More Than His Assistant

Chapter Four

Gina's POV

The next morning when my alarm went off, it felt like I’d just closed my eyes. My whole body ached with tiredness.

I got up quietly, made Gia’s lunch, and wrote her a note. My hands were shaking, i kept expecting my phone to buzz with a message saying, “Don’t bother coming in.”

But it didn’t.

So I got dressed. I put on my second-best blouse, the one without the loose button. I told myself to be brave. I had to go in. Running away wouldn’t pay the rent.

I opened the door to my building and stopped.

Two men with cameras were standing on the sidewalk.

They saw me and immediately started clicking. “Miss Moretti! Over here! How does it feel to slap Valerie Cross?”

“Did Alexander Harrington tell you to do it?”

“Are you and Harrington having an affair?”

The questions came fast, like bullets. I pulled my coat tight around me and ducked my head, pushing past them toward the subway.

“Come on, give us a smile!” One of them ran after me.

My face was burning with shame. I could feel people on the street staring. I walked faster with my head down, wishing I could disappear.

The whole subway ride, I felt sick. When I got to the Harrington & Cross building, my stomach was in knots.

The reporters were worse at the office building. A bigger crowd was waiting at the doors. Maybe ten people, some with cameras, some with microphones.

"Miss Moretti! Look this way!"

"Is it true you're Harrington's secret girlfriend?

Everyone on the street was looking at me. I pulled my coat up to hide my face and pushed through the glass doors.

As soon as I walked in, the talking stopped. People at the front desk looked up. A group of women by the elevators stopped chatting and just stared. I could whispers and murmurs flying around.

“…that’s her…”

“…the one from the video…”

“…can you believe the nerve…”

I kept my eyes straight ahead and walked to the elevator. The ride up to my floor was the longest of my life, three other people were there with me. Nobody said a word. We all just watched the numbers light up, one by one.

My desk was in a small, open area near Alexander’s office. It wasn’t really my desk yet—just a temporary spot with a computer and a phone.

There was a single white envelope sitting right in the middle of the keyboard.

My name was typed on the front. No stamp. It had been hand-delivered.

I sat down slowly and picked it up. My fingers fumbled as I tore it open.

It was a memo, with an official Harrington & Cross letterhead.

To: Gina Moretti

From: Human Resources

Subject: Standards of Professional Conduct

This memo serves as a formal reminder that all employees of Harrington & Cross are expected to uphold the highest standards of professional behavior, both during work hours and at any company-sanctioned events. Conduct that reflects poorly on the company’s reputation will not be tolerated and may result in disciplinary action, up to and including termination of employment.

Please review the employee handbook, section 4.3, at your earliest convenience.

I just stared at the words, my vision blurring. Reflects poorly on the company’s reputation. That was me now. I was a mark on their perfect image.

The rest of the morning was a blur. I tried to work. I answered a few emails. I sorted some files Mr. Calder left for me. But I could feel eyes on me.

Every time I got up to get water, conversations in the hallway would pause. When I came back, they’d start up again.

I felt like a bug under a microscope.

Just before lunch, my computer pinged with a new email notification. The sender was A. Harrington.

The subject line was blank.

The body of the email had only two words.

My office. Now.

Fear washed over me. This was it. My time to be evicted.

I stood up, my legs were already shaking . I smoothed my blouse and walked the short distance to his office and knocked softly.

“Enter.”

His voice was clear and cold through the door.

I went in.

Alexander was sitting behind his enormous desk, looking out the window at the city.

“Close the door.” He ordered without turning around.

I did, and he finally swiveled his chair to face me. His face was calm, but his eyes were cold.

He picked up his tablet and turned it toward me. It showed a gossip website, with a blaring headline. HARRINGTON'S ASSISTANT ASSAULTS SOCIALITE. There was a blurry picture from last night.

“Well,” he chuckled. “You’ve managed to turn yourself into headline news before your first paycheck.”

I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry” felt useless. “She started it” felt childish. So I just stood there, silent.

