50th Floor
1692 Words
Owen’s pale blue eyes didn’t change.
“There wasn’t,” he said evenly. “Kieran operates on chaos. It’s usually effective.” He pushed off the wall and took a step toward her.
Not threatening. But deliberate and was rather assessing the girl.
“The woman with the plant. Penny. You knew her?”
“No. I’ve never seen her before.”
“But you stepped in,” he continued. “Between her and the guard.”
Nadia thought of the man’s grip. The woman’s trembling wrist.
“He was hurting her.”
“He was doing his job.”
“That was a bad job.”
Something flickered across Owen’s face— Was it amusement? Was it irritation? But, unfortunately, it disappeared too quickly.
“You made it worse,” he said. “Turned a minor situation into a scene.”
The elevator climbed in silence.
42.
43.
“She was scared,” Nadia said, her voice tighter than she intended.
“Everyone is scared of something,” he replied, his gaze dropping to the portfolio in her hands. “What’s in there?”
She tightened her grip. “My résumé. Writing samples. References.”
“It’s dirty.”
“The plant fell.”
“So it did.”
He reached out. Not for the file.
His fingers brushed lightly against the back of her hand. A brief, unexpected contact. Warm.
“You’re shaking.”
She hadn’t been.
Not until he said it.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He withdrew his hand. “But you didn’t back down. That matters.”
The elevator chimed. And the doors opened.
---
The fiftieth floor was nothing like the lobby.
It was Warmer, Softer.
The lighting was golden, almost inviting. A large reception desk sat empty, facing floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city in breathtaking detail. Sunlight spilled across the space.
And yet—
It was silent.
Completely empty.
Owen stepped out, his shoes making no sound against the thick cream carpet.
“This,” he said, gesturing toward the vacant desk, “is the problem.”
Nadia followed, her heels sinking slightly into the plush floor.
“Where is everyone?”
“Fired. Quit. Or burned out,” he said flatly, walking toward a set of pale wood double doors. “The last assistant lasted a week. Left a resignation letter written in eyeliner on the bathroom mirror.”
He pushed the doors open.
His office was less a room and more a command center.
The view was staggering—glass stretching wide over the city. A long desk sat near the windows, holding three dark monitors, a laptop, a closed file, and a single mug.
Everything was precise and kept in place. Except— Small disruptions.
A suit jacket draped carelessly over a chair.
Financial journals scattered across a low table.
A brightly colored child’s hair clip resting near the edge of the desk. An empty baby bottle near the wastebasket.
Nadia noticed all of it.
The cracks around the room.
Owen walked to the window, his back to her.
“Kieran thinks I need a gatekeeper,” he said. “Someone to manage access. Filter out… debris.”
His gaze flicked briefly to the hair clip.
“What do you think?”
Nadia stayed near the doorway, holding her portfolio like a shield.
She took in the room again. Taking in power and the disorder it represents. The ruthless efficiency of this man and the heartbreaker reputation he possessed was all true. This was the chaotic world she’d heard about. It wasn’t glamorous chaos.
It felt… isolated.
“I think,” she said carefully, “you need someone who isn’t afraid of the mess.”
He turned slowly.
“Are you afraid of it, Nadia Adams?”
Her name sounded different in his voice. And undeniably sexy.
“I’m afraid of not paying my tuition,” she said, the honesty surprising even her. “I’m afraid of going back to a job where I’m not respected, where the manager stares at my ass all day.” She gestured lightly around the office. “So, This? This is just a complicated room.”
He studied her.
He didn’t smile at her answer. Instead, Owen left the open window with the sunlight leaving him too, and the whole of his attention was laid on her as if it were a tangible thing.
He circled slightly, observing her the way he had downstairs—taking in details.
Her grip on the portfolio.
Her posture.
Her shoes.
“A complicated room,” he repeated softly.
He nudged a journal closed with his foot, then picked up the small butterfly hair clip, turning it between his fingers.
“Most people see the view. The money,” he said. “They don’t see this.”
“What do you see?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Owen began a slow, deliberate scan from her well packed ponytail to the modest neckline of her blouse, down to her shoes and then his eyes went back up.
