HIS ASSISTANT, HIS TERMS

NO DISTRACTIONS

Clara’s POV

By early afternoon, my head ached.

Not from exhaustion, not from boredom. Just the dull, constant weight of keeping everything under control while knowing one misstep will draw Adrian’s attention and his ire.

I glanced at the clock. 1:05 PM. Lunch. I hadn't eaten. I didn't allow myself to. Coffee had been enough for mornings, and the deadlines didn’t care if my stomach growled.

I grabbed a granola bar from my drawer and sat back down at my desk. Quick bites between emails, fingers flying over the keyboard. One hand checked the calendar; the other tracked confirmations in the chat.

Every few minutes, my phone buzzed with a message from him:

Adrian: Update me on the financial corrections.

Adrian: Did legal approve the revised deck?

Adrian: Send me the client timeline again.

I replied as quickly as I could, precise, neutral and professional. Not a word too many, not a hesitation. Not that it matters. Nothing I say or do earned praise. That was just how Adrian operates.

Halfway through the granola bar, I realized crumbs were scattered on my notes. I brushed them off mechanically, annoyed at myself.

“Ms Lane,” a voice called from the stairwell.

It’s one of the junior assistants, timid, carrying a stack of papers.

“Yes?” I asked, not looking up.

“I, um—” she hesitated. “There’s a call from marketing. They need confirmation on the updated deck.”

I glanced at her, voice flat. “I’ve already sent it. Tell them to check their inbox. If they call again, I’ll handle it.”

She nodded and scurried away, relieved.

I exhaled, running a hand down my face. Lunch was officially over.

By 2:15 PM, I'd rearranged three more meetings because two clients shifted their times at the last minute. My phone buzzed again:

Adrian: "Why is the Thursday presentation still showing a thirty-minute buffer?

I groan. I had already corrected it once this morning. I type back:

Clara: I have already removed it, sir.

Two minutes later:

Adrian: Check it again. I don’t trust assumptions.

I clamped my jaw, took a deep breath, and went back to the calendar. Efficiency is the only shield I have.

The office hummed around me, lights buzzing faintly. The top floor felt like a glass cage. I couldn't escape it. I could only keep moving.

By 3 PM, I decided to take five minutes. I stepped over to the small pantry, poured a bottle of water, and leaned against the counter.

Why am I always running around like a robot? I think.

I sipped, closed my eyes for a second, and listened. The building was quiet, almost suspiciously so. Only the faint hum of computers and the occasional elevator bell reached me.

I shook my head and turned back to my desk. Focus. Efficiency. Deadlines. That’s all that mattered.

At 3:30 PM, I was in the middle of reconciling client notes when the elevator dinged.

I glanced up automatically.

A woman stepped out. Tall. Fashioned in something that screamed effortless wealth. Her heels clicked confidently, echoing down the hall. She doesn’t look lost, doesn’t hesitate. She scanned the floor and saw me.

“You’re his assistant?” she asks, her voice faintly amused.

I stood, carefully. “Yes. Can I help you?”

She tilted her head, lips curled into a smirk. “I’m here to see Adrian.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” she said, dismissively, rolling her eyes. “I don't think i need an appointment to see him.”

Before I could respond, Adrian’s office door opened. He stepped out. His gaze cuts straight towards her.

“You’re late,” he said.

She shrugged. “Traffic was kind.”

He glanced at me, then back at her. “Cancel my remaining meetings for today. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

I opened my mouth, but he was already walking past me toward her, not waiting for any reply.

He guided her with his hands on her back, towards his office. The door closed behind them, leaving me frozen, heart racing.

I couldn’t see them, couldn’t hear anything, and yet the perfume she left in the air was enough to make my chest tighten.

I sat back at my desk. My hands hovered over the keyboard, but nothing felt urgent anymore. The silence was heavy. My entire day had been undone in fifteen seconds and the arrival of a stranger I couldn’t place.

Who was she? What did she want from him? Why wasn’t she on the schedule?

I didn’t know. And for Adrian, that ambiguity was intentional.

I told myself to focus, but my eyes kept flicking toward his office door. My stomach knots with something I couldn’t name.

Not anger. Not jealousy. Not exactly fear. Something worse.

Curiosity. Helpless curiosity.

And somewhere deep, buried under professionalism and discipline, the sharp sting of being completely irrelevant to him at that moment.