I woke up two hours before dawn, nerves eating away at my stomach. Today was my first day at Hartman Enterprises, and my new boss was the man everyone in the city feared.
Alexander Hartman.
The Ice King.
My boss.
By the time I reached the 49th floor, my palms were sweaty, and my heart was pounding like I'd just run a marathon. The office looked like something out of a magazine—white marble floors, black leather chairs, and walls made entirely of glass. Everything screamed power and money.
I took a deep breath and stepped into his office. He was already there, seated behind his massive mahogany desk, a silver watch glinting on his wrist. He didn't look up when I entered.
"You're three minutes early," he said, eyes still on his laptop.
"Is that… bad?" I asked carefully.
"Punctuality isn't early. It's exact," he said flatly, finally glancing up. "Sit."
I obeyed. My legs were shaking.
He closed his laptop and leaned back, studying me with those cold grey eyes. "Before you start, there are a few rules."
I swallowed. "Okay."
He rose from his chair, moving closer, his presence sharp and intimidating. "Rule one: You don't question me. Ever. If I say something, you do it."
"Got it," I said quietly.
"Rule two: You don't bring personal emotions to work. I don't tolerate tears, drama, or distractions."
I bit my lip, already feeling my throat tighten. "Understood."
"Rule three: My schedule is your schedule. That means no excuses, no lateness, and no leaving early. If I'm here, you're here."
He paused. "And rule four…"
He stepped closer, so close I could smell his cologne—clean, expensive, like cedar and control. "You never lie to me, Ms. Carter."
I blinked up at him. "I wasn't planning to."
He gave a small, unreadable smile. "Everyone says that."
He turned away and handed me a stack of files. "These are this week's reports. Organize them by department and confirm all appointments with my executive board before noon."
I nodded, clutching the folders like my life depended on it.
"And one more thing," he added, stopping at the door. "You'll be accompanying me to a charity gala tonight. I don't like repeating myself, so I expect you to keep up."
"Me?" I squeaked. "At a gala?"
He shot me a cool look. "You're my assistant. Assist."
When he left, I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. The man was a walking storm—every word, every glance felt like it came with lightning.
By noon, my desk was a battlefield of papers, coffee cups, and unanswered emails. I accidentally sent his financial report to the wrong department and spilled coffee—again—on my blouse.
Just when I thought my day couldn't get worse, he appeared at my desk, looking every bit the powerful CEO he was. "Ms. Carter." His tone was dangerously calm. "Do you always panic when given responsibility?"
My face flushed. "No, sir. I just—"
"Stop explaining. Fix it."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Wear something appropriate tonight," he said without looking back. "You're representing me."
When he disappeared into the elevator, I slumped in my chair, groaning.
Day one, and I'd already broken two of his rules.
But somewhere between fear and frustration, I felt something else—something I couldn't name. Because behind that icy tone and unreadable stare, there was something in Alexander Hartman's eyes that didn't match his coldness.
And I was afraid of what would happen if I ever saw it again.