HATED FIRST

Chapter 4: Rule #3

Day 2 started with a new rule taped to my desk.

White paper. Black ink. His handwriting again. Cold. Perfect. Angry.

`Rule #3: You don’t speak unless spoken to. - A.S.`

I stared at it for 10 seconds. Then I took a pen and wrote underneath: Rule #4: You’re not my boss outside of 9-5. - E.C.`

I taped it back on his desk at 6:55am.

He saw it at 7:00:01 sharp. Didn’t say anything. Just ripped it up and dropped it in the trash.

“Good morning to you too, Mr. Sterling,” I said. Voice sweet. Fake.

“Coffee,” he said. “Black. No sugar. No cream. No attitude.”

“Can’t promise all three,” I said.

Gray eyes lifted from his laptop. “Try.”

The board meeting disaster was yesterday. Today was worse. Today was quiet. Today was him testing how much I could take before I quit.

He called me into his office 8 times before lunch. “Fix this report.” “Reschedule that.” “Stand there.” “Don’t stand there.” “Move your hand.” Again with the hand thing.

Each time he got closer than necessary. Each time his cologne hit me. Creed Aventus. $300 a bottle. Winter in a bottle.

At 2pm he said: “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Client dinner. You’re my assistant. You assist.”

The restaurant was on the 80th floor. All glass. All money. All people who looked at me like I was serving them.

Adrian sat across from Mr. Chen. Billionaire investor. He talked numbers. I took notes. My hand cramped. My heels killed me.

Halfway through dinner, Mr. Chen said: “Mr. Sterling, your assistant seems… tired. Does Sterling Corp not feed its employees?”

Adrian didn’t miss a beat. “Ms. Cole prefers to skip meals. Says it helps her focus.”

Lie.

I hadn’t eaten since yesterday because my $12 was gone. But he didn’t know that. He just assumed.

Heat rose in my face. “I’m fine,” I said.

Mr. Chen pushed his plate forward. Half-eaten steak. “Then you won’t mind finishing this. Waste not, want not, right?”

The table went silent. Humiliation. Public. Clean.

I reached for the plate. My hands were shaking. Not from hunger. From hate.

A hand stopped me. Adrian’s hand. Over mine on the plate.

“Ms. Cole doesn’t eat leftovers,” he said. Voice flat. Final. “She has standards. Unlike some people.”

He signaled the waiter. “New plate. For Ms. Cole. Whatever she wants. On me.”

Mr. Chen laughed. Awkward. “Of course. Of course.”

I stared at Adrian. He didn’t look at me. Just went back to talking numbers like he hadn’t just saved me from eating trash in front of billionaires.

My chest felt weird. Tight. Hot. Not hate. Something else. Something dangerous.

After dinner, in the car back to Sterling Tower, neither of us spoke. Manhattan lights blurred past the window.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said finally.

“I didn’t,” he said. Staring out the window. “I wanted to.”

Silence.

“Rule #5,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Don’t skip meals. I can’t have my assistant fainting in meetings. Bad for business.”

“That’s not a rule. That’s you caring.”

“It’s business,” he said. Too fast. “Employees who faint cost the company money.”

“Right,” I said. “Business.”

We stopped at a red light. He pulled a protein bar from his glove box. Threw it in my lap without looking.

“Eat it,” he said. “That’s an order, Ms. Cole.”

I unwrapped it. Peanut butter. My favorite. I never told him.

“Why peanut butter?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

Lucky guess. Right. Adrian Sterling didn’t guess. He calculated.

I ate it slowly. He watched the road. But I saw his jaw tick. Once. Like he was mad at himself.

Back at his office at 11pm, he handed me an envelope. Thick. Heavy.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Advance on your salary,” he said. “For your mother’s treatment. Pay me back when you can. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

“I didn’t ask—”

“I know,” he cut me off. “That’s why I’m giving it.”

He walked to his window. Back to me. Wall up again. Ice King again.

“Go home, Ms. Cole. Before 7am tomorrow. And Esther—”

He stopped himself. Didn’t say my first name. Cleared his throat.

“Ms. Cole. Don’t make me regret this.”

I clutched the envelope. $10,000. More money than I’d seen in years.

I hated him. I hated that he was kind when I wanted him to be cruel. I hated that the cracks in his ice were starting to look like windows.

Because if Adrian Sterling could be kind…

Then maybe I was in more trouble than I thought.