Mick strolled in with a swagger that suggested he had just won whatever negotiation had taken place. Killian shadowed him in silence, and Bryan brought up the rear, both with a silent, watchful presence.
Bryan's poker face cracked as he watched Mick stride into the department like he owned the place. The younger man's head turned, scanning every corner clearly searching for something—or someone—specific.
Neville ducked his head into his work, trying to become invisible. But he could feel it—the weight of someone's gaze. When he risked a glance up, Mick was already sweeping the room like he was inspecting his own property.
"Nice setup you've got here," Mick said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"We pride ourselves on our organizational structure," Bryan replied, his tone so neutral it could have been discussing the weather.
Mick's gaze swept across the rows of desks, lingering on some employees longer than others. Sarah straightened her blazer nervously. Iris emerged from her workstation, inserting a memory chip into her quantum computer with files that definitely didn't require her immediate attention. Everyone was trying to look busy while secretly watching the drama unfold.
Neville's hazel-brown hair was slightly messy, likely from another marathon of files. His ridiculous nerd glasses caught the light—unfortunately, bouncing it straight into Mick's eyes—which landed on Neville.
His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "There he is!"
"You." Mick's voice boomed across the department, sharp and utterly disturbing. He pointed directly toward Neville with all the delight of a child spotting their favorite toy. "I want him."
Dozens of heads turned. Neville looked up and blinked. His ocean-blue eyes flickered with carefully staged confusion. His head tilted in that subtle way he used whenever he needed a second to process—and stall. "...Sir?"
Unbothered, Mick snapped his fingers once, as if sealing the deal. "The one who helped me earlier. Hope, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir," Neville answered, forced into formality.
Mick popped another cookie in his mouth—Neville's cookie—and chewed thoughtfully, eyes locked on him. "Competent. Polite. Knows how to follow instructions without running his mouth. I like that."
Warning bells rang in Neville's head. He kept his expression carefully neutral, aware that Bryan's eyes hadn't left him. "...Thank you, sir."
"Good. Make sure he reports to my office tomorrow morning," Mick said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "ASAP."
"In fact, I don't care what he's currently assigned to." Mick continued with a smile that showed a little too many teeth as he waved a hand, cutting through Bryan's invisible objections like smoke. "Your boss said I could have any secretary I wanted from your company—and I want him."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. A ripple of unease ran through the employees around.
Bryan's mind raced through a dozen objections, but voicing any of them would only paint a target on Neville's back.
"Mr. Hope is still quite new," Bryan continued to dissuade him. "Perhaps someone with more experience—"
"New is good. No bad habits to break." Mick didn't let him finish. His voice curled into something both amused and dangerous. "What do you say, Mr. Hope? Want to be my temporary secretary? I promise it'll be… educational."
The way Mick said 'educational' made it sound like a threat. Neville risked glancing at Bryan, but Bryan's expression was unreadable.
Bryan said at last, calm but firm. "Mr. Hope's responsibilities are more extensive than you assume."
"Oh?" Mick's eyebrows rose in mock surprise, his grin widening as if he had found a loophole. "Even better. All the more reason to have someone so capable working for the sake of our collaboration."
He turned back to Neville, voice dropping just enough to pull focus. "So, Mr. Hope? Interested in a temporary assignment that could… advance your career?"
"I serve at the benefit of Maxwell Corporation," Neville replied carefully, his words clipped and formal—deflection wrapped in loyalty."Whatever assignment best serves the company's interests is where I should be."
It was a non-answer that threw the decision back to Bryan without seeming insubordinate. Mick's eyes glinted with an unreadable expression.
"Well said." Mick turned back to Bryan without missing a beat. "Then it's settled. Mr. Hope will follow me for the duration of our collaboration, coordinating between our teams. Surely Maxwell can spare one secretary for the sake of cooperation."
Bryan caught Grayson's eye from the executive office's window and saw the minute nod—play along, for now.
Bryan replied smoothly, "We'll need to review Mr. Hope's current assignments and ensure a proper transition of his responsibilities."
"Of course. Take your time," Mick waved the nearly empty cookie bag, his smirk edging into menace. "A day or two should be enough, don't you think? After all, we wouldn't want the military to think that Maxwell Corporation is being… uncooperative."
"I will coordinate the details," Bryan replied, his calm tone giving away nothing.
"Perfect." Mick's smile stretched wide. He turned back to Neville, eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Mr. Hope, I look forward to working with you. I can tell—we're going to accomplish great things together."
He popped the last cookie into his mouth, chewed, then leaned close enough for Neville to feel the weight of his presence.
