HIS PERSONAL ASSISTANT

chapter nine

Morning came too fast.

It felt like I had just closed my eyes when my alarm went off, loud and rude, right beside my ear.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I groaned, rolled over, and slapped at my phone blindly until I finally found it and shut it off. For a second, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember why I’d set three alarms in the first place.

Then it hit me.

The interview.

B&D Inc.

I sat up so fast I got lightheaded.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I muttered to myself, taking a deep breath. “Today’s the day. Don’t freak out. Yet.”

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

Camille: Wake up, penguin.

Camille: Don’t you dare oversleep on a billionaire.

Camille: Text me back or I’m calling.

I typed quickly.

Me: I’m up.

Me: I think.

Me: Send courage.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Camille: You got this.

Camille: Remember: shoulders back, head high, speak clearly.

Camille: And no stuttering unless he’s actually hot, then I’ll allow it.

I snorted, the tension easing just a little.

I swung my legs out of bed and stood, padding to the bathroom. The mirror greeted me with a version of myself that still had sleep in her eyes and a line across her cheek from the pillow.

“Attractive,” I muttered.

I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and took a quick shower, the water helping to chase away some of the fog in my head. When I stepped out, the air felt cooler against my damp skin. I wrapped myself in a towel and walked back into the room.

My outfit was hanging by the wardrobe where I’d left it—the white shirt and black skirt, looking strangely important for such simple clothes. I stared at them for a moment, my chest tightening.

This is it.

I dried off, slipped into my underwear, then carefully put on the skirt and buttoned up the shirt. They fit just like they had last night, but somehow, with the morning light coming through the thin curtains, they looked more… serious.

Real.

I sat down by the small mirror and took out my brown contacts. With steady fingers, I slid them into my eyes, blinked a few times, then looked up.

Two plain brown eyes stared back.

No green. No blue. No mismatched “weirdo” for anyone to whisper about.

Just… normal.

“Armor,” I reminded myself softly, echoing Camille’s words. “Not shame. Just armor.”

I took a breath and went through the makeup routine Camille had shown me. Moisturizer, concealer under the eyes, a bit of powder, a swipe of mascara, light brows, nude lipstick. It didn’t look as perfect as when she’d done it, but it was good enough. I still looked like me, just more awake, less devastated.

I pulled my hair back into a neat low ponytail, smoothing down any flyaways. For a second, I considered leaving it down—it made me feel prettier—but I remembered how Camille had insisted that a ponytail made me look more professional.

“You’re not going there to flirt,” she’d said. “You’re going to work.”

Ponytail it is.

I checked the time. 6:05 a.m.

My interview was at 7:30. B&D’s headquarters were in the city center. With traffic, I needed to leave soon.

My stomach growled, but the thought of food made me queasy.

“Toast,” I told myself firmly. “You can’t go in there on an empty stomach and faint in front of the CEO. That’s not the kind of impression we want.”

I made a single slice of toast, forced myself to eat it, then drank a glass of water. My hands shook slightly as I washed the plate.

Then I went to the small table and double-checked my things: CV? Check. Certificates? Check. ID? Check. A pen? Check. I slid everything into a simple black file and tucked it into my bag.

My eyes drifted to the small picture frame on the shelf—an old photo of my brother and me, both of us laughing at something the camera hadn’t captured.

“I’m doing this for you,” I whispered.

I grabbed my bag, slipped into my black flats—they weren’t fancy, but they were clean and didn’t have holes, which counted as a win—and headed for the door.

Before I stepped out, I checked my reflection one last time. Shirt tucked, skirt straight, ponytail neat, makeup soft but present.

“You can do this,” I told the girl in the mirror. “You have to.”

I stepped outside and locked the door.

The morning air was cool, the sky a pale gray-blue. The streets were already waking up—people walking quickly, cars honking in the distance, shops rolling up their shutters.

I flagged down a taxi at the main road. One finally stopped, the driver an older man with kind eyes and a tired smile.

“Where to?” he asked.

“B&D Inc. headquarters,” I replied, trying to sound casual, like I said that every day.

His brows shot up slightly in the rearview mirror. “Big place,” he commented.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Big day.”

He nodded and pulled into traffic.

I watched the city move past through the window as my heart thudded in my chest. Old buildings, street vendors, people rushing to work. Slowly, the scenery began to change. The buildings got taller, the streets cleaner, the cars more expensive.

The closer we got to the center, the smaller I felt.

I thought about my brother, hooked up to machines. About Camille, probably staring at her phone, waiting for my “I reached” text. About the countless rejections and fake smiles I’d endured when people stared too long at my eyes.

I couldn’t afford to fail this time.

“First time going there?” the driver asked suddenly, glancing at me again.

“Is it that obvious?” I asked with a weak smile.

He chuckled. “You’re too tense. People who are used to places like that don’t look like they’re about to jump out of their skin.”

“I have an interview,” I admitted. “For a job.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding in understanding. “Then, don’t be afraid. They’re just people. Some with too much money and not enough kindness, but still people. You know your worth. That helps.”

His words surprised me. I gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Just don’t let them see fear. They like to smell it.”

I laughed at that, the tension in my shoulders easing just a little.

Soon, the taxi turned onto a wide road lined with glass buildings and polished sidewalks. People in suits were everywhere, walking with purpose, coffee cups in hand, talking into phones with that “I’m important” look on their faces.

And then I saw it.

B&D Inc.

