CHAPTER 7&8: Icy Beginning
1451 Words
Ava’s breath caught the moment their eyes met.
No.
*No.*
Her jaw practically hit the floor.
*Mr. Grayson?*
The arrogant, insufferably handsome man from the hospital was *her new boss*?
He was staring too—stone-faced, cold. Not surprised. More like… irritated.
“Good morning, sir,” she managed, standing up straight.
“You,” he said flatly. His voice was deep, laced with disdain.
Ava blinked. “Yes… Ava Morales. Your new secretary.”
His icy gaze scanned her ID badge, then her face. Slowly. Silently.
“You’re the one from the lake,” he muttered, almost as if he tasted something sour.
“And the one who pulled your father out of it,” she said sweetly.
Alex’s jaw ticked. “That doesn’t make you qualified.”
“But it got me here.” She smiled.
For a second, there was a flicker in his eyes. Something unreadable.
“You have ten minutes to organize the mess on my desk,” he said coldly. “I don’t like mistakes. And I have no patience for incompetence. Understood?”
“Crystal clear,” Ava replied, already walking toward his glass-walled office.
—
She worked in silence, fingers flying across files and folders, trying not to shake. She could feel his presence behind the glass. His shadow. His judgment.
Every now and then, she looked up—and caught him *watching her.* Not kindly. Not kindly at all.
More like... waiting for her to slip.
—
Alex leaned on the edge of his desk, arms crossed.
Her hands moved fast. Precise.
But she was too confident. Too bold.
*Too much like her.*
His ex.
The memory hit him like a crack to the ribs.
Same fire. Same pretty face. Same spark behind the eyes that said *you can’t control me.*
He hated it.
He hated her.
But still… he couldn’t stop watching.
—
Ava stood, smoothing her skirt. “Done.”
Ava set the files on his desk and began arranging things with calm precision. His desk was already intimidating—sleek black wood, spotless glass surface. But it was scattered with notes, two phones, and a luxury pen she noticed wasn’t capped properly.
She reached to fix it.
In doing so, her arm brushed against his shoulder.
Barely.
But *barely* was enough.
His scent hit her like a slow, smoldering slap.
*Masculine. Clean. Dangerous.*
Crisp cologne with hints of leather and dark spice.
Ava’s breath hitched.
Oh no.
She immediately stepped back, heat flooding her neck.
*Pull it together, Morales. You're not a schoolgirl.*
Alex didn’t react. Didn’t blink. But his eyes slid up slowly—too slowly—locking with hers for a split second. Calculating. Cold. Curious?
“Anything else, sir?” she asked, clearing her throat.
He leaned back, resting against the leather swivel chair, fingers steepled.
“Leave. I’ll let you know when I need you.”
Ava gave a tight nod, spun on her heel, and walked out.
She could feel his eyes on her the entire time.
As the glass door closed behind her with a soft *click*, Alex finally looked up. His gaze lingered on the now-empty space she left behind.
*Bold little thing.*
She reminded him too much of the past.
Too stubborn. Too honest.
—
Outside, Ava let out a shaky breath and sank into her seat.
*Mabel wasn’t kidding. He’s hot. And horrible. All in one. What a combo.*
She brushed her fingers along the sleek desk and started going through the stack of documents.
Schedules. Policy forms. A printed list titled *“EVENT: LUXE CHARITY GALA – Dress Code Required.”*
She paused.
A gala?
As she skimmed the page, she noticed one line:
*“All executive staff, including personal secretaries, are expected to attend.”*
*Oh God…*
Her heart skipped.
She looked up, eyes drifting toward the glass.
Inside, Alex sat at his desk, talking on the phone—expression serious, jaw tight.
The man looked like a walking Calvin Klein ad with an attitude problem.
*And now she had to attend a gala? With him there?*
This job was already testing her patience… and her self-control.
She groaned quietly, covering her face with the folder.
*Day one, and he already smells like trouble.*
—
Ava stepped out of the cab and took a deep breath, the cool evening air brushing against her skin. The sky was already dark, casting a sleepy hue over the neighborhood. She stared up at their small apartment window and exhaled sharply.
Day one, and she already felt like she had survived a week.
Unlocking the door quietly, she stepped into the dimly lit living room. The house smelled like chamomile and lavender — her mom's usual evening tea. Her eyes drifted to the couch where Mia lay curled up under a blanket, already asleep. The soft hum of the fan whirled lazily in the corner. Daisy wasn’t home yet — probably still at school or at a friend’s house studying.
Dropping her bag on the floor, Ava tiptoed into her room and shut the door behind her, letting out the sigh she had been holding all day. She flopped face-first onto the bed, groaning into her pillow.
Her mind betrayed her quickly — rewinding to *him*.
Alexander Grayson.
She turned onto her back, one hand across her forehead.
"Ugh, he's impossible."
The way he had been barking orders at her — like she was some robot programmed to just nod and obey. Meetings. Schedule. Desk arrangement. File sorting. And the stupid espresso machine that apparently only she was supposed to master for *his* picky taste.
Still, admist all her rage, her mind couldn’t stop replaying the moment she had accidentally brushed his arm while reaching to cover an uncap pen on his desk. The look in his eyes... the sharp way he glanced at her like she’d touched something forbidden. The way her heart had started racing. The scent of his cologne — sharp, masculine, and way too intoxicating. His handsome, annoying, arrogant aura wrapped around her like static.
“Snap out of it, Ava,” she muttered to herself.
She rolled over, burying her face into her pillow again.
He was arrogant, dismissive, controlling. And yet… stupidly gorgeous.
And worse? He knew it.
"One day in and I already wanted to snap his perfectly handsome head off his perfectly built shoulders," she mumbled, eyes narrowing at the ceiling.
She sighed and reached over to her nightstand, pulling out the event file she had accidentally taken home — the one Mabel left on her desk earlier.
Her brows lifted as she flipped through it.
*“Event: Luxe Charity Gala”*
Her eyes scanned the words again.
An exclusive annual event for the wealthy and powerful across LA's business world.
And she was officially listed as Alexander Grayson’s personal assistant for the entire evening.
“Oh no…” she whispered. “This is going to be a nightmare.”
*¶ GRAYSON PENTHOUSE SUITE*
Alexander Grayson stood on his balcony, city lights twinkling beneath him like scattered diamonds. A glass of whiskey dangled between his fingers, untouched.
His jaw clenched.
He hated how distracted he felt.
He’d hired dozens of secretaries over the years. Most came and went, barely lasting a week. But this one—Ava Morales—was already crawling under his skin after a single day.
She was... different.
Not because she was stunning — though she was, with that ridiculous cascade of red hair and those sharp hazel eyes — but because she didn’t fawn over him. She didn’t flirt. She looked at him like he was the enemy.
And strangely, that made it harder to ignore her.
He took a sip of the whiskey and turned back inside.
His office desk was littered with files. One, in particular, was open — Ava’s profile. Her background. Her grades. Her clean record. Her family status.
He had no reason to distrust her.
But trust wasn’t something he gave easily. Not anymore.
He shut the file, teeth gritting.
His mind unwillingly wandered to her fingers brushing his arm earlier that day. It was nothing — a brief touch. Barely noticeable. But his body had noticed.
He'd stiffened like a damn rookie.
“Pathetic,” he muttered to himself, downing the drink.
But still, the scent of her perfume — sweet and barely there — lingered in his senses.
No. She was off-limits.
*Strictly business.*
He’d learned the hard way what happens when you blur those lines.
And he wasn’t going to let another woman — no matter how tempting — break past the walls he’d spent years building.
Even if she already cracked the surface.
- Writer
