Chapter 3
539 Words
The next morning, Elena clutched a notebook as Daniel rattled off instructions with military precision.
“You’ll answer his calls, manage his schedule, screen his emails. Be invisible when you need to be, efficient always. Mr. Knight despises incompetence.”
Elena muttered under her breath, “Pretty sure he despises everyone.”
Daniel arched a brow but didn’t comment.
By 9 a.m., she was seated at her new desk outside Alex’s office, fingers hovering uncertainly over the sleek computer keyboard. It was worlds away from the clunky register at the café.
Her first mistake came fast.
“Miss Hayes,” Alex’s voice cut like a blade from behind his door. “Where’s the updated itinerary for the Landon merger?”
Elena flipped through her notes, panicked. “Um—Daniel didn’t—”
“Figure it out,” he snapped, already dismissing her.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She wanted to march in there and throw the damn itinerary at his too-perfect face. Instead, she gritted her teeth, tracked it down, and delivered it with a smile sweet enough to curdle milk.
The day dragged on like a battlefield. She typed, fetched coffee, rescheduled meetings — and each time Alex found something to criticize. Too slow. Wrong font. Not efficient enough.
By lunch, she was ready to strangle him with his designer tie. Instead, she slipped into the breakroom with her sketchbook, losing herself in lines and shading.
“Interesting,” a deep voice drawled.
She jumped. Alex stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on her half-finished sketch of the city skyline.
Heat rushed to her face. “Ever heard of knocking?”
His lips curved faintly. “You have talent. Surprising.”
“Surprising?” she echoed, bristling.
“You don’t strike me as disciplined. Yet your lines are precise.” His gaze lingered on her art, then flicked to her flushed face. “Perhaps there’s more to you than clumsy mistakes.”
She gaped. Was that… a compliment? From him?
Before she could reply, he turned and left, as if the moment had never happened.
That night, Alex insisted she ride with him to a client dinner. The sleek black car was silent, tension thick as smoke.
Elena stared out the window, refusing to look at him. But every nerve in her body was aware of him — the warmth radiating from his presence, the subtle scent of his cologne, the sheer force of him filling the small space.
“You’ll need to learn discretion,” he said finally, voice low. “Not everything requires your sass.”
Her head whipped around. “And you’ll need to learn you’re not the king of the universe.”
For a heartbeat, silence. Then — to her shock — his lips twitched, the barest hint of amusement.
She turned back to the window, heart hammering.
What the hell was happening to her?
- Writer
