Chapter 3
1011 Words
JENNA
For a moment, the world stops.
The city hums behind the glass walls of his office, a glittering skyline stretching endlessly beyond him, but all I can see is him.
Jaxon is the CEO of Vale Industries.
The man who walked me home last night.
The man who almost kissed me.
The man who made my heart race in ways I didn’t know were possible.
And now—
My boss.
My new reality slams into me so hard I forget how to breathe.
He’s standing behind a sleek black desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, looking like he stepped out of a magazine and into my worst nightmare.
Or my best one.
His eyes widen when he sees me, shock flickering across his face before something darker settles in.
“Jenna,” he says, voice low. “What are you doing here?”
I swallow hard. “I—I work here.”
His jaw tightens. “Doing what?”
“I’m the new executive secretary.”
Silence.
Thick. Heavy. Electric.
He steps around the desk, moving toward me with slow, measured steps, like he’s approaching something dangerous.
Or something he wants too much.
When he stops in front of me, he’s close enough that I can smell his cologne again—clean, warm, expensive. My pulse stutters.
“You should’ve told me,” he says quietly.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “I didn’t even know your last name.”
His eyes soften for a fraction of a second. “Right.”
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “This is… complicated.”
I nod, because that’s the understatement of the century.
He looks at me again, and the air shifts.
The man from last night—the one who walked me home, who touched my cheek like it was something fragile, who whispered my name like it meant something—he’s still there.
But now he’s layered with something else.
Authority.
Power.
Control.
“Come in,” he says, stepping back. “Close the door.”
My heart jumps.
I step inside, closing the door behind me. The soft click echoes through the room like a warning.
Or a promise.
He gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”
I do.
He sits across from me, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, eyes locked on mine.
“Last night…” he begins.
My cheeks burn. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“We do,” he says firmly. “Because I need to be clear.”
Clear.
The word feels like a blade.
He leans closer, voice low. “I don’t mix business with… anything else.”
My stomach drops.
Of course.
Of course he doesn’t.
I nod quickly, trying to hide the sting. “I understand.”
“Good,” he says, but his voice isn’t steady. “Because whatever happened last night—whatever almost happened—can’t happen again.”
I force a smile. “It won’t.”
He studies me, eyes searching my face like he doesn’t believe me. Or like he doesn’t want to.
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly.
My breath catches.
Why does he sound like he’s asking himself?
“I’m sure,” I lie.
He nods slowly, but the tension in his jaw doesn’t ease.
“Good,” he says again. “We’ll keep things professional.”
Professional.
Except the way he’s looking at me is anything but.
He stands abruptly, putting distance between us, like he needs space to breathe. “I’ll have HR send you the onboarding documents. You’ll work directly with me.”
My heart jumps. “Directly with you?”
He hesitates. “Yes.”
“Is that… a good idea?”
“No,” he says honestly. “But it’s too late to change it.”
He turns toward the window, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense.
The city lights reflect off the glass, casting him in a cold, silver glow. He looks powerful. Untouchable. A man who commands the world with a single word.
But when he speaks again, his voice is softer.
“Jenna.”
“Yes?”
He doesn’t turn around.
“Last night wasn’t a game.”
My breath catches.
He finally looks at me, eyes dark and unreadable.
“And I don’t regret it.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
Before I can respond—
A knock breaks the moment.
We both jump.
The door opens, and a woman in her late fifties steps inside, holding a stack of folders. Her glasses sit low on her nose, and her expression is brisk, efficient, and mildly irritated.
“Mr. Vale,” she says, “these are the contracts you requested. And your mother called again—she wants confirmation for the charity luncheon.”
Jaxon’s jaw tightens. “Thank you, Marla. Leave them on the desk.”
Marla glances between us, eyes narrowing slightly—not in judgment, but in the way older women notice everything.
“Of course,” she says, setting the folders down. “And Jenna, dear, HR needs your signature on the confidentiality forms.”
I nod quickly. “I’ll go right after this.”
Marla gives me a warm smile—one that somehow makes me feel both seen and exposed—then leaves, closing the door behind her.
Silence settles again.
Jaxon exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is going to be a long day.”
I stand. “I should get to work. Ms. Marla was going to give me a tour and show me how things are done here.”
He watches me walk to the door.
“Jenna.”
I stop.
“Don’t let this place intimidate you.”
I turn slightly. “Why would it?”
His voice drops.
“Because you’re the only person here who makes me forget where I am.”
My breath catches.
He holds my gaze.
And I realize—
We crossed the line the moment we met.
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