I hate everything about Damon Cross.
For three long years, that quiet phrase had served as my personal morning mantra. It was my protective shield while managing his impossible schedules, navigating his freezing temper, and ensuring I never misstepped in his proximity.
Unlike his former assistants, who carried naive romantic illusions about catching the attention of Obsidian City's most untouchable billionaire, I harbored zero fantasies. Responsibility was my armor.
"Get your head straight, Claire," I muttered under my breath, smoothing down the front of my dark tailored skirt.
I was treading in treacherous, unfamiliar waters. Being physically affected by a man who treated marriage as a corporate chess move was pure madness. I needed to keep my eyes wide open.
I placed the final leath