The building rose up like it was trying to touch the sky—glass and steel, reflecting the morning light. The company’s logo was displayed boldly at the top, and at the entrance, sleek revolving doors turned nonstop as people moved in and out.

My heart dropped to somewhere around my knees.

We pulled over near the entrance.

“That’s you,” the driver said.

I swallowed, nodded, and quickly paid him. “Thank you. For the ride and the advice.”

He gave a small nod. “Good luck, Miss.”

I stepped out of the taxi, the door shutting behind me with a solid thud.

The building loomed over me. It was beautiful. Intimidating. Expensive. Everything about it screamed “power.”

For a moment, I just stood there on the sidewalk, gripping the strap of my bag, taking it all in.

Then my phone buzzed again.

Camille: You there?

Camille: Send location before I teleport with stress.

Camille: Breathe in, breathe out. Now walk in there like the building owes you money.

I smiled despite the nerves and quickly texted her back.

Me: I’m here. It’s huge. I might faint.

Camille: Don’t you dare. Faint after the interview, not before.

Camille: You’re Alicia West. They’re lucky you even applied. Go.

I locked my phone, took a deep breath, and started walking toward the entrance.

Each step felt too loud.

The revolving doors swallowed me up, and suddenly I was inside.

The lobby was… stunning. High ceilings, marble floors that reflected the lights, a huge chandelier hanging above. A massive reception desk sat in the center, behind it a wall with the B&D logo in silver letters. People in suits moved around with the kind of confidence I could only dream of.

I forced my legs to keep moving and approached the reception desk.

The receptionist was a woman in her thirties, sharply dressed, hair pulled back in a tight bun, nails neatly painted. She looked up at me with a practiced smile.

“Good morning. How may I help you?” she asked.

“Good morning,” I replied, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt. “I’m here for an interview with HR. For the P.A. position.”

“Name?” she asked, fingers already hovering over the keyboard.

“Alicia West.”

She typed quickly, then nodded. “Yes, Miss West. Your interview is scheduled for 7:30 a.m. with the HR department. You’re a bit early. That’s good.”

I checked the clock on the wall. 7:10 a.m.

At least I had managed not to be late.

She printed a small visitor’s pass and slid it to me. “Please wear this visibly. Take the elevators on the right to the 10th floor. Follow the signs to HR. Someone will attend to you there.”

“Thank you,” I said, clipping the pass to my shirt.

“You’re welcome. Good luck,” she added, with a small, genuine smile.

I walked toward the elevators, my flats making soft sounds on the polished floor. A group of men in suits stood talking nearby, laughing quietly. Another woman in heels rushed past me, the click-clack echoing in the lobby.

I pressed the elevator button and waited, my heart pounding in my ears.

When the doors opened, I stepped inside along with two other people. One was glued to his phone. The other stared straight ahead, looking like she’d forgotten how to smile years ago.

I pressed the button for the 10th floor.

As the elevator started moving, I inhaled slowly and exhaled, reminding myself of Camille’s words.

Shoulders back. Head high. You belong here.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to a hallway with glass doors and discreet signs. I followed the arrows pointing toward “Human Resources.”

Several other people were already seated in a small waiting area outside an office with “HR Department” printed on the frosted glass. Some were scrolling through their phones, some nervously looking at their documents, some staring blankly at the wall like they were already mentally fired.

They all looked… polished. Perfect hair. Sleek suits. High heels. Fancy bags.

I swallowed as I took a seat on an empty chair at the end of the row, clutching my file.

Don’t compare. Just be you.

A woman with a clipboard and glasses stepped out of the office. “Good morning,” she said. “Those here for the P.A. interview, please sign in.”

One by one, we went up and wrote our names. When it was my turn, my hand trembled slightly, but I signed anyway.

“Please wait. We’ll call you in one at a time,” she said.

I sat back down, wiping my palms discreetly on my skirt.

My mind started to wander.

What if they asked something I couldn’t answer? What if I stumbled over my words? What if they saw through my calm and realized I was just a desperate girl one bill away from breaking?

I closed my eyes for a second and pictured my brother’s face, the hospital bed, the beeping machine.

Failure wasn’t an option.

Inside that same building, high above this floor, I knew the CEO was somewhere doing whatever billionaires did this early—drinking coffee from cups that cost more than my rent, probably.

He had no idea I was sitting here, trying not to shake, waiting for my name to be called.

“Miss Alicia West?” the woman with the clipboard called out.

I raised my head up.

“Yes,” I said, standing quickly.

“Please come with me.”

My heart thundered so loudly I was sure everyone in the hallway could hear it. I followed her down the corridor, my feet suddenly feeling heavy.

We stopped at a door. She opened it and gestured for me to go inside.

“Good luck,” she said in a quieter voice this time.

I stepped in.

The door closed behind me with a soft click.

The room was bright, with a long table and three people sitting behind it—two women and one man, all with files in front of them. They looked up as I entered.

“Good morning,” I said, praying my voice wouldn’t crack.

They nodded.

“Good morning, Miss West,” the woman in the middle said. “Please, have a seat.”

I walked to the chair opposite them, sat down, and set my file on my lap.

My palms were sweating, my heart was racing, but my back was straight and my eyes were steady.

This was it.

I didn’t know that somewhere above this floor, in a private office with a view of the entire city, Brian O’Connell was sipping his coffee, unaware that the girl whose name was on one of the files on his desk was about to walk slowly—but surely—into his life.

And honestly?

Neither did I.