Emilia's POV
The morning sun spilled through the wide glass windows, making everything in the Volkov building look even more intimidating. Sleek, glossy marble floors, men in dark suits that looked like they had walked straight out of a gangster movie, and an atmosphere so stiff she felt like even her breathing was too loud.
Emilia sat at her desk, nervously clicking through the computer. Nothing made sense. Half the files were encrypted, the spreadsheets looked like gibberish, and the "meetings" people walked into had security that reminded her more of a military base than a corporate office.
Her best friend's voice echoed in her head: "You'll be fine. Just smile, nod, and do your job."
Easier said than done. Especially when her boss was… him.
Adrian Volkov.
Every time she caught a glimpse of him, her stomach twisted, not from admiration but irritation. He was the kind of man who knew he was gorgeous—broad shoulders, sharp jaw, a suit that probably cost more than her entire college education. Women practically melted when he walked by, and he didn't even glance at them. Arrogant. Dangerous. Too smooth.
And the rumors whispered among the other assistants? That he had women in and out of his office like it was a hotel suite? Emilia didn't doubt it for a second. The smugness written on his face was enough proof.
Playboy. Full stop.
She should've been immune. She was immune. Emilia liked men who were kind, warm, dependable. Adrian Moretti looked like he could snap someone in half for fun—and then charm you into thanking him for it.
Still, when he passed her desk, she found herself sitting up straighter. Not because she wanted his attention, but because his presence was heavy, magnetic, like gravity itself bent a little around him.
She hated it.
She hated even more that her pulse quickened when he stopped.
"Miss Hart." His deep voice was smooth as silk but cold, stripped of warmth.
"Yes, Mr.Volkov?" she answered quickly, cursing the little quiver in her voice.
"Bring me the finance report. Now."
Of course, she fumbled. The papers slipped, scattering across the floor like snow. Heat rushed to her face as she scrambled to pick them up, muttering apologies under her breath.
When she finally handed him the folder, his hand brushed hers. The contact was fleeting, accidental, but it jolted her like static electricity.
She pulled her hand back as fast as she could, glaring at herself for even reacting. Ugh, Emilia, don't be stupid. He's not special.
His dark eyes locked onto her, sharp and unreadable. For a second, she thought he looked… startled? No. Impossible. Adrian Volkov didn't get startled.
She gave him a polite, forced smile and said sweetly, "Here you go, sir."
His gaze lingered for a moment too long before he snapped the folder shut. "Try not to drop everything you touch," he muttered before turning on his heel and walking back into his office.
Emilia exhaled sharply once he was gone. God, what an ass.
Adrian's POV
The woman in his office adjusted her lipstick in the reflection of the glass wall, smirking at him. She was gorgeous, bold, and eager—exactly Adrian's type.
Except… he wasn't paying attention.
Her perfume clung to the air, sickly sweet, and all he could think about was the faint vanilla scent that had drifted off the intern when she stood too close earlier.
"Call me," the woman purred as she left.
He didn't reply. He never did.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers, watching smoke curl upward. Women were easy distractions. He didn't do love, he didn't do attachment. His world was too dark for softness.
But damn it, why couldn't he get the intern out of his head?
Emilia Hart. With her wide eyes and clumsy hands, like she'd been dropped straight from some sunshine-filled world into his shadows. She was useless—he'd seen her mess up three times already. She wasn't cunning or polished like the women he usually liked.
Still… he remembered how her hair had spilled across her shoulder when she bent down to pick up the papers. How her lips had parted when their fingers touched. The little flush that climbed her neck.
Innocent. Untouched. And completely off-limits.
Adrian ground out his cigarette, scowling. Pathetic. She's nothing. Forget her.
But when he pushed open his office door again and saw her biting her lip in concentration at her desk, that same sharp tug pulled at him.
He hated it.
And he couldn't stop wanting more.