His gaze returned to her. Slow and deliberate.Not inappropriate.
But not neutral either.
“I see a system failing,” he said. “Missed signals. Poor boundaries. Emotional interference disrupting function.” He set the clip back down. “Kieran sees a staffing issue. I see something deeper.”
“Those women don’t seem to leave me alone.” He added, laughing a bit.
He stepped closer.
He was close enough now that she caught his scent. Gosh! This man screams ruin but she knew otherwise than to say it out loud.
“You’re not hiring a secretary,” Nadia said quietly. “You’re hiring an immune system.”
Silence.
And she could feel the intense gaze in his eyes. Almost like approval
“Can you be ruthless, Nadia Adams?”
“I told you what I’m afraid of.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
She held his gaze.
“Yes.”
He searched her face for hesitation. Found none.
The air between them shifted.
Something subtle. Charged. Not spoken. But present.
He noticed it too.
The low, steady noise of the building's air conditioner disappeared into a barely noticeable sound and now Nadia could only hear her own heartbeat in her ears.
It passed just as quickly.
He stepped back.
“The job,” he said, voice controlled again, “is saying no. To people. To requests. To manipulation dressed as opportunity. You are a wall. Can you do that?”
Nadia forced herself to focus. On the job. Not the moment.
“Yes.”
“Give me an example.”
She straightened slightly.
“You’re at an event,” he continued. “A stunning, high profile lady, wearing very little, puts her room key in my jacket pocket. She also whispers something to me in my ear. You see it. What do you do?”
Nadia exhaled slowly, steadying her thoughts.
All she could see was the phantom woman, the slide of a key, the whisper. All she could feel was the violent, irrational slice of jealousy that followed the image.
“I… retrieve the key. After she leaves. I return it to you with the rest of the evening’s business items.”
“Wrong.” He didn’t move. “You intercept her before she gets within three feet of me. You take the key, you thank her for her interest in Evans philanthropic initiatives, and you direct her to the press liaison. You are a human firewall. Nothing gets through to me unless you vet it first. Understood?”
She nodded, almost unable to breathe. The wetness between her legs was her secret shame, a raw, aching betrayal of the professional she was supposed to be.
He locked his eyes with hers, and she realized that he was aware.. The atmosphere was laden with the understanding of their shared wrongdoing.
“Do you get me?”
“Yes… I intercept,” she said. “Before she reaches you. I redirect her—professionally. Without making a scene.”
He watched her closely.
Then nodded once.
“Better.”
He moved past her slightly, then continued:
“The personnel are professional here. My schedule. My communications. My space. You control access to all of it.” His tone hardened slightly. “No one gets through without being vetted. No exceptions.”
His eyes met hers again.
“That includes people who think familiarity gives them access, and anyone who thinks a past… intimacy… grants them a door.”
The way he said “intimacy” was brutal. It sounded like a contaminant.
The implication hung between them. Clear.
“Understood,” Nadia said.
Then—
“Why?” she asked quietly.
He tilted his head. “Why what?”
“Why do you need a wall?” she said. “You seem capable of handling it yourself.”
For a moment— he didn’t answer.
Something shifted in his expression. He just looked at her. The mask of the impatient billionaire was gone. In its place was something weary, something starkly real.
He turned slightly toward the window.
“Because I’m tired,” he said, almost too quietly to hear.
Then it was gone.
Replaced by control.
“Because inefficiency costs time. And time costs money,” he continued. “You’re a solution, Miss Adams. A buffer.”
The word should have felt cold.
But it didn’t land that way.
Not after that brief moment.
“The salary is one-fifty,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Plus performance-based bonuses. Benefits. Car service after eight p.m. Your academic schedule will be accommodated—within reason.”
Nadia blinked.
“You’ll start Monday. Kieran will handle paperwork and NDAs. They are comprehensive.” His gaze sharpened. “If confidentiality is breached, I won’t sue you. I’ll end your career before it even begins.”
Silence.
The offer settled between them.
Heavy, as real as it could be. .
“You’re hiring me,” she said.
“I’m implementing a solution,” he corrected, moving behind his desk and sitting down. “Do you accept the terms?”
- Writer
