Worlds Apart

Indescribable Tension

As I walked into my office, just about to sit down, the intercom buzzed. I picked it up to hear my boss’s voice on the other end, requesting that I come to his office. Could my day get any more unpredictable? I thought to myself as I made my way toward his office, curious about the reason for his call.

I gave a light knock on the door, but there was no response. I hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside, assuming that, since he had called for me, he must have known I was coming and didn’t feel the need to answer.

The office was empty. I took a moment to admire the space. I’d never really had the chance to take in the details before. It had a distinct billionaire vibe—sleek, modern, yet effortlessly luxurious. My gaze shifted to the couch at the far end of the room, near the large mirror. For a fleeting second, my mind wandered to thoughts of what it would be like to be with him there, on that couch, in a way I had no business thinking about.

A voice suddenly broke through my thoughts, and I turned so quickly that I didn’t realize how close I was to him. I collided with his chest, the force of it making me stumble back slightly. His eyes met mine, dark with an intensity I couldn’t quite decipher. Was it desire? Or irritation? Either way, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

I should have hated him. I should have been disgusted by the way he made me feel, especially considering how badly he’d treated me. But standing there, face-to-face with him, I couldn’t ignore the rush of attraction pulsing through me. I cursed myself silently, convincing myself it was just a lack of intimacy on my part—maybe I needed to get laid, and this had nothing to do with him.

I forced myself to focus on the moment. I had a job to do, after all.

He spoke in a rough tone, asking, "Who let you in?" His question caught me off guard, but I quickly apologized. "I thought you were in your office, considering you called for me," I explained, trying to keep my voice steady.

He gestured for me to sit. I moved to the opposite side of the desk and took my seat, my mind racing.

"We’ll be going for a meeting in a different country," he said matter-of-factly. "It’s standard for my personal assistant to accompany me."

I couldn't help but think of the plans I had for the evening—how badly I wanted to stay far away from him. But I needed to know when this meeting would take place, so I asked. "When is it?"

"Tomorrow," he replied, offering no sign of hesitation.

A brief wave of relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. "We’ll be gone for a week," he added, his tone unwavering. Then, as if to drive the point home, he looked at me sharply. "And from now on, address me as Mr.Adrian, not 'sir.' You’re not my help."