HATE ME IF YOU DARE

If Elara Monroe had a dollar for every time her brilliance got overlooked in favor of nepotism, she’d own the damn building she was now walking into. Instead, she was clutching a sleek company badge with “Executive Secretary” printed under her name — a position she didn’t apply for, didn’t want, and definitely didn’t respect. Not when it came with being the personal assistant to Jaxon Wolfe, the notorious CEO-in-waiting of Wolfe & Crane Technologies. The man who, according to the office gossip mill, had a heart colder than the company’s server rooms and a smile rarer than a promotion for people who weren’t born with trust funds. Elara stepped out of the elevator and took a slow breath. Thirty-one floors above ground, the air somehow still smelled like money and superiority. “Miss Monroe,” the assistant at the front desk greeted her with a half-smile. “You’re expected. Don’t knock. Just go in.” Of course not. Why knock when you're walking into the lair of a man who thinks he's God with a better wardrobe? She adjusted the sleeve of her cream blouse, took one final glance at her reflection in the mirrored panel—gloss on point, curls soft but tight, eyes steady—and opened the double glass doors. --- Jaxon Wolfe didn’t glance up. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, back turned, phone pressed to his ear. “No, tell Tokyo we’re not adjusting the timeline,” he said, voice calm, clipped, and dismissive. “If they can’t deliver, we’ll find someone who can. I don’t believe in babysitting adults.” Elara crossed the room without a word and placed the coffee on his desk. Her fingers itched to spill it. Just a little. Just to see if he could show emotion beyond mild disdain. He finally turned. And Lord, if being infuriatingly good-looking was a crime, this man would be sentenced for life. Sharp jaw. Warm brown skin. Dark hair slicked back just enough to look like he didn’t care, even though she knew he did. That navy suit probably cost more than her rent. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something — surprise? Amusement? Annoyance? Whatever it was, it vanished as fast as it came. “You’re late.” “Technically, it’s 9:01,” Elara said, sliding into the chair across from his desk. “I assumed you’d appreciate precision, Mr. Wolfe.” He stared at her, expression unreadable. “I appreciate discipline.” “And I appreciate respect.” She smiled, saccharine sweet. “Yet here we are.” A pause. “You know you weren’t supposed to be here,” he said. “Oh, I know,” she replied smoothly. “I was supposed to be part of the Strategic Team. But apparently, someone thought ‘secretary’ was a better fit.” He folded his arms. “If it bothers you so much, you’re free to leave.” “And miss the chance to work directly with the future CEO of Wolfe & Crane?” she blinked innocently. “How could I possibly say no?” A muscle in his jaw twitched. Good. She was getting under his skin. “This isn’t a game, Miss Monroe.” “No, it’s a test. You want to see how long I last before I break, right?” Her voice softened, just enough. “Sorry to disappoint you, Jaxon. I don’t break. I bend. And I bite.” Silence stretched between them. The tension was thick enough to bottle and sell. Then, unexpectedly, he gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “You’re going to be a problem.” She stood up and straightened her blouse. “Only if you make me one.” --- As she walked out of the office, Elara didn’t let her smile slip until the elevator doors closed. He was arrogant. Dismissive. Impossible. But damn it... he was also a challenge. And she’d never walked away from one of those in her life. Let the games begin.