LURED BY LOVE

IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HIM

Blair’s Pov

The next morning, I spent thirty agonizing minutes at the bus stop, forty-five minutes on public transport that smelled like sweat and a mixture of what i couldn't describe, and another ten minutes staring up at the gleaming glass tower that was Clarks Industries.

Holy s**t.

The building was all sharp angles and reflective surfaces, reaching toward the sky like it was trying to touch the clouds.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I pushed through the revolving doors.

The lobby was even worse, marble floors so shiny I could see my reflection,So many people who looked like they belonged here.

I glanced down at myself for the hundredth time that morning.

U wore a white chiffon blouse. Black slacks,the nicest pair I owned. Hair pulled into a high ponytail because I'd watched a YouTube video that said it looked "professional and sexy." And the heels.

Three-inch stilettos that I'd practiced walking in all night.

Not bad, I tried to convince myself. You look fine. You belong here.

The elevator ride to the fifteenth floor felt like ascending to another dimension.

The waiting area held about a dozen other candidates, all looking various degrees of nervous and polished. I sank into a chair, hyper-aware of every imperfection.

My nails looked ragged despite the clear polish I'd carefully applied. I'd been biting them in the elevator without realizing it. A nervous habit I'd tried to break a thousand times.

Stop it, I commanded myself, tucking my hands under my thighs.

I was staring at the wall, running through potential interview questions in my head, when my name cut through the air like a knife.

"Blair Harris."

I jerked upright so fast I nearly fell out of the chair.

"Here!" My voice came out louder than intended.

Several people turned to stare. I caught the judgy looks. Was her mind even here?. Bcut ignored them, smoothing down my pants as I stood.

That's when I heard it.

Snap.

I looked down.Oh no. Oh God, no.

The heel on my left stiletto had completely detached, dangling by a thread of glue.

Blood drained from my face. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not on the most important day of my life.

Every eye in the waiting room was on me. I could feel their stares and their judgment.

But I'd promised Harriet this would work.

So I did the only thing I could do.I smiled like nothing was wrong, bent down gracefully like I'd planned this all along, and picked up the broken heel with as much dignity as I could muster.

Then I limped through the glass door into the interview room, one shoe three inches shorter than the other, still smiling.

Three people sat behind an imposing desk. Two men in expensive suits and a woman in a sharp red blazer who looked like she could cut glass with her cheekbones.

They just stared.

The silence stretched so long I wanted to die.

Finally, Red Blazer spoke. "Please, have a seat, Miss Harris."

"Thank you." I sat carefully, immediately tucking my broken-shoe foot behind my good one, praying they wouldn't notice.

They'd definitely noticed.

"So, Miss Harris." Red Blazer's eyes flicked to my hidden foot, then back to my face. "What are your qualifications for…"

The door opened.

A man in a crisp white shirt entered, leaned down, and whispered something in Red Blazer's ear.

Her expression changed instantly. The professional mask melted into something warmer, almost... impressed?

She nodded. The man left.

Red Blazer looked at me again, but this time her smile was genuine.

"Congratulations, Miss Harris. You've passed the interview."

I blinked. "I…what?"

"You start tomorrow. Your supervisor will provide dress code and job description details when you arrive."

My brain short-circuited. I hadn't answered a single question. I'd walked in with a broken shoe. This made no sense unless…

Harriet.

Rich people really could get whatever they wanted. Pull strings anywhere. Buy anything. Even impossible job offers for unqualified waitresses.

"Thank you." I stood, not bothering to hide my limping anymore. "Thank you so much."

"We look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Miss Harris."

I walked out of that interview room grinning like an absolute i***t.

People stared. I didn't care.

Tomorrow, I'd officially become a staff member at Clarks Industries.

I pushed through the revolving doors back into the sunlight, my broken shoe in one hand, my future in the other, and laughed until my sides hurt.

Game on.

*******

"Okay... Miss Blair Harris, correct?"

The woman behind the desk peered at me through horn-rimmed glasses, her navy blue dress perfectly pressed, grey streaks threading through her dark hair. She had the look of someone who'd been here since the building's foundation was poured

She looked efficient, no-nonsense.

I glanced at her name tag: Dolly Adams in bold letters.

"Yes, ma'am. I was told to come here for my name tag and job description."

"Let's see..." She scanned her clipboard. Her finger stopped on my name, and one perfectly shaped eyebrow rose slightly.

"You're handling the position of Assistant Chief Executive."

My brain short-circuited. "I'm sorry, what?"

She looked up, clearly wondering if I was hard of hearing or just stupid. "Assistant Chief Executive. That's what your job description says right here."

Holy s**t. Harriet hadn't been kidding about putting me in his direct line of sight.

"I understand, ma'am." I managed a smile that hopefully didn't look as manic as it felt.

"Do you have any questions?" She handed me my name tag and a sleek keycard.

What should I ask? What would a normal person ask?

"Um, yes. Who exactly will I be assisting?"

