The first rule of working for Alistair Harvey Ashford was simple. Don't ask questions. The second rule was even simpler. Don't get too close. I learned both within my first hour inside Ashford Tower.
The building stood in the middle of Manhattan like it owned the entire city. Forty-seven floors of black glass, steel, and expensive silence. Everyone who walked through the lobby seemed to know exactly where they were going, and nobody spoke louder than necessary.
Even the security guards looked like they had been trained to breathe quietly.
I adjusted the strap of my handbag and stared at the elevator doors. "Ms. Strak?"
I turned. A woman in a charcoal suit stood behind me, holding a tablet against her chest. "Yes?"
"I'm Meredith. Mr. Ashford's executive assistant."
"Nice to meet you."
She gave me a quick once-over. Not rude. Just through. I couldn't blame her. I was the new secretary, after all.
"You're aware of the position you're taking?"
I smiled politely. "Secretary ad private nurse."
Her eyebrow lifted. "Most people don't realize those are two separate jobs."
"Neither did I."
That earned the smallest smile from her. "Good. You have a sense of humor. You'll need it." The elevator doors opened. As soon as the doors opened, Meredith lowered her voice. "Mr. Ashford is difficult."
"I've worked for difficult men before."
"Not like him."
I glanced at her reflection in the polished elevator wall. "How bad?"
She hesitated. "He's demanding."
"That's manageable."
"Cold."
"I can handle cold."
"Intimidating."
"I don't scare easily."
She finally looked at me. "That's what worries me."
I smiled. "Should it?"
The elevator chimed. Forty-seven floor. Meredith stepped out first. I followed. The executive floor was nothing like the lobby. It was quieter. Darker. More private. Every door had a security panel beside it, and there were cameras positioned discreetly along the ceiling.
I noticed them immediately. Meredith didn't. Or pretended not to.
"His office is at the end," she said. "Your desk is outside."
"And the medical room?"
She pointed toward another hallway. "Private access. You'll have everything you need."
"Good."
She stopped walking. "One more thing." I looked at her. "If Mr. Ashford tells you to leave, leave."
"Understood."
"If he tells you he doesn't need medical attention—"
"I'll ignore him." She stared at me. I smiled. "He's a patient. Patients lie."
For the first time, she laughed. "You're going to be interesting."
"I've been told that."
She walked away before I could answer. Then I looked at the closed doors at the end of the hallway.
Alistair Harvey Ashfrd. Thirty-something. Billionaire. CEO. Known for destroying companies before breakfast and making grown executives forget how to speak during board meetings. That was the public version. I had spent weeks reading everything I could find about him. His corporate history was impressive. His philanthropic record was clean. No scandals. No drunken photographs. No reckless parties. No messy relationships. Nothing.
A man that powerful shouldn't have been that clean. People always left fingertips somewhere. I walked toward his office. My heels clicked against the marble floor. I knocked twice.
"Come in." His voice was low. Calm. Not particularly loud. But somehow it carried through the door. I opened it and stopped.
The first thing I noticed was the view. Manhattan behind him through floor to ceiling windows, the afternoon sun reflecting off the buildings. Then second thing I noticed was him. He was sitting behind his desk, reading a document.
Black suit. White shirt. No tie. Dark curls disheveled, as though he'd run his fingers through them on too many times. His sleeves rolled up. There was a faint cut across his knuckles. Fresh. I looked at it for half a second. Then at him.
His eyes lifted. Green. Sharp. Annoyingly observant. "You're late."
I glanced at the clock. "By three minutes."
"Three minutes is late."
"I'll try to inform Manhattan traffic about your schedule next time."
His eyebrows moved slightly. That was apparently enough to surprise him. "You must be Ezhra."
"Akoimi Ezhra Stark."
"Your resume says you're qualified for both positions."
"That's what they told me."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I'm convinced."
"Good." He returned his attention to the papers. I remained standing. He didn't look up. "Are you waiting for something."
"My instructions."
"I gave them to HR."
"HR gave me a folder."
"And?"
I held it up. "I've already read it."
He finally looked at me again. "Then you know what to do."
"I know what the company expects me to do."
"And what do you think I expect?"
I studied him. "You expect competence."
A pause. "Anything else?"
"Discretion."
Another pause. "Anything else?"
"Efficiency."
His gaze remained on mine. "And?"
I smiled faintly. "Apparently, patience."
The corner of his mouth almost moved. Almost. "You're confident."
"I prefer confident."
"There's a difference,"
"Not when I'm right."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke. Then he leaned back in his chair. "Sit." I took the chair across from his desk. He picked up another document. "You'll manage my schedule, correspondence, travel arrangements, private appointments, and medical needs."
"I understand."
"You'll also accompany me during certain meetings."
"Corporate?"
"Some." That answer was deliberately vague. I noticed. He noticed me noticing. Interesting. "Any questions?" he asked.
"Yes."
