Chapter three:Rules of engagement
1325 Words
Zara arrived at the office twenty minutes early.
Not because she wanted to impress anyone—okay, maybe a little—but mostly because she had dreamt that she spilled coffee on Xavier’s laptop and woke up in a cold sweat. She wasn’t taking chances.
The building was quiet. The kind of quiet that screamed power sleeps here.
Armed with her tablet, a hot cup of black coffee (no sugar, no cream, no joy), and enough nerves to power a small city, she marched to the top floor.
The office door was open this time. Xavier was already there, sleeves rolled up, reading something on his tablet. Zara blinked. She had no idea billionaires worked this early. Didn’t they usually have minions for this?
"You're early," he said without looking up.
"So are you."
He glanced at her, one brow raised.
"I own the place."
"Touché. Coffee?"
He took the cup, sniffed it like a wine critic, then nodded. “Acceptable.”
Zara held back a sarcastic bow. Progress.
"Your schedule is in your inbox," she said, tapping her tablet like a pro. “I moved your meeting with Boston, reminded HR about the no-Crocs rule, and rescheduled your dentist appointment, though I’m shocked you actually go to one."
"Teeth are an asset."
"So is humility. You should invest."
A flicker of something passed across his face. Not a smile exactly. But something less ice and more… vapor.
"Don’t push your luck, Ms. Wilson."
—
By noon, she’d filed twenty-three emails, coordinated two conference calls, fetched coffee three times (because the first one wasn’t hot enough and the second one had a lid that didn’t snap properly), and talked a clueless intern out of trying to park in Xavier’s private spot.
Zara was killing it.
Until she wasn’t.
She walked into Xavier’s office to deliver some documents and caught him standing by the window, talking on the phone.
She froze.
“…I don’t care what she says, Edward. She had twenty years to care. Don’t let her guilt-trip you now. She left.”
Pause.
“I said no. I don’t want her name mentioned in my house again.”
Zara took a step back.
Too late. He turned.
Their eyes met. His expression was pure steel.
She held up the documents. “Um… Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
"Leave them."
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t yell.
But something in his tone made her feet move without thinking. She placed the folder on the desk and backed out of the room like it was on fire.
—
The rest of the day passed in a blur of awkward silences and tension so thick it could be bottled and sold as perfume: Eau de Emotional Damage.
When she finally shut down her tablet and packed up, she peeked into the office one last time.
He was still standing by the window, same stiff posture, hands clenched.
Zara took a breath. She could leave it alone. Respect the boundaries. But… screw it.
She stepped inside.
"Hey. I know I’m not supposed to ask personal questions. But… you okay?"
Xavier didn’t answer right away.
Then: “You ever been abandoned, Ms. Wilson?”
She blinked. “Wow. Straight to the emotional trauma. No warm-up?”
He turned slowly, his face unreadable.
“I was six when my mother left. Said she couldn’t do it. That raising a kid and being a wife was too much. She took her passport and disappeared.”
Zara opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"I’m sorry," she said finally. “That sucks. Big time.”
He gave a small shrug. “Made me who I am.”
Zara studied him. The perfect posture. The tailored suit. The ice-wall demeanor.
Yeah. It made sense now.
"You don’t have to tell me anything. But for what it’s worth, I think six-year-old you didn’t deserve that."
Something shifted in his eyes. Just for a second.
Then: “Go home, Ms. Wilson.”
But this time, his voice was softer.
—
Back at the apartment, Zara dropped onto the couch like a sack of tired potatoes. Tasha was waiting, a bowl of popcorn in one hand and her phone in the other.
“Tell me everything.”
Zara groaned. “He’s a walking iceberg with mommy issues and control freak tendencies.”
“So… still hot then?”
“Tasha.”
“I’m just saying, this sounds like the start of a very spicy slow burn.”
“It’s not a romance novel.”
Tasha grinned. “Oh honey… it is now.”
—
The next morning, Zara entered the office with a plan: stay out of emotional danger zones, deliver coffee like a ninja, and avoid discussing childhood trauma before noon.
But life had other plans.
Miranda approached her desk with a clipboard and a frown. “Mr. Cole wants you to accompany him to the charity gala this evening.”
Zara choked on her granola bar. “What now?”
"He needs someone to manage logistics on site. His regular assistant has a family emergency. And apparently, you’re his new favorite.”
Zara wasn’t sure if that was good or terrifying.
—
By 6PM, she stood outside the event hall in a borrowed black dress that hugged in all the wrong places and heels that threatened to break her ankles. She hadn’t been to a gala since The Splash Incident™.
Xavier pulled up in a black sports car that purred like a panther. He stepped out in a tux that looked like it had been tailored by angels.
"You clean up okay," he said.
Zara blinked. “Thanks, I think.”
He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
They entered the ballroom together. Unlike the last time, Zara wasn’t sneaking in for snacks. This time, she was part of the show.
People stared.
Whispers followed them like perfume.
"Who’s the girl?"
"Is that his assistant?"
"I heard she threw champagne at him once."
Zara pretended not to notice. She focused on logistics — handing out name tags, checking guest lists, confirming speeches.
But the real challenge was standing next to Xavier.
He was polite, charming, and terrifyingly charismatic. Women swarmed. Men nodded in respect. And through it all, he remained unreadable.
Zara admired it. And hated it.
Midway through the evening, she stepped out for air. The balcony was blessedly quiet.
A moment later, Xavier joined her.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Yeah. Just needed to breathe."
He leaned against the railing. “Events like these are useful. But exhausting.”
Zara glanced at him. “You’re really good at faking the charm.”
He shrugged. “It’s expected. But I prefer real conversations.”
“Like trauma bonding over mommy issues?”
His lip twitched. “Exactly.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the city lights stretching out below.
Then, quietly, he said: “You’re different, Ms. Wilson. Most people want something from me. You… don’t flinch.”
“Maybe I’m just bad at being scared.”
“Or maybe you’re the only one not trying to impress me.”
She turned to him. “Don’t get cocky. I’m just here for the paycheck.”
He looked at her for a long time.
Then: “Noted.”
But his eyes lingered.
—
Back inside, the night wore on. Zara danced around tables, answered questions, and avoided any more run-ins with Xavier’s past.
But as the night ended, and they waited by the valet, he spoke again.
“Tomorrow, cancel my lunch with the board. I want a full workday without interruptions.”
“Got it.”
“And Zara?”
“Yes?”
“You did well tonight.”
It was the first compliment he’d given her.
She smiled. “Try not to let it become a habit.”
He didn’t smile.
But he didn’t scowl either.
Which, for Xavier Cole, was practically a declaration of affection.
—
- Writer
