MARRIED TO MY RUTHLESS BOSS

THREE; The First Clash

Daniel Mallik didn't have bad days. He had days where other people disappointed him, which was basically the same thing.

Wednesday started with a supply chain disaster that would have bankrupted a smaller company. By 9 AM, he'd already demanded a complete restructuring of three departments. By 10 AM, he'd made a vice president cry. Again.

'I don't care about excuses,' he said to the conference room full of terrified executives. 'I care about results. We have six weeks before the Ashford deal closes. I want every inefficiency eliminated. Every single one. Is that clear?'

It was clear. Everything was always clear with Daniel. He didn't speak in riddles. He spoke in demands.

The executives filed out, shoulders bent like they'd been personally defeated. Because in a way, they had been. Daniel Mallik had a gift for making people feel like their best was never quite good enough.

Sephora was waiting at his office door with a file and a look that said she was about to say something he wouldn't like.

'What?'

'The supply chain meeting was supposed to be at 2 PM, not 9 AM. I tried to reach you, but you'd already left your penthouse and weren't answering your phone.'

He stared at her. 'I moved it.'

'You didn't inform me.'

'I shouldn't have to. You're my assistant. You should know what I'm doing.'

Sephora's eyes narrowed. Just slightly. Just enough that Daniel registered the reaction. 'Mind reading isn't in the job description.'

He'd been spoiling for a fight all day, and here she was, offering one. 'The Hendricks presentation was missing three data points. Where were the updated projections?'

'You didn't request updated projections until yesterday at 6 PM. I had them ready by 10 PM. They're on your desk.'

'They should have been ready by 7.'

'Should I have also invented time travel?' She stepped into his office uninvited, which was bold given how his day had been going. 'What exactly is your problem today, Mallik?'

The use of his last name—from her—felt like a challenge. Like she was putting them on equal footing. Daniel didn't like equal footing. He liked power. He liked being the one in control.

'My problem,' he said slowly, 'is that I pay people to anticipate my needs. And I'm surrounded by incompetence.'

'Is that why you moved the supply chain meeting without telling me? Because you're surrounded by incompetence? Or because you're not managing your own time?'

The office went silent. The kind of silent that happened right before someone got fired.

Daniel stood up from his desk, and Sephora didn't step backward, which was probably a mistake. She was staring at him with her arms crossed, waiting for him to explode.

'Do you have any idea who you're talking to?' His voice was quiet. Dangerous. The voice that made millionaires reconsider their life choices.

'Yes. I'm talking to a man who's so afraid of feeling anything that he turns it into anger and takes it out on people who are trying to help him. You moved the meeting because you couldn't sleep. You're looking for a reason to yell at someone, and I happened to walk in.'

Daniel stared at her. No one spoke to him like this. No one dared.

'Get out of my office.'

'Your coffee is in the kitchen. It got cold because you moved the meeting early. There's a fresh one on your desk now. Your lunch reservation at Eleven Madison was moved to tomorrow because you changed the supply chain meeting. I've also scheduled a meditation app on your phone because clearly, you need it.'

She turned to leave, then paused at the door. 'And for the record? I don't work for incompetence. I work for potential. You have it. But right now, you're wasting it on being angry at yourself. That's on you, not me.'

Then she left, closing the door behind her with the kind of softness that was almost worse than a slam.

Daniel stood alone in his office, staring at the fresh coffee on his desk. Steam still rose from the cup, and he realized she'd brought it in just before she'd called him out.

He picked up the cup and found a note attached to the handle, written in her neat handwriting: 'Breathe.'

For the first time in years, Daniel Mallik felt something other than ambition. He felt seen. And the feeling was terrifying.