Love in New York

Chapter 6: The First Test

Monday turned into Tuesday, and Tuesday bled into Wednesday.

Lin Youran quickly discovered that being Alexander Ross's personal executive assistant was less a job and more a baptism by fire.

"Youran, the coffee."

"Youran, the Meridian Group files from last quarter."

"Youran, my mother's calling—tell her I'm in a meeting."

She stood by his desk, tablet in hand, mentally cataloging the seventeenth task he'd thrown at her in the past hour. "You're not in a meeting. You're sitting right here, drinking coffee, and watching me run around like a headless chicken."

Ross looked up from his laptop, one eyebrow arched. "Headless chicken. That's a new one."

"It's an idiom."

"I know what an idiom is." He leaned back in his chair, that infuriating smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I just didn't expect my new assistant to compare me to a farmer."

"I compared myself to a chicken. You're the farmer." She tapped her tablet. "Your mother's on line two. She says if you don't call her back in the next ten minutes, she's coming downtown."

The smirk vanished. Ross grabbed the phone receiver with the urgency of a man defusing a bomb. "Mother—"

Lin Youran turned away to hide her smile, busying herself with reorganizing the already-organized files on his credenza. His voice dropped to a low murmur behind her, the tone entirely different from the sharp, commanding one he used in meetings.

"No, I haven't forgotten. Friday, seven o'clock, Le Bernardin. Yes, I'll bring someone—"

A pause.

"Mother, I said I'll bring someone. No, I haven't decided who—"

Another pause, longer this time.

"Fine. Yes. I understand. Goodbye, Mother."

The receiver clicked back into place with more force than necessary.

"Problem?" Lin Youran asked without turning around.

"Family dinner. Friday night. My mother expects me to bring a date."

She turned, one eyebrow raised in perfect imitation of him. "And let me guess—your little black book is suddenly empty?"

Ross stood, walking around the desk until he was standing directly in front of her. Too close. He was always doing that, stepping into her space like he owned it, like he owned everything.

"My little black book," he said slowly, "is full of women my mother would either despise on sight or immediately start planning a wedding with. Neither is acceptable."

"So find a woman she'd neither despise nor want to marry. How hard can it be?"

He was watching her now with that look—the same one he'd worn in the interview, the one that made her feel like he was seeing something she couldn't see herself.

"I already did."

Lin Youran's heart stuttered. Once. Twice. She forced herself to hold his gaze. "You're not asking me to—"

"Pretend to be my girlfriend for one evening. Three hours, maximum. You'll eat excellent French food, meet my mother, and go home." He paused. "I'll double your weekly pay."

"That's not—"

"Triple."

"I don't—"

"Quadruple, plus a bonus if you survive my mother's interrogation without confessing that this is a setup."

Lin Youran closed her mouth. Opened it. Closed it again.

Twenty feet away, Amy's head appeared in the doorway, eyes wide as saucers. She mouthed something that looked suspiciously like say yes before disappearing again.

Ross was still watching her, those blue eyes unreadable. "It's just one night, Youran. You pretend to like me. I pretend to like you. We eat overpriced seafood. Everyone goes home happy."

"And if your mother doesn't believe it?"

"Then I'll find another way to get her off my back." He shrugged, but there was something in his expression—a flicker of something almost vulnerable—that made her pause. "She's been after me to settle down since I turned twenty-five. Three years of introductions to 'nice girls from good families.' I'm running out of excuses."

Three years. Lin Youran thought about her own mother—or rather, the absence of one. The foster homes where holidays meant extra chores and pretending you didn't notice other children's parents picking them up. The woman in her dreams, always just out of reach, always calling a name that wasn't hers.

"Fine," she heard herself say. "One night. But I'm keeping the quadruple pay, and you're buying me a new dress."

Ross's smirk returned, broader than before. "Done. Amy—" he raised his voice, "—cancel my two o'clock. Miss Lin and I are going shopping."

---

An hour later, Lin Youran stood in a fitting room at Bergdorf Goodman, staring at the price tag on a midnight blue gown.

"$4,800," she whispered. "For a dress I'll wear once."

Through the curtain, Ross's voice drifted in, maddeningly casual. "Try it on before you judge. The color will suit you."

"How do you know what colors suit me?"

A pause. "I'm observant."

She rolled her eyes but unzipped her dress anyway. The fabric slid over her skin like water, cool and impossibly soft. When she stepped out of the fitting room, Ross was lounging in a velvet armchair, scrolling through his phone.

He looked up.

And stopped.

For one perfect moment, Alexander Ross—CEO, billionaire, a man who could have anything and anyone he wanted—was completely, utterly speechless.

The dress was backless, dipping to the curve of her spine. The front was modest by comparison, a simple V-neck that hinted rather than revealed. Midnight blue made her skin look luminous, her dark hair a waterfall of silk against her shoulders.

"Well?" She turned slowly, pretending not to notice the way his jaw tightened. "Is it acceptable for meeting your mother, or should I try something more... conservative?"

Ross stood, walking toward her with that predator's grace. He circled her once, twice, his gaze traveling from her bare shoulders to the hem brushing her ankles.

"Turn around."

She did. Felt his breath warm against her bare back.

"This one," he said, his voice rougher than before. To the hovering sales associate: "We'll take it. And the silver heels she tried earlier. And the clutch. And—"

"Ross." Lin Youran turned to face him, acutely aware of how close he stood. "That's enough."

"Nothing is enough." He said it quietly, meant for her alone. Then louder: "Charge it all to my account. Have everything delivered to my apartment by tomorrow afternoon."

The sales associate practically vibrated with excitement. "Of course, Mr. Ross. Will there be anything else?"

"That's all. Thank you."

When they were alone again—if you could call it alone, in the middle of a department store—Lin Youran crossed her arms over her chest. "You know I can't accept all of that. The dress is one thing, but the shoes, the bag—"

"You can and you will." He was watching her with that unreadable expression again. "Consider it part of the deal. My mother has an eye for detail. If you show up in last season's shoes, she'll know something's off."

"Your mother sounds terrifying."

"She is." A ghost of a smile. "You'll handle her beautifully."

Something warm unfurled in Lin Youran's chest. She crushed it immediately. This was business. A transaction. Nothing more.

"I should get back to the office. You have a two-thirty with the legal team about the Hudson Yards acquisition."

Ross checked his watch. "We'll make it if we leave now. But first—" He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her shoulder. The touch was featherlight, over in an instant. "You had a thread. From the fitting room."

Lin Youran's skin tingled where he'd touched her. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

But as they walked out of Bergdorf's together, she caught him looking at her in the reflection of every window they passed. And try as she might, she couldn't stop looking back.

---

Chapter Highlights

Scene Purpose

Office banter Establish their growing comfort with each other

Mother's phone call Introduce external pressure, set up plot

"I already did" First major romantic tension moment

Dress fitting Visual pay-off + Ross's vulnerability

The thread touch Intimate moment that crosses professional line