothing to do with the way she looks at me when she’s angry.

Nothing to do with the fact that I find myself waiting for her next sarcastic remark.

And certainly nothing to do with the masked woman I met at Lories.

That was one night.

A stranger.

A conversation that should have ended when we left the club.

I have no reason to think about her again.

I finish my water and turn away from the window.

Tomorrow, there will be more meetings, more decisions and more work.

Alice will probably argue with me about something.

I’ll probably tell her she’s being difficult.

And we’ll both get on with our lives.

That’s all this is.

A demanding employer and an opinionated assistant.

Nothing more.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I switch off the lights and leave my office.

Because the last thing I need is another complication.

And Alice Richmond is beginning to look very much like one.