Boardroom and Heartbeats

First Impressions

Lena had faced hostile politicians, corrupt landlords, and CEOs with too much to hide, but standing in Donovan Steele’s office, she felt like she’d been dropped into another world. The man oozed power—not the kind that was loud or arrogant, but the quiet, suffocating kind that demanded attention.

He hadn’t said a word since his curt introduction. His focus was on the city skyline as though she wasn’t even in the room. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable, and Lena had to remind herself to breathe.

She cleared her throat. “Should I, uh, sit somewhere? Or—”

Donovan turned his head slightly, his eyes sharp as they flicked to her. “I’m not a fan of unnecessary chatter, Ms. Moreau. If you’re going to work here, you’ll learn to value silence.”

Lena’s jaw tightened, but she forced a polite nod. “Understood.”

“Good,” he said, turning back to the view. “Sit. We have work to do.”

Lena quickly moved to the sleek chair positioned opposite his desk. She opened her portfolio, pulling out the small notebook she’d brought to keep up appearances. Beneath her calm façade, her mind raced. She needed to gain his trust—and fast—but this man was harder to read than anyone she’d ever met.

“Your responsibilities,” Donovan began, his voice calm but clipped, “will be to filter anything unworthy of my time. Calls, emails, meetings—if it’s not important, I don’t want to hear about it.”

Lena scribbled a note she didn’t need to take. “Got it.”

“You’ll also oversee my schedule,” he continued, his tone as dispassionate as if he were discussing the weather. “Punctuality is non-negotiable. I value efficiency above all else. Don’t waste my time, and we’ll get along just fine.”

Lena nodded again, the urge to roll her eyes growing stronger by the second. “Anything else?”

His gaze snapped to her, sharper now, almost as if he were daring her to challenge him. “I expect competence, Ms. Moreau. If you’re not capable of that, this arrangement won’t last.”

The weight of his stare felt like a challenge, and for a moment, Lena couldn’t help herself. She met his gaze, her chin lifting slightly. “I can handle it.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, barely perceptible, but enough to make Lena wonder if he was amused.

“We’ll see,” he said again, turning back to his desk.

Later That Day

The rest of Lena’s first day passed in a whirlwind of tightly scheduled chaos. Donovan’s personal assistant position wasn’t just demanding—it was relentless. Meetings overlapped with phone calls, emails flooded her inbox faster than she could triage them, and there were documents she was fairly certain she needed a law degree to fully understand.

It didn’t help that Donovan barely acknowledged her existence.

He’d swept through meetings like a storm, his sharp intellect and no-nonsense attitude leaving little room for anyone else to breathe. Lena, trailing behind him with her tablet and notebook, had quickly learned that keeping up with Donovan Steele wasn’t just a job—it was a survival skill.

By the time she finally returned to her temporary desk just outside his office, her head was spinning.

“You’re still here.”

The voice startled her, and she looked up to see a man leaning casually against the wall nearby. He was tall and well-dressed, with sandy blond hair and a boyish grin that instantly put her at ease.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Is that unusual?”

“For Donovan’s assistants? Very.” He extended a hand. “Elliot Grayson. Chief Operating Officer. Also known as the guy who cleans up Donovan’s messes.”

Lena smiled as she shook his hand. “Lena Moreau. Assistant, for now.”

Elliot chuckled. “For now? Already planning your escape?”

“Let’s just say it’s been an...eventful first day,” Lena said diplomatically.

Elliot gave her an appraising look, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Well, if you’ve lasted this long, you’re already doing better than most. Donovan’s not exactly the easiest person to work for.”

“That obvious, huh?” Lena said, leaning back in her chair.

“He’s a brilliant man,” Elliot said carefully. “But let’s just say his people skills could use some work. He doesn’t trust easily, and he has a tendency to...test people.”

Lena tilted her head. “Test them how?”

“You’ll see,” Elliot said cryptically. “But if you’re smart—and I’m guessing you are—you’ll figure out how to pass.”

Before Lena could ask what he meant, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“Grayson, stop distracting my assistant.”

Lena turned to see Donovan standing in the doorway of his office, his expression unreadable but his tone sharp.

Elliot raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just offering some friendly advice.”

“Save it for someone who needs it,” Donovan said curtly before disappearing back into his office.

Elliot gave Lena an exaggerated shrug. “See what I mean?”

Lena bit back a smile, shaking her head. “Thanks for the advice, though.”

“Anytime,” Elliot said, his grin returning. “Good luck, Lena. Something tells me you’re going to need it.”

The First Crack

That evening, long after most employees had gone home, Lena sat at her desk finishing up her notes from the day. The building was quiet, the hum of her computer the only sound in the otherwise empty office.

She was just about to pack up when the soft strains of music reached her ears. Frowning, she stood and followed the sound down the hall, stopping outside Donovan’s office. The door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, she saw him sitting at a grand piano, his fingers gliding over the keys with surprising grace.

It was a side of him she hadn’t expected—raw, vulnerable, human.

For a moment, Lena simply watched, caught off guard by the contrast between the cold, calculating CEO she’d seen all day and the man lost in the music before her.

Then, as if sensing her presence, Donovan’s hands stilled. He turned slowly, his piercing gaze locking onto hers.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, his tone dry but not entirely unkind.

Lena flushed, stepping back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I just—”

“Next time, knock,” he said, standing and crossing the room in a few long strides. He stopped in the doorway, his gaze flicking to her notebook. “And if you’re going to snoop, at least pretend to be subtle about it.”

“I wasn’t snooping,” Lena shot back, bristling at his accusation.

Donovan raised a brow, his lips twitching as if he were fighting a smirk. “Good night, Ms. Moreau.”

With that, he closed the door, leaving Lena standing there with a racing heart and a nagging question she couldn’t shake.

Who exactly was Donovan Steele?