THE BILLIONAIRE'S ASSISTANT

Emma POV Personal Assistant Needed , No Degree Required. No Experience Necessary. I stared at the job post on my screen for what felt like the hundredth time. Yeah, right. They always say that, but somehow, there’s always something I’m missing. Every time I clicked apply on one of these things, it ended the same way with a polite rejection email or worse, total silence. My eyes burned from staring at the screen, and my stomach growled. I sighed and pushed my old laptop away, the edge of the cracked screen catching the sleeve of my sweater. The Wi-Fi was acting up again too, cutting in and out like it had better things to do. It was just one more thing on a long list of frustrations. “Still staring at that thing?” Beatrice called from the kitchen, her voice teasing but kind. I turned my head toward her. She was stirring something on the stove, wearing mismatched socks and her favorite pineapple-print apron. “It’s for Winthrop Enterprises,” I said, letting my head fall back on the couch dramatically. “And you know who owns that, right? Travis freaking Winthrop.” “The ice-man himself,” she said with a smirk. “But Em, come on. It's a job. You need one.” “I don’t even have a degree. My resume is practically blank.” I waved my hand in the air like that explained everything. Beatrice turned off the burner and walked over, drying her hands with a towel. “You’re smart. You’re a hard worker. And we need rent money in two weeks. You can't afford to wait for the perfect job. Just apply.” I groaned, covering my face. But deep down, I knew she was right. I was twenty-three, jobless, and barely making ends meet with temp gigs and freelance stuff that paid next to nothing. This was a real job. With a real paycheck. Even if it came with a side of icy death stares from a man known for firing people on their first day. So I did it. I clicked submit and closed my laptop before I could change my mind. The next morning, I stood in front of a towering glass building, the letters W.E. gleaming like they were carved from gold. My heart hammered in my chest. I’d borrowed Beatrice’s best blouse and managed to flatten my curls into a low bun, though a few stubborn strands refused to behave. I stared up at the building, half-expecting it to swallow me whole. I’d never been inside a place like this marble floors, glass walls, people who walked fast and talked faster. Everyone looked like they belonged in a business magazine. “Just breathe,” I whispered to myself. At the front desk, I gave my name. “Emma Parker. I have an interview” The woman behind the desk didn’t even blink. She handed me a visitor badge and told me to take the elevator to the 20th floor. “Good luck,” she added, almost under her breath. That didn’t help. I rode the elevator in silence, smoothing the front of my blouse and repeating all the things I’d practiced in front of the mirror. “I’m eager to learn. I’m hardworking. I’m reliable…” When the doors opened, I stepped into a hallway that was somehow even more intimidating than the lobby. Everything was white and silver and way too quiet. I could hear the click of my heels echoing off the walls. A young woman with a clipboard waved me in, and I found myself standing in a sleek office with floor-to-ceiling windows and not a single speck of dust. I didn’t have long to take it all in before the door opened and there he was. Travis Winthrop. He looked exactly like the photos online tall, lean, sharply dressed in a dark grey suit. His jawline could probably cut glass, and his hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place. But what really got me were his eyes. Cold, grey, unreadable. He didn’t smile. Didn’t shake my hand. Just walked past me, sat at his desk, and started flipping through my resume like it was a menu he didn’t want to order from. “No degree?” he asked, not looking up. My mouth went dry. “No, sir. But I’m a fast learner, and I..” “No experience either,” he said flatly. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to shrink into the carpet. “That’s true, but I’ve done a few freelance jobs, and I..” He held up a hand. I stopped talking. The next few minutes were a blur of curt questions and my nervous answers. He asked about scheduling, multitasking, how I handle stress. I tried to be honest without sounding desperate. But I could feel the weight of his silence pressing down on me. He didn’t shout. He didn’t scold. But something about his quiet, sharp energy made me feel like I was completely out of my league. Finally, he nodded once and stood. “That’s all.” Just like that, the interview was over. I walked out of that building feeling like a total failure. I couldn’t even remember half the things I said. My voice had shaken. My hands were clammy. And Travis Winthrop hadn’t even looked me in the eye for more than five seconds. I got home, threw myself onto the bed, and buried my face in the pillow. “Don’t worry,” Beatrice said from the doorway. “Something else will come up.” “Sure,” I mumbled. “Right after I sell a kidney.” A week had passed yet no reply of the interview, no rejection, no approval. Just cold silence. I shouldn't feel disappointed but I was, not because I didn't get a response but because of my interview. Even me myself won't hire me with my nervous presentation and lack of degree I displayed, I barely got my words out. I decided to forget it, we move on. I had automatically decided that I didn't ace the interview until… I was lying on the couch in sweats, half-watching an old movie, when my phone rang. Unknown number. I almost didn’t answer, but something told me to pick up. “Hello?” “Hi, is this Emma Parker?” a woman’s voice asked. “Yes?” “Congratulations. You’ve been selected as Mr. Travis Winthrop’s new personal assistant. Your start date is Monday morning.” I sat straight up. “Wait… what?” “You’ve been hired,” she repeated. “More details will be sent to your email shortly. Have a nice day.” The line clicked off before I could say another word. I stared at my phone, heart pounding. I’d gotten the job. Me. The girl with no degree, no experience, and no clue why the coldest CEO in the city would even glance at my resume. But as I sat there, staring into space, I had a weird feeling in my gut. Whatever I had just stepped into… it was going to change everything.