"You'll be the direct assistant to the CEO. Mr. Tyler Clarks."

I screamed internally. A long, sustained scream.This was it. This was exactly what I needed.

A satisfied smile tugged at my lips. "So... like his secretary?"

"Something like that." Dolly's expression shifted slightly, becoming more serious. "And for the record, Mr. Clarks has a very strict schedule. You need to understand it and follow it religiously, or you'll land in his bad books. Trust me, you don't want that to happen on your first day."

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "Mr. Clarks is also mysophobic. Don't try to serve him coffee or touch his desk without gloves. He's not like other bosses. And whatever you do. Don't make him angry."

Was she warning me because I looked young and stupid? Or was this genuine kindness from an older woman who'd seen too many bright-eyed new hires crash and burn?

Either way, I nodded. "I understand. Thank you."

"And this…" she slid another key across the desk, "Is for your locker. Every employee gets one. No bags during work hours. Put your best foot forward. Good luck."

She returned to her paperwork, effectively dismissing me.

I practically floated to my locker, unable to stop grinning like an i***t. Assistant Chief Executive. Direct access to Tyler Clarks. A salary that would actually let me live like a human being. Plus the million dollars from Harriet once I completed my mission.

Which new employee got this lucky on day one?

I touched up my lipstick in the bathroom, practicing my most professional-yet-appealing smile in the mirror, then headed toward the elevator.

Floor 27. Executive level. Where Tyler's office was.

I was moving fast…too fast…lost in my thoughts about how I'd introduce myself, what I'd say, how I'd make him notice me…

And then I slammed directly into something solid.

I went down hard, landing on my ass with an undignified thump, my bag skidding across the polished floor.

For a horrifying second, I just sat there, stunned.

Then I looked up.

Tyler Clarks stood over me, six feet two inches of perfectly tailored masculinity in an ash-grey suit that probably cost more than my entire year's salary. A Rolex caught the light on his wrist. His dark hair was styled with that effortless perfection that suggested an expensive stylist and good genes. And his eyes. Those intense, dark eyes that had haunted me since the diner. Were looking down at me with an expression somewhere between annoyance and complete indifference.

He didn't offer to help me up.

He just stood there, towering, waiting.

Say something. Apologize. Stop staring at him like a creep.

"I…uh…sir, I'm so sorry. It's completely my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going. I promise it won't happen again…"

"Just watch yourself next time." His voice was cool, bored, cutting through my rambling.

Then he simply stepped around me. Around me, like I was an inconvenient obstacle. And continued toward the elevator.

My face burned with humiliation as I scrambled to my feet and followed him into the elevator.

The doors slid shut.

There was suffocating, awkward silence broken only by the soft ding as we passed each floor.

Say something. This is your chance.

"Mr. Clarks." I forced my voice to sound confident, professional. "I'm Blair Harris. I'm new here. Your new assistant, actually. It's nice to meet you, sir."

He raised his eyes from his phone slowly.

Then something shifted in his expression.

"You're that waitress." It wasn't a question. His lips curved into something that might have been amusement if it weren't so cold. "From the diner."

My stomach dropped. "I…yes, but…"

"Who arranged for you to be here?" His gaze sharpened, assessing me like I was a puzzle he didn't particularly want to solve.

Shit. Did he know? Could he know?

"I applied for the position," I lied smoothly. "I have a degree in business administration and…"

"We'll see." He went back to his phone. "If you're obedient, follow the rules, and…"

The elevator dinged. Floor 27.

The doors slid open.

"And watch where you're going so you don't bump into people." He stepped out without looking back.

Obedient? The word rankled.

I followed him down the hallway, my mind racing. This wasn't going how I'd imagined. He'd barely looked at me. Barely registered my existence beyond being that clumsy waitress who'd served him coffee three nights ago.

You need to make an impression. Do something. Anything.

I saw my opportunity as he stopped to check something on his phone.

I faked a stumble. A dramatic one. And let myself pitch forward directly toward him.

In every romance movie I'd ever watched, this was when he'd catch me. Our eyes would lock. Chemistry would crackle. Something would happen.

But Tyler didn't move.He just... let me fall.

I hit the floor for the second time that morning, palms stinging, pride shattered.

This is reality, not a movie, you i***t.

Strong hands suddenly gripped my arms from behind, pulling me upright before I could fully embarrass myself.

I spun around, hope surging…

And looked up into a different pair of eyes. Warm brown ones, crinkled at the corners with genuine concern.

"Careful! You almost took a nasty fall." The man was tall. Maybe six feet. With an easy smile "I'm Dave. Dave Miguel."

He held out his hand.

I took it numbly, my eyes tracking Tyler's retreating back as he disappeared around the corner without a single glance back.

You weren't supposed to catch me, I wanted to scream. It was supposed to be him. Why didn't he…

Did Tyler just... not care about women? Or was it specifically me he found so utterly uninteresting?

"I'm Blair Harris." I managed a smile that felt like it might crack my face. "Nice to meet you."