Found Love Again.

"Celine Jones?" ‎ ‎The voice was like a low, dark velvet rumble. He didn't look up as he said it. His eyes remained fixed on my credentials, his long, manicured fingers flipping through page after page of my resume as if I weren't even standing there in front of his massive mahogany desk. ‎ ‎"Y-yes, sir." ‎ ‎The slight stutter caught in my throat. I cursed myself internally. Get it together, Celine. You need this job. ‎ ‎That tiny slip of my tongue finally made him look up. ‎ ‎"Heavenly?" ‎ ‎My brain stalled completely. Heavenly what? I stood there, my fingers knotted tightly together in front of my stomach, my lips parted but completely frozen. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. ‎ ‎"The meaning of your name," he said, his tone dripping with an icy sort of patience. "Celine. It translates to 'Heavenly.' Correct?" ‎ ‎"Oh." A hot flush of embarrassment crept up my neck. "Yes, sir. Yes, it does." ‎ ‎ I should have been focusing on the question. I should have been rehearsing my pitch on why my administrative skills were superior. Instead, my traitorous eyes locked onto him. Up close, Damian Wells was devastating. He had fair, flawless skin, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and perfectly styled dark hair, save for one stubborn strand that fell across his forehead every time he glanced down at my file. ‎ ‎Not now, brain. Not today, I scolded myself. He is the CEO. You are broke. You need this job, not a crush. ‎ ‎"You'd better be heavenly," he murmured, his voice dropping so low it was mostly to himself. Then, leaning forward, he fixed me with a piercing gaze. "I like my personal assistants smart and knowledgeable. I don't tolerate mediocrity." ‎ ‎Smart? Knowledgeable? The insult to my capabilities pricked my pride. I had graduated top of my class, and I had fought tooth and nail to survive after losing my father. I was that and more. ‎ ‎Before I could stop it, a small, confident smirk slipped across my lips. ‎ ‎His eyes narrowed instantly, noticing the shift. "Something funny, Miss Jones?" ‎ ‎"No, sir." I straightened my spine, squaring my shoulders. "I can do that." ‎ ‎"Good." He closed the thick folder with a decisive snap. "Seven a.m. tomorrow. Sharp. No lateness, no excuses. If you are one minute late, don't bother walking through the front doors." ‎ ‎"Yes, sir." ‎ ‎That was it. Four sentences, and he had said all he planned to say. A man of few words, a man of absolute control. ‎Unfortunately, as I looked at him one last time, I realized he was also a man of very handsome everything. Holy heavens. ‎ ‎I gave him a polite, professional nod and walked out of the sprawling executive office before my burning face could betray me. ‎ ‎The next morning, the sun hadn't even fully broken through the city skyline when I arrived at the Wells Corporate Tower. It was exactly 6:40 a.m. I was wearing a light purple corporate dress that hugged my shape perfectly and made my skin glow under the harsh fluorescent lights of the lobby. I would happily deny to anyone who asked that I had changed my outfit three separate times before leaving my apartment. ‎ ‎"Miss Celine?" ‎ ‎I turned to find a middle-aged woman in a sharp navy blazer standing in front of me, her arms folded tightly across her chest. ‎ ‎"Yes, ma'am," I replied, offering a polite smile. ‎ ‎"You're Mr. Damian's new PA?" She looked me up and down, giving a small, humorless laugh that made my stomach churn. "Good luck. His personal assistants never last past the first month. He has a young daughter at home, Serena. Word around the office is she's incredibly difficult, and Mr. Damian fires anyone she's not comfortable with." ‎ ‎She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If I were you, honey, I'd keep sending out applications. You'd have been better off applying for the regular staff. At least they survive the probation period." ‎ ‎My heart dropped straight into my shoes. ‎ ‎The intoxicating happiness I had felt the night before evaporated. I had gone home so incredibly grateful. A good job, with life-changing pay, finally within my grasp. I’d even spent half the evening arguing with myself over whether I was merely attracted to the man or already in real trouble. And now, I was hearing that my job security depended on a mysterious child I hadn't even met? ‎ ‎"Anyway," the woman said, shaking her head as though she'd suddenly remembered why she'd come down to the lobby, "let me show you your office." ‎ ‎I followed her down the long, carpeted corridor, my thoughts spinning out of control. What if his daughter throws a fit at home and he takes it out on me? What if I'm fired before my first paycheck? I had no answers, and my rent was due in two weeks. ‎ ‎We stopped outside a room just opposite Damian's massive double doors. ‎ ‎"This is you," she said, gesturing inside. ‎ ‎ I set my bag down on the desk and took a slow look around. The office was breathtaking. It featured a floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the city, a wide, polished oak desk, and an ergonomic leather chair that looked far too expensive for someone like me. For a fleeting second, the sheer beauty of the space made me forget to be nervous. ‎ ‎Then, the sleek black phone on my desk rang, shattering the silence. ‎ ‎I snatched up the receiver. "Celine Jones speaking." ‎ ‎"Miss Jones. Mr. Damian wants you in his office. Now." The line went dead. ‎ ‎I was across the hall and standing at his door in under a minute. I knocked once, waited for the curt "Come in," and stepped inside. ‎ ‎Damian sat behind his desk, one elbow propped on the polished dark wood surface, his eyes completely fixed on his phone. ‎ ‎"Sit." ‎ ‎He didn't even look up to see if I complied. ‎ ‎Oh, this man is going to be an absolute nightmare, I thought, a surge of irritation matching my anxiety. ‎ ‎I sat down, keeping my spine perfectly straight, and made a firm mental decision: I would listen strictly to his words and completely ignore his incredibly distracting face. ‎ ‎"I'm hosting a high-stakes meeting with our primary co-partners," he said, finally lifting his dark, steady gaze to meet mine. His eyes were entirely unreadable, like looking into a deep, frozen lake. "You will prepare the files, review the background briefs, and organize everything I will need. I’m telling you this now so you give it your absolute best." ‎ ‎Suddenly, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers once. The sharp sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room. ‎ ‎"Mess this up, Miss Jones, and you're gone." ‎ ‎I swallowed the lump in my throat, my hands gripping the fabric of my dress under the desk. "Understood, sir." ‎ ‎"That's why I said I wanted my assistants smart and knowledgeable," he added, leaning back in his leather chair, watching me closely to see if I would c***k under the pressure. "Understood?" ‎ ‎"Perfectly, sir. I won't disappoint you." ‎ ‎"You may go." ‎ ‎He waved two fingers toward the door without looking at me again, his attention already completely absorbed by his phone, as if I had ceased to exist the moment he finished speaking. ‎ ‎I stood up, held my head high, and walked out of the room, my pulse racing at a dangerous speed. ‎ ‎Well, Celine, I thought as the heavy oak door clicked shut behind me. If you're really falling for a man this cold, you are in serious, serious trouble. ‎