“Look at me.” His tone didn’t change, but the command in it made me flinch.

I lifted my head and met his gaze. It was like staring into a winter sky.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” he asked. “This isn’t about a personal argument. It’s about perception. You were representing this company. Now, the perception is that my assistant assaults guests at charity events. That is a problem I now have to solve.”

“I know.” I said quietly. My eyes were burning with withheld tears.

“I don’t think you do!” He said and leaned forward slightly, placing his hands flat on the desk. “You exist in my world on my tolerance. And after last night, your balance of tolerance is very, very low.”

“So let me go.” I said, forcing the words out.

“I’ll quit. I’ll leave. That solves your problem.”

For a long moment, he was silent. He just looked at me, his expression unreadable.

Then he said, “No.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me, No.” He leaned back in his chair.

“You don’t get to create a disaster and then simply walk away from the wreckage.”

“You wanted this job. You fought for it. You even threw a rock at it. He chuckled, and his tone became dangerously low.

“So now you’ll learn what it actually means to have it.”

He stood up, walking around to the front of his desk. He stopped a few feet away from me.

“You are not fired.” he said, each word precise.

“But you are on probation. Official, HR-notified probation. One more mistake, Gina. One more misstep, one more moment where your personal feelings override your professional duty, and you are finished. Not just here. I will make sure no respectable firm in this city touches you.

Do you understand?”

It was a threat. A cold, clear, billionaire-sized threat. But wrapped inside it was a chance. A thin, terrifying lifeline.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” He didn’t move. “This isn’t kindness. It’s an investment.”

“So prove me right. Get out of my office. And for the rest of the day, be invisible.”

I turned and left, my hand trembling as I reached for the door handle.

"I left his office feeling strange. I still had a job. But it felt like I was hanging off a cliff by one hand.

The afternoon was long and quiet. I did my work alone, no one talked to me, I felt like the company's outcast.

Around three o'clock, I needed to move. We were out of pens, so I went to the supply closet to get more pens. I was looking for a black one when I heard a voice behind me.

"Gina?"

I turned around.

A man was standing in the doorway. He was holding some files. He looked familiar, like someone I knew.

"Noah?" I gasped, the name coming out like a breath.

He smiled. "Noah Fontaine. I thought that was you. I saw your name on the new hire list."

I just stared. Noah. We had gone to school together years ago, before everything got hard, he had always been kind to me.

"You work here?" I asked.

"In the design department, yeah," he said. He stepped into the closet. It was a small space, but he didn't make it feel crowded.

"I heard about what happened, are you okay?"

His question was so simple. So normal. After all the yelling, the whispers and Alexander's cold threats, it felt like a warm blanket.

"It's been a long day." I said, and I almost smiled.

"I bet," he sighed and looked at me with real concern.

"Listen, Gina don't let the gossip get you down. This place loves drama, but it forgets fast. Just keep doing your thing."

"Trying to." I chuckled.

He nodded. "I should be at a meeting now, but it's really good to see you, Gina." He pulled a business card from his pocket.

"My number's in there. If you need anything, perhaps a friend to talk to, or help finding good coffee, you can call me okay?"

I nodded and he handed me his card, our fingers touched for a brief second.

"Thanks, Noah." I smiled happily, and I meant it.

He smiled one more time and walked away.

I stood in the supply closet for a moment, holding the card. For the first time all day, I didn't feel alone.

I put the card in my pocket and walked back toward my desk. As I passed the big window that looked down into the main meeting room I threw a glance, Alexander was sitting there, talking with Mr Calder.

As if he could feel me looking, he glanced up.

His eyes met mine across the open space. Then he looked just past my shoulder, to where Noah was walking away down the hall.

Alexander's face didn't change. But his eyes went cold.

He stared right at me, his expression hard and unreadable.

Then he turned back to Mr Calder and said something, meant for only their ears.

I hurried back to my desk and sat down. My hands were shaking again.

A few minutes later, my computer made a soft ping. A new email.

It was from Alexander. The subject line was blank.

The message had only one sentence.

Explain.