THE CEO'S SECRET ASSISTANT

CHAPTER 3

SOPHIE

The morning after the donor dinner, I decided two things.

One: I wasn’t going to overthink Ethan standing next to Camille like some polished family exhibit.

Two: I was absolutely going to overthink it anyway.

By 8:45, I was at my desk with coffee, a headache, and emails that felt personally aggressive.

Nina from HR appeared beside me like gossip had a schedule.

“So,” she started.

“No,” I said without looking up.

“You don’t even know—”

“Yes, I do.”

She sighed dramatically. “People said Camille looked perfect next to Mr. Sinclair.”

I finally looked at her. “Did they also say eyes are optional?”

That shut her up long enough for her to leave.

But the damage was done.

Camille. Green silk. That effortless, curated presence.

And Ethan—calm, untouchable, exactly where he was expected to be.

I hated how easily my brain replayed it.

Then the desk phone rang.

I picked up. “Good morning, tyrant.”

“You’re late,” Ethan said immediately.

“It’s 8:47.”

“You usually bring coffee at 8:45.”

“Wow. You noticed.”

Pause.

“Bring the coffee.”

“No.”

Silence.

Then he hung up.

I smiled.

Thirty seconds later, his office door opened.

He walked straight to my desk, dark suit, unreadable expression, very much in control of nothing right now.

“Are you five?” he asked.

“Depends. Are you going to be nice to me?”

Marcus from legal made a sound like he was witnessing something dangerous.

Ethan picked up the coffee on my desk.

“Thank you,” he said, and walked off.

Marcus stared. “What is wrong with you two?”

I didn’t look up. “Long story. Bad writing. Worse decisions.”

ETHAN

By mid-morning, I knew Sophie was avoiding me.

Not dramatically.

Worse—precisely.

No extra comments. No lingering presence. Just clean professionalism where there used to be something softer.

Daniel noticed first.

“You’re doing the staring-through-glass thing again,” he said.

“I’m working.”

“You’re suffering, actually.”

I ignored him. Mostly.

Because Sophie didn’t do scenes when something was wrong.

She went quieter.

That was the problem.

At noon, I found her in the copy room.

Of course.

She didn’t look surprised when I walked in. Just cautious.

“You’re avoiding me,” I said.

“I’m working,” she replied.

“That’s not the same thing.”

A pause.

Then she sighed. “Do we need to do this here?”

“No. But you’ve been doing it all day.”

That landed.

Her expression shifted—just slightly.

“I’m fine, Ethan.”

“No, you’re not.”

Her grip tightened on the papers.

And then, lightly, she said, “Maybe I’m just emotionally overwhelmed by your dependence on caffeine.”

That almost broke me.

Almost.

But I stepped closer anyway.

“What do you need from me?”

That question changed something.

Not fixed it.

Just shifted it.

She looked at me for a long moment, then said, “I need you at your board lunch in five minutes.”

Of course she did.

She tapped the reports against my chest.

“Also, take these.”

I did.

Because that’s what we do.

We don’t fall apart.

We postpone it.

SOPHIE

By evening, I regretted nothing and everything.

Ethan had looked at me like he understood too much in the copy room, and I still didn’t say what I meant.

Because what was I supposed to say?

That I hated how easily I noticed other women near him?

That I was fine, technically, just not unaffected?

So I worked.

I avoided.

I survived.

At 5:15, the private line rang again.

I picked up. “What now?”

“Are you still angry with me?” Ethan asked.

I glanced through the glass.

He was already looking at me.

Of course he was.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Are you going to be annoying again?”

“Probably.”

“Then yes.”

A pause.

Then he laughed.

Quiet. Real.

“Stay after,” he said.

My fingers paused on the pen.

“For work?” I asked.

“No.”

That single word did more damage than it should’ve.

I leaned back slightly.

“Okay,” I said.

Not fixed.

Not broken.

Just… still there.