He looked up. "Why does your medical file say you have no signification injuries?" His expression changed. Barely. But it changed. I nodded toward his hand. "You have a fresh cut."
He glanced at it. "This?"
"Yes."
"Paper."
"Paper don't usually leave bruising underneath the skin."
He looked at me for a long moment. Then he smiled. It wasn't warm. It wasn't friendly. It was the kind of smile that made people reconsider their life choices. "You're observant."
"It's part of my job."
"Your job is to be my secretary."
"And your private nurse."
"Fair enough." He stood. That was when I noticed he was taller than I expected. Much taller. He walked around the desk and stopped in front of me. "Then here's your first medical task."
I looked up. "Yes, sir?"
He held out his injured hand. "Tell me if this requires stitches."
I took his wrist. His eyes dropped to my hand. I examined the cut. "Three stitches."
"No."
"Yes."
"It's minor."
"It's deep enough to reopen."
"I've had worse."
"That's not a medical argument."
His gaze returned to mine. "You're very direct."
"You're very stubborn."
"Most people don't tell me that."
"Most people probably want to keep their jobs." His lips twitched. I released his wrist. "You'll need to clean it properly."
"Will you do it?"
I raised an eyebrow. "You hired a nurse."
"I hired a secretary."
"Then why am I here?"
He stared at me. For the first time, there was something almost amused in his eyes. "Maybe I'm starting to regret hiring you."
"You're welcome to fire me."
"I might."
"You won't."
His expression sharpened. "And why is that?"
I stood. "Because you need someone who won't panic when you bleed."
Silence. His gaze lingered on me. "Interesting," he quietly said.
I smiled. "That's what Meredith said." I turned toward the door.
Behind me, his voice stopped me. "Ms. Stark."
I looked over my shoulder. "Yes?"
"Welcome to Ashford."
I smiled politely. "Thank you, Mr. Ashford."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Something tells me you're going to be trouble."
I opened the door. "Then I suppose you'll have to keep me around long enough to find out." And I walked out. The moment the door close behind me, I exhaled.
Three minutes into meeting him and I already knew one thing. The rumors hadn't done him justice. He was much more dangerous in person.
By six in the evening, I had already learned things about my boss.
One, he hated unnecessary meetings. Two, he hated repeating himself even more. And three, he had absolutely no idea how to take care of himself. The third one was becoming my problem.
I was sitting at my desk outside his office, going through his schedule when the door suddenly opened.
"Cancel dinner."
I looked up. Alistair stood there with his phone in one hand. "Which dinner?"
"The one at eight."
"The charity dinner?"
"Yes."
I stared at him. "You've been expected to attend that for three months."
"I know."
"You personally confirmed it yesterday."
"I know."
"And the board will be there."
"I know."
I slowly lowered my tablet. "Then why are you canceling?"
"Because I don't want to go."
I blinked. "That's your reason?"
"Yes."
I leaned back. "That's very professional."
His eyes narrowed. "Was that sarcasm."
"I would never."
He stared at me. I smiled. He sighed. "Move it to next week."
"There's no availability next week."
"Make some."
"That's not how the calendars work."
"Then make it work."
"You're impossible."
His eyebrows lifted. "Excuse me?"
I realized what I'd said. But instead of taking it back, I smiled sweetly. "I said you're very demanding."
"No. You said I'm impossible."
"I did."
"And?"
"And I'm still employed."
For a second, he just looked at me. Then he laughed. It was brief. Low. Unexpected. And annoyingly attractive. I hated that I noticed. He looked away first. "Keep the dinner."
I glanced at the schedule. "You're going?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"But you're coming with me."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Because you're my secretary."
"I'm also your nurse."
"Exactly."
"How does that explain anything."
"If I get injured, you're responsible."
I stared at him. "You say that like you expect to get injured."
His expression became unreadable. "Occupational hazard."
"You're a CEO."
"Exactly."
I almost laughed. "Since when does being a CEO involve getting stabbed?"
His gaze sharpened. "I never said stabbed."
"You didn't have to." His silence told me enough. The cut was still there. "You need that treated."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
He glanced down. A tiny line of blood had appeared beneath the bandage he'd apparently put on himself. "That's nothing."
"You have an impressive definition of nothing.'
"Do you always argue with your employers?"
"Only the unreasonable ones."
"And how many of those have you had?"
"You're my first."
"Then you have poor judgement."
"Apparently."
His mouth twitched. He turned away. "Come with me."
"Where?"
"Medical room."
I grabbed my kit. "You finally listened."
"Don't get used to it."
We walked down the hallway together. I could feel his eyes on me when I opened the medical cabinet. "You carry that everywhere?" he asked.
"My kit?"
"Yes."
"Occupational habit."
"You really are a nurse."
I glanced at him. "Did you think I was lying?"
"I don't know yet."
"That's comforting." He sat on the edge of the examination table. I stood between him and the counter, opening the antiseptic. "Give me your hand." He did. I cleaned the wound. He didn't flinch. "Three