ChapterThree
1384 Words
FIRST DAY
ELARA'S POV
I don't sleep.
At 3 AM, I'm still staring at the ceiling, running through scenarios. At 4, I'm in the shower, scrubbing away the nervous sweat. At 5, I'm dressed in the kind of outfit designed to be forgotten the moment someone looks away, grey slacks, white blouse, hair pulled back so tight it hurts.
By 5:45, I'm standing outside the main house, watching my breath fog in the early morning air.
The door opens before I can knock.
Mrs. Chen stands there, already dressed, already judging. "You're early."
"Is that a problem?"
"No." She steps aside. "It's the first smart thing you've done."
I follow her through corridors that look different in the pre-dawn darkness. Quieter. More intimate. Like the house is still sleeping and we're intruders.
She stops outside the study. "He's been awake since four. Don't comment on it. Don't ask if he slept. Don't try to make small talk." Her eyes bore into mine. "Just do what he asks and stay out of his way."
"Understood."
She knocks once and opens the door without waiting for a response.
Julian is standing by the window, coffee in hand, staring out at the grounds. He's wearing different clothes than yesterday, charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, but he looks like he never went to bed. There's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before.
"Miss Hayes," he says without turning around. "You're early."
"You said six."
"Most people interpret that as 6:15." Now he turns, and those steel-grey eyes sweep over me once. Assessment complete. "Mrs. Chen, you can go."
The door clicks shut behind her.
We're alone.
Julian moves to his desk and gestures at the chair across from him. Not the same chair as yesterday. This one is closer. More intimate.
"Coffee?" he asks.
"Black, no sugar."
Something flickers across his face. Surprise, maybe. "How did you know I'd have coffee ready?"
"You're holding a cup. Either you made it yourself, which seems unlikely given the staff, or someone prepared it. If they prepared one cup, they prepared two."
He almost smiles. Almost. "Logical."
He pours from a carafe I hadn't noticed and slides the cup across the desk. Our fingers don't touch, but it's close.
I take a sip. It's perfect. Exactly the right temperature. Exactly the right strength.
"We need to establish expectations," Julian says, settling into his chair. "I don't operate like other employers. I don't need yes-men or people who anticipate what they think I want to hear. I need someone who tells me the truth, even when it's inconvenient."
"All right."
"I also don't tolerate incompetence, excuses, or emotional volatility. If you have a problem, solve it before it becomes my problem. If you can't solve it, tell me directly so I can solve it. Don't waste my time with hand-wringing."
"Understood."
"You'll have access to my calendar, my financial systems, and my private communications. You'll know things about my business and my life that could be valuable to a lot of people. That's why the NDA you'll sign today isn't just comprehensive, it's weaponized. Break it, and I don't just sue you. I will destroy you."
He says it without heat. Just a fact.
"Fair enough," I say.
"Do you have any questions?"
I have a thousand questions. About his father. About the business. About the bodies buried in the foundation of this empire.
But I ask none of them.
"What time do you usually start your day?"
Julian's eyebrows rise slightly. "That's your question?"
"If I'm going to anticipate your needs, I need to understand your rhythms."
He studies me for a long moment. "I wake at four. Work until six. Breakfast at seven, though I usually skip it. Meetings start at eight and run until six or seven in the evening. I eat dinner around nine. I'm in bed by midnight."
"Every day?"
"Every day."
"When do you rest?"
"I don't."
It's not a boast. Just fact.
I don't point out that it's unsustainable. That he's burning himself out. That no one can maintain that pace indefinitely.
He already knows.
"Your first task," Julian says, pulling out a tablet, "is to familiarize yourself with my calendar and flag anything that seems inefficient. I want your honest assessment by end of day."
He slides the tablet across the desk.
I take it, scroll through the first page. His schedule is insane. Back-to-back meetings with no breaks. Calls scheduled during lunch. A dinner meeting that runs until 11 PM.
"Second task," he continues, "review the prospectus for the Meridian acquisition and summarize the key risks. Twenty pages maximum. I need it by three."
"Anything else?"
"Yes." He stands, buttons his jacket. "I have a breakfast meeting downtown in forty-five minutes. You're coming with me. Bring the tablet. Take notes on anything I reference that needs follow-up."
My pulse quickens. "Should I—"
"You have five minutes to get whatever you need from your quarters. Meet me at the front entrance."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone in his study with his coffee and his tablet and his complete trust that I won't abuse either.
I should feel triumphant. I'm in. I have access. This is exactly what I needed.
Instead, I feel something else. Something I can't name.
I push it down and head for the door.
The car is already waiting when I reach the front entrance. Not a limousine—that would be too obvious. Instead, it's a sleek black sedan with windows tinted dark enough to hide whoever's inside.
Julian is in the back seat, already on his phone, typing rapidly.
I slide in beside him.
The driver pulls away without a word.
"The meeting is with Richard Chen," Julian says without looking up from his phone. "He runs Chen Industries. You worked for his cousin in Boston."
My blood turns to ice.
He knows.
Of course he knows. He would have called them. Verified my references. The Chens would have confirmed everything because I made sure they would, but—
"Small world," I manage.
"Isn't it." Julian's eyes cut to me. "He specifically asked about you when he heard I'd hired a new assistant. Said his cousin spoke highly of your discretion."
"That's good to hear."
"He also said you left rather suddenly. Family emergency."
I hold his gaze. "My brother's death wasn't sudden, but dealing with the estate was urgent."
It's not quite a lie. Liam did have an estate. I did have to deal with it. The fact that his estate consisted of a studio apartment and a laptop full of evidence he'd been gathering against the Blackthornes is just detail.
Julian nods slowly. "Chen's going to push hard on the Meridian deal. He wants a larger stake than I'm willing to give. Your job is to take notes and watch his tells."
"His tells?"
"Everyone has them. The way they shift when they're lying. The micro-expressions when they're hiding something. I need to know what he's not saying as much as what he is."
"You want me to read him."
"I want you to see what I might miss because I'm too close to the negotiation."
The car glides to a stop outside a restaurant that doesn't have a sign. The kind of place where if you have to ask, you can't afford it.
Julian pockets his phone. "One more thing. Chen is going to flirt with you. Probably ask you to dinner. You're going to politely decline."
"Because?"
"Because I don't share my resources."
The possessiveness in his voice catches me off guard. Not because it's aggressive—it's not. It's matter-of-fact. Like I'm a tool he's acquired and he doesn't loan out his tools.
I should be offended.
Instead, something warm and dangerous curls in my chest.
"Understood," I say.
We get out of the car.
The restaurant is exactly what I expected. Quiet. Expensive. The kind of place where deals worth millions get made over eggs benedict.
Richard Chen is already seated at a corner table. Mid-fifties. Tailored suit. The kind of smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
He stands when he sees us. "Julian. Good to see you."
They shake hands with the precise amount of pressure that conveys respect without warmth.
Then Chen's eyes land on me.
- Writer
