Chapter 2
The elevator ride to the forty-seventh floor was silent except for the soft hum of machinery and the distant pulse of the city below. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, shoulders squared, reminding herself to breathe. Floor numbers blinked past like a countdown.
By the time the doors slid open, she had memorized the faint citrus scent of the building and the way the billionaire's presence seemed to fill even empty space.
"This way," he said, gesturing down a corridor lined with glass walls and modern art that probably cost more than her yearly rent.
His office was nothing like she expected. No ostentatious gold, no intimidating clutter. Just clean lines, dark wood, and windows that framed the skyline as if the city itself belonged to him. The desk was immaculate, except for a single leather-bound notebook and a cup of untouched coffee.
"Sit," he said—not unkindly, but not asking either.
She chose the chair opposite him, smoothing her skirt, aware of his gaze lingering for half a second too long. Not predatory. Assessing.
"You surprised me today," he said, folding his hands. "Most people rehearse what they think I want to hear. You didn't."
"I didn't have time," she replied honestly.
The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
"Honesty," he murmured. "A rare currency in my world."
She met his eyes then, really met them. They were darker up close, unreadable, but there was something else beneath the cool confidence—fatigue, perhaps. Or loneliness. The thought unsettled her.
"You said this job would be demanding," she said. "I assume that wasn't an exaggeration."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her as if she were a puzzle he hadn't decided whether to solve.
"You'll manage my schedule, screen my meetings, and travel with me when necessary," he said. "In