UNTIL HE NOTICED ME

The Beast and His Secretary

They call him The Beast of the business world.

Sebastian Cruz Valverde. Thirty years old. Multibillionaire. Owner of Celestia Luxe Resorts, Solstice Media and Communications, and Dominion Aero Dynamics. Known for making ruthless deals in boardrooms and equally ruthless decisions in his personal life.

He is also known for something else - his harem of beautiful women. Rosalind Navarro, Amara Santiagos, and countless others who came and went like seasons. Women whonparaded thought hisnlife as though auditioning for a role only he could give.

And then there's me.

Cassandra Noelle Fontaine. Twenty-seven. His secretary for five years. The woman who knows his schedule better that she knows her own. The woman who keeps his empire running smoothly. The woman who secretly loves him while watching him love ... well, everyone but her.

I call him Cruz when he's not listening. It mskes him less like a boss and more like a person. Though honestly, he hardly feels like either most days.

Today is no different.

"Cassandra!" His deep, commanding voice slices through the hallway like a knife.

I jump to my feet, smoothing the black pencil skirt I've been wearing since 7am. I swear hebhas this supernatural ability to sense when I'm about to take a five-minute coffee break.

"Yes, Mr. Valverde?" I say, stepping into his massive office.

The man doesn't even look up from his laptop.

He's in hisnusual uniform: crisp white dress shirt rolled at the sleeves, black his loosened just enough to reveal a glimpse of his collar bone, the perfect storm of sophistication and recklessness. His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, the expensive Rolex on his wrist catching the morning sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I hate him.

I love him.

God, I hate that I love him.

"Cancel my dinner with Amara tonight," he says flatly, typing something on his laptop. "Move my meeting with board to Thursday. And tell Rosalind to stop calling my personal line. If she needs something, she can talk to you first."

My lips twitch. So, Amara's out, and Rosalind's annoying him again. Noted.

"Understood," I say calmly, even though my chess tightens just a bit. One day it's Amara. Next day it's Rosalind. Before them, there were three other some whose names I had to learn just to keep up with the circus that is Sebastian's love life.

"And Cassandra?" he says finally, looking up.

My heart skips a beat. Damn him. He always does this - looks at me like I'm a piece of furniture one moment, and then the next ... like this. As though I'm someone who matters.

"Yes?"

"Coffee. Black. Strong. Like always."

Like always. Right.

"Of course, Mr. Valverde," I murmur, turning to leave.

But before I can step out, he adds, "And Cassandra?"

"Yes?"

"Don't mess it up this time. Last time it was too sweet."

I bite my tongue. Last time, he barely even tasted it before barking at me that it was wrong. He was in a foul mood because some deal didn't go through. But sure - blame the coffee. Blame me. The secretary-s***h-punching-bag.

"Noted," I say with a tight smile.

As I walk out, I hear him sighbdeeply, muttering something under his breath. Probably about me being slow, inefficient, or whatever other adjective he feels like throwing my way today.

Back at my desk, Ophelia Marlowe Esteban and Celestine Aria Voltaire, my only allies innthis chaos of an office, are waiting for me with sympathetic looks.

"Coffee order again?" Celestine whispers.

I nod.

Ophelia rolls her eyes. "The man acts like he's some Greek god who deserves ambrosia instead of caffeine."

"He is hot, though," Celestine points out with a dreamy sigh.

I give her a look. "Hot? He's a tyrant in a three-piece suit."

"Yeah," Ophelia grins. "A hot tyrant."

Before I can retort, Serena Valentina Montez and Elara Isolde Vance walk past myself like they own the place. Serena, with her perfectly styles hair and expensive perfume, sneers at my thrift-store blouse. Elara, her partner in crime, smirks as though breathing the same air as me is offensive.

"Careful with the coffee, Cassandra," Serena says sweetly. "Wouldn't want Mr. Valverde to finally notice you... fornthe wring reasons."

They giggle like high school mean girls before strutting away.

I grit my teeth. They live for moments like this - for reminding me that I'm just the secretary whole they have a shot at being something more to Sebastian Cruz Valverde.

As if he'd ever notice me that way.

When i return with his coffee, he's on the phone, speaking in rapid Spanish, voice low and dangerous. It sends shiver down my spine, even though I don't understand a word.

I set the coffee on his desk quietly.

He doesn't even look at me.

I stand there for a moment, hoping - stupidly, foolishly - that maybe he will thank me. Smile. Say something other that orders.

But all I hear is, "Yes, Amara, I said dinner is off. No, Rosalind, I don't have time. Yes, I'll call you back."

My cheat tightens again.

Five years. Five years of being his shadow, his buffer, his everything-but-not-really.

One day, I tell myself. One day he will see me.

One day ... he will notice.

When Sebastian finally hangs up the phone, he leans back in his chair, rubbing hisbtenples as if the world rests entirely on his shoulders.

It probably does.

The man runs three of the country's biggest companies, manages thousands of employees, and has the entire media watching his every move. But sometimes, on days like this, I wish he would see me not as the secretary who keeps the pieces together ... but as a person.

As Cassandra.

Not just Cassandra, get the coffee or Cassandra, reschedule my meeting.

Just Cassandra Noelle Fontaine.

"You're still here," he says suddenly, his tone sharp enough to make me flinch.

I straighten. "I just brought your coffee."

He finally looks at the cup, takes a sip, and thank God, doesn't spit itnout this time.

"Better," he murmurs.

I should be used to this by now. The clipped words. The lack of please and thank you. The way he only notices me when something goes wrong. But five years of this, and it still stings more than I care to admit.

I nod, turning to leave before I embarrass myself with the million words I want to say but can't.

But then-

"Cancel tomorrow's lunch meeting," he says abruptly. "Book a tabke at Solstice Lounge instead. Seven p.m. for two."

I hesitate. "For business?"

He gives me a look. "Does it matter?"

It doesn't. I already know the answer. Another date. Another woman who isn't me.

My heart aches. "Understood, Me. Valverde."

Back at mybdesk, I catch glimpses of Sebastian through his glass office walls. He is on another call, voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that makes grown men wear in boardrooms.

I watch him laugh at something the woman on the other end says.

I hate myself for wishing that laugh was for me.

"Cassanda," he calls again around 3 p.m.

I grabbed my notepad and rush in. "Yes,Mr. Valverde?"

He doesn't look up from the documents he is signing. "Get the marketing team on call. Tell them I want the Solstice ad campaign revised by Monday."

"Of course."

"And Cassandra?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you still standing there? Move."

The words are sharp. Too sharp.

Something twists in my chest, but I swallow it down. "Right away, sir."

As I leave, I hear him mutter something under his breath again.

Five yeats, and I have memorized this rhythm-his orders, his moods, his shape words that cut without meaning to.

But what he doesn't see- what he will probably never see - is how eachbone leaves a mark.

That night, long after the office has empties, I'm still at my desk finishing reports when he walks out of his office, coat slung over one shoulder, tie loose, looking every bad decision I have ever wanted to make.

He is walking away, phone pressed to his ear, talking to someone whose voice makes him smile in a way he never smiles at me.

I stare at the closed elevator doors long after he is gone, my chest heavy with words I will never say.

Because I know tomorrow, he will come back. He will give orders. I will obey. And the cycle will start all over again.

But maybe... just maybe... one day, he will notice me.