THE CEO'S SECRET ASSISTANT

Sophie's POV If anyone in the office asked, I was Ethan Sinclair’s assistant. Just his assistant. The woman who managed his calendar, fixed his schedule, answered his calls, reminded him to eat, and stopped him from verbally dismantling shareholders before lunch. That was the official version. The unofficial version was messier. I was also the woman he had been in love with since college. The woman he kissed in private and ignored flawlessly in public. And right now, I was standing in his office at 8:15 a.m. trying very hard not to throw his phone out of the window. “You moved the breakfast meeting,” Ethan said, staring at his calendar like it had betrayed him personally. “Yes,” I replied. “Because it was double-booked.” “It wasn’t.” “It was. With your call to Tokyo.” He frowned. “That call is tomorrow.” I crossed my arms. “No. It was moved to today at 6:30 a.m. You’d know that if you read the messages I send to keep your life from collapsing.” He looked up at me then. Calm. Infuriatingly calm. Dark suit, perfect tie, not a wrinkle in sight. Like chaos had never dared touch him. Some people woke up looking human. Ethan woke up looking expensive. “I do read your messages,” he said. I tilted my head. “Do you?” “Yes.” “Then why are we having this conversation?” He paused. Just long enough. That was his thing—silence. He used it like a weapon without meaning to. People filled it, defended themselves in it, revealed things they didn’t mean to. Usually it worked on everyone else. Not me. Finally, he said, “Fine. It was double-booked.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “Mark the date. Growth.” That earned me a look. Not cold. Just tired. Like he’d accepted I was part of his daily chaos and stopped fighting it. “Drink your coffee,” I added. “It’s cold.” “Then maybe drink it when I bring it instead of arguing with me like it’s your full-time job.” “I wasn’t arguing.” I laughed. “That’s adorable.” A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. Still counted. Still dangerous. Because I noticed everything with him. Too much. A shift in tone. A glance that lingered half a second longer. A silence that meant something instead of nothing. I reached for his cup. “You’re in a mood.” “I’m not.” “You are always in a mood around me.” “That sounds like a you problem.” “It became one around junior year, yes.” Something flickered in his eyes at that. College always did that. Back then, he wasn’t Ethan Sinclair, CEO. Just Ethan. Loud laughter, messy dorm rooms, stolen sleep on my bed like the world couldn’t touch him there. Now I reheated his coffee in silence while pretending I didn’t remember what it felt like to be chosen openly. I handed it back. His fingers brushed mine. Quick. Nothing. Except it wasn’t nothing. My body disagreed immediately, like it had its own opinion about him. I stepped back too fast. He noticed. Of course he did. “Sophie,” he said, quieter now. I grabbed the tablet off his desk like it could save me. “You’ve got legal in twenty. Board lunch at one. Your mother’s donor dinner at seven.” “I’m not going.” “You are.” “No.” “Yes.” He leaned back. “What if I refuse?” “I’ll still put it on your calendar and physically drag you there if I have to.” “I’d like to see you try.” That sentence landed somewhere it shouldn’t have. I kept my face neutral. Barely. “Your mother already called me after your last absence,” I added. “She thinks I’m personally responsible for your behavior.” His lips twitched. “She likes you.” “That woman does not like me.” “She respects you.” I gave him a flat look. “I’ll frame that and hang it in my apartment.” He leaned forward slightly. “You’re dramatic.” “And you’re delusional if you think your mother doesn’t mentally attach ‘for your background’ to everything I do.” That wiped the humor off his face for half a beat. I regretted it instantly. Too honest. Too close to truth. Before I could fix it, someone knocked. I stepped away from his desk too quickly. Too practiced. “Come in,” Ethan said, voice already back to polished CEO. Nina from HR entered with a folder, paused for half a second, and glanced between us like she’d walked into something she shouldn’t have noticed. Nothing was happening. And yet everything always was. “Sorry,” she said. “I just need these compensation forms signed.” Ethan held out a hand. “Give them to Sophie.” I took them. She hovered. “Also… cute blouse.” I glanced down. Coffee stain. Right across my chest. Of course. “Oh my God,” I muttered. Nina laughed. “I’ll go before this becomes… whatever this is.” The second the door shut, I dropped the folder on Ethan’s desk. “Perfect. Amazing. Love that for me.” “You were warned,” he said calmly. “You did not warn me.” “I implied it.” “You imply everything except useful things.” That earned me a faint smile. Then he stood. My brain immediately stopped cooperating. He shrugged off his jacket and held it out. “Take this.” I blinked. “In the office?” “Yes.” “This is inappropriate.” He glanced toward the glass wall. “The blinds exist.” That was the problem with Ethan. He always acted like rules were just suggestions he’d chosen to ignore selectively. I hesitated. Then took it. It was still warm. And smelled like him. Clean fabric. Expensive cologne. Something familiar enough to hurt. I pulled it on anyway. His gaze stayed on me for a moment too long. “You’re staring,” I said. “I’m not.” “You are.” He didn’t deny it. That was worse. I cleared my throat and picked up the tablet again. “Legal in ten minutes.” “You’re changing the subject.” “I’m working.” “You’re avoiding me.” I looked up. “That would imply you’re difficult to avoid.” A pause. Then, softer: “Sophie.” Just my name. That one word always did too much. I turned. His expression had shifted slightly—less CEO, more something I didn’t want to name. “Keep the jacket,” he said. And just like that, the room felt smaller. Not because of him. Because of what that meant. I smiled anyway, because it was easier. “Sure.” Then I left. By the time I got back to my desk, my phone was already buzzing. Lily. Of course. Did the evil rich man survive Monday? Did he yell yet? Also Mom says if you skip Sunday dinner again she’s showing up at your job. I exhaled a laugh and typed back: He didn’t yell. He’s being annoying in a very expensive way. Her reply came instantly: So same man, different suit? I snorted. Across the office, Marcus from legal looked up. “You good?” “No,” I said. “But I’m funny.” “That tracks,” he replied. I leaned back in my chair, Ethan’s jacket still on my shoulders, his scent still too close. And I let myself admit the part I usually didn’t say out loud. He loved me. I knew that. That was never the question. The question was whether love that stayed hidden long enough could still count as being chosen. And that thought stayed with me all morning like something bruised under the skin.