"You're welcome," he said cryptically, patting Neville on the shoulder with just enough force to make it condescending rather than friendly.
Mick left with Killian trailing after him, leaving everyone in stunned silence. Neville could feel the weight of everyone's stares—sympathy from some, curiosity from most… and Bryan's steady gaze before he finally turned away.
"Holy shit," Sarah muttered, leaning over her desk. "You just got voluntold to work for the enemy."
"He's not the enemy," Neville corrected before he could stop himself. "He's… a collaboration partner."
"Right." Sarah's look said she would rather believe that pigs could fly starships than believe that. "A collaboration partner who just marked the department like this place is his own territory and stole you like some kind of corporate trophy."
"It's just temporary," Neville said, though his voice lacked conviction. Even to his own ears, it sounded like a half-hearted prayer.
"Uh-huh." Sarah glanced toward the executive offices where Bryan was retreating. "Stewart looked like he was ready to breathe fire. I've never seen him that pissed."
Neville pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. When he opened his eyes, Iris was there, standing by his desk with her usual cool composure and just a hint of sympathy.
"Bad luck," she said simply.
"I'll manage."
"I'm sure you will." She hesitated, then lowered her voice. "But word of advice? Document everything. Every request, every conversation, every task. Men like Mick Hewitt don't take responsibility. They take scapegoats."
Neville's mouth curved into something between a smile and a grimace. "Like I haven't met that type before," he murmured under his breath.
"What was that?" Iris asked.
"Nothing," Neville said quickly, already shifting gears, already calculating his next move.
…
Neville approached Bryan's desk with deliberate steps, every movement composed.
"Mr. Stewart," he began, his voice steady despite the circumstances.
"Sit." Bryan gestured to the chair across from him, settling into his own seat. "We need to talk."
"I assume this isn't a standard reassignment," Neville said carefully.
Bryan's smile was thin, humorless. "Mick Hewitt doesn't do anything 'standard.' He walked in this morning claiming to represent his corporation, demanded an office on our executive floor—and then, an assistant from our staff."
"And he chose me." It wasn't a question.
"The real question," Bryan leaned back, studying him with sharp eyes, "is why. Do you know him? Any previous encounters that might explain his interest?"
Neville adjusted his glasses. "No, sir. I've never met Mr. Hewitt before today."
"Listen carefully." Bryan's tone dropped, firm and deliberate. "We don't trust Mick Hewitt or this sudden collaboration. The timing is too convenient, too deliberate, too calculated. We need someone on the inside—someone to keep tabs on him and report back."
Neville's shoulders sagged slightly. "You want me to spy on him."
"I want you to observe," Bryan corrected, his eyes never leaving Neville's. "Document who he meets, what he asks for, and where his attention lingers. You'll report directly to me, and through me, to Mr. Maxwell."
At the mention of Grayson's name, something flickered across Neville's expression—disappointment, maybe anger. Whatever it was, it vanished too quickly for Bryan to pin down.
"I understand," Neville said quietly. "Though I should warn you… This assignment will complicate things."
"How so?"
Neville's mouth curved into a bitter smile. "You've heard the rumors about how I 'really' got hired into the company, haven't you?"
Bryan's silence was an enough answer.
"This will only add fuel to that fire," Neville continued. "They'll say I'm moving from one executive's bed to another. My reputation—"
"Your reputation is the least of our concerns," Bryan interrupted, though not unkindly. "The Hewitts are up to something, and we need to know what. You're our best option."
Neville was quiet for a long moment, drummed his fingers once against his thigh, then stopped. When he spoke again, it was with resignation. "When do I start?"
"Tomorrow. Eight AM sharp. His office is being set up across from Mr. Maxwell's on the south side."
Neville rose immediately, irritation flickering in his posture. "Is there anything else I should know?"
Bryan considered, eyes narrowing slightly. "Mick Hewitt has a reputation—unreasonable, reckless, a playboy. Don't underestimate him. And don't trust him. Watch yourself."
Neville's expression hardened. "I always do."
When the door closed behind him, Bryan sat in silence, staring at the spot where the young man had been sitting. He felt a pang of guilt but quickly rationalized his decision.
Competent or not, Neville was walking into a storm, and that was all that mattered right now. The question was whether that would help them—or hinder them.
His lightbrain chimed, Grayson's personal code flashing across the display: Report.
Bryan exhaled heavily and typed back: He's not pleased, but he'll comply.
The silence from the other side was deafening, and Bryan felt a familiar anxiety settle in his stomach. He was worrying, and Grayson's lack of a reply wasn't helping.