The following morning arrived with a blur of nerves and caffeine.
Aria stood in front of the mirror of her tiny apartment, adjusting her modest blouse for the third time. The reflection staring back was composed… or at least pretending to be. Hair slicked into a tight bun. Lips glossed with the last of her budget makeup. Confidence faked to perfection.
"You can do this," she whispered.
She had to.
She wasn't just working for a company now. She was working for him.
Dominic Blackwood.
The name had haunted her dreams all night. A man who could command a room without speaking. Who made her skin prickle with tension and heat with a single glance. Who made her sign a contract forbidding romance—as if falling in love with him was an expected occupational hazard.
Aria grabbed her bag and headed out.
The elevator to the 70th floor dinged softly as she stepped off. It was too early for most of the staff to be in. The hallway was silent, slick with marble and ego.
A receptionist greeted her politely. "Miss Monroe. Mr. Blackwood is waiting in his office."
Aria nodded, heels tapping on polished stone as she walked toward the lion's den.
The large glass doors were already slightly ajar. She knocked once and entered.
Dominic stood with his back to her, looking out over the city through floor-to-ceiling windows. His silhouette against the morning skyline was a sculpted shadow—strong shoulders, perfect posture, effortless power.
He turned slowly at the sound of the door.
"Right on time," he said.
"I don't believe in being late."
"Good. That's rule number two."
She paused. "I don't remember seeing that one in the contract."
He gave a faint smirk. "Some rules aren't written. You'll learn them as we go."
Aria stiffened. "Understood."
He walked toward his desk, picking up a sleek leather-bound tablet and handing it to her. "This is your schedule. Meetings. Calls. Travel. Everything I expect you to memorize within the hour."
Her brows lifted. "You want me to memorize your week in one hour?"
Dominic leaned in just enough to make her nerves hum.
"I want you to be me when I'm not around. That means knowing what I need before I say it. That means paying attention. That means… not wasting my time."
Aria met his gaze head-on. "I don't plan to."
Something flickered in his eyes. Approval? Or amusement?
"Good," he said, stepping back. "Because your real job starts now."
Aria spent the next six hours tailing Dominic from boardroom to boardroom, scribbling notes, answering quick-fire questions, and watching him control billion-dollar conversations like a master conductor.
He didn't just speak—he commanded.
People stammered under his scrutiny. Executives straightened their ties when he entered the room. Even shareholders looked like they needed to hold their breath when he passed.
It was exhilarating—and exhausting.
At noon, they were back in his office. Aria was organizing his files when he glanced up from his laptop.
"You didn't eat," he said.
"I don't eat when I'm running on adrenaline."
"Then you'll burn out by week's end," he said dryly. "Sit."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he'd already pressed the intercom.
"Carla. Bring lunch."
Minutes later, a gourmet spread arrived—grilled salmon, couscous salad, lemon water. It smelled like heaven.
Dominic sat across from her at the conference table. She hesitated, watching him.
"I'm not used to… this," she admitted.
"Expensive lunches?"
"Attention from my boss."
"I give attention where it's deserved," he said simply.
They ate in silence for a moment.
Then he asked, "Why marketing?"
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Out of every career path, why marketing?"
Aria considered, then said, "Because stories sell. People don't buy products. They buy emotion. Identity. I like shaping that."
He studied her for a long beat.
"I suppose that's true," he murmured. "Everyone wants to be sold a fantasy."
She tilted her head. "What fantasy do you sell?"
Dominic leaned back, fingers steepled. "Control. Stability. Wealth. The illusion that everything is under command, even when it's not."
"And is it?" she asked.
"What?"
"Under control?"
He paused.
"No," he said quietly. "But no one needs to know that."
For the first time, Aria saw something behind the mask. A fracture. A flicker of vulnerability he quickly buried.
The rest of the day passed with less intensity. She sorted emails, scheduled meetings, coordinated with his travel team, and by 7:00 PM, her feet were aching and her brain felt like melted wax.
She walked into his office to drop off the last file of the day.
Dominic was still there, seated in the dark, a glass of something expensive in his hand.
He looked up. "You lasted longer than I expected."
Aria raised a brow. "Should I be flattered or offended?"
"Take your pick."
She placed the file on his desk and straightened. "Is there anything else you need tonight?"
He set his drink down and stood. "Yes."
She swallowed. "What is it?"
He approached slowly, stopping just short of her personal space.
"I need to know if you meant what you said yesterday."
"About what?"
"Not being afraid of anything."
Aria met his gaze, unwavering. "I did."
"Then here's your first test."
He walked to a locked drawer and pulled out a small velvet box.
Aria frowned. "What's that?"
Dominic opened it.
Inside was a sleek, black wristwatch—simple, elegant, masculine. Engraved underneath was a date.
"Wear this tomorrow," he said.
"Why?"
"You're attending a gala with me. Black-tie. Corporate sponsors. Expect eyes on us."
Her throat tightened. "I wasn't told—"
"You're being told now."
She hesitated. "Is this part of the job description?"
"No," he said, voice like steel. "It's part of my description."
Her fingers closed around the box. "Fine."
Dominic moved closer, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.
"There will be photographers. Rumors. Assumptions."
"I can handle it," she whispered.
"I'm not worried about you," he said, voice suddenly softer. "I'm worried about me."
Her heart jumped. "Why?"
"Because I don't break rules," he said, stepping back. "And you make me want to."