The office was quiet, the hum of the AC louder than usual. Valentina shuffled papers and typed out reminders on her laptop, her eyes darting up every few seconds at Adrian. He moved around the office like he owned the place—which, technically, he did—but today he seemed sharper, colder, almost untouchable.
"Valentina," he said without looking at her, voice clipped, "the investor call at three. Have the documents ready. And make sure the East Coast reports are in my folder."
"Yes, sir," she replied, sliding the files toward him. Her hands trembled just slightly. She hated that she was aware of every detail of his posture, the way his jacket draped over the chair, the slight furrow in his brow.
He glanced at her, one corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. "Don't fidget. It makes you look inexperienced."
Inexperienced? I'm not inexperienced! she thought, gripping her pen a little too tightly.
Minutes later, she was checking his calendar, making sure nothing overlapped. Adrian moved behind her chair, silent and imposing. She felt heat creep up her neck.
"Have you confirmed lunch with Ms. Harrington?" he asked, eyes scanning a sheet in his hand.
"Yes. 1 PM. At LeVante. Reservations confirmed."
"Good." His tone was neutral, but his gaze lingered too long. She could feel it like a touch she wasn't allowed to return.
She swallowed. "Anything else before the call?"
He tapped a pen against his folder, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "No. Just… stay sharp. Don't let me miss anything. One slip and it's on you."
She blinked. "Understood, sir."
He turned and left the room, tall and silent, leaving a trace of his cologne behind. She exhaled, fingers shaking just slightly as she typed reminders into his tablet.
The investor call began, and Valentina was glued to her laptop, keeping track of every note, every slide. Adrian's voice was calm, precise, cutting through the virtual conference. She passed him documents at exactly the right time, kept water at his side, anticipated questions before he even asked them.
Every time their hands brushed—just once, just accidentally—her pulse spiked. And every time he glanced her way, expression unreadable, she felt simultaneously seen and invisible.
After the call, she handed him his folder. "All done, sir."
He didn't say anything, just lifted an eyebrow. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. "Efficient. Keep it up."
She tried not to smile. Efficient? That's… something. She fidgeted with a pen, pretending to reorganize documents, secretly aware of how close he was.
Later, while arranging his schedule for the next day, she caught him glancing at her again. Their eyes met for a brief second, and she felt her chest tighten. She quickly looked down at the papers in her hands, cheeks burning.
"You're spacing out," he said softly, leaning just slightly closer. "Focus, Valentina."
"I am!" she blurted, fumbling a folder and almost dropping it. She cursed under her breath.
"Careful," he murmured, reaching out to steady it. Their fingers brushed, and this time she didn't pull away fast enough. A rush of warmth spread through her, and she felt her face ignite.
"Thanks," she mumbled, voice barely audible.
He didn't answer, just straightened, calm and unreadable as ever, but the faintest corner of his mouth hinted at amusement—or maybe satisfaction. She couldn't tell.
By the end of the day, Valentina's notes were precise, her reminders perfect, but she was running on adrenaline and nerves. As she finally packed her bag, Adrian spoke from across the office.
"Don't forget the meeting with the board tomorrow. Be ready."
"Yes, sir," she whispered, her voice quivering slightly. She looked up, and he gave a slow, measured nod. Something in the way he looked at her—cool, distant, yet sharply aware—made her pulse hammer.
As she walked out of the office, the late afternoon sunlight catching the city skyline, she hugged her bag to her chest. I can do this. I'm his assistant. Professional. Just… professional.
And yet, she couldn't stop the warmth that lingered in her cheeks, the flutter in her stomach every time she replayed their small interactions. She realized she was already thinking about the next day, about how she would navigate the sharp edges of his world—and about how impossible it was to remain unaffected by him.
Just… breathe. You're his assistant, nothing more.
But she knew, deep down, that even as she repeated it like a mantra, her heart wasn't listening.
---
I collapsed onto my bed, the sheets swallowing me up like a tiny safe world. Laptop shut. Phone on silent. And yet my brain refused to cooperate. Every move, every word, every impossible glance from Adrian kept replaying in my head like a movie I didn't want to end.
The way he moved in the office—sharp, cold, untouchable—made my pulse race even now. I buried my face in my pillow, wishing I could forget how aware I had been of every detail, every accidental brush of his fingers.
He barely smiled. He barely said more than necessary. And yet… every clipped word felt like a spark. Every cold nod felt like fire. How could someone who's so cold make me feel this hot? I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling it thump like it wanted to escape.
I sat up, cheeks burning, and muttered, "God… why does he have to be so impossible?"
And then I couldn't hold it in anymore. I yelled at the ceiling, "GOD! If he's so cold, why did you make him so… HOT?! Ughhh!"
I flailed my arms and buried my face back into the pillow, muffling a laugh mixed with frustration. The absurdity of it all hit me—the billionaire, the icy stare, the impossible charm. And yet… I couldn't stop thinking about him. Not for a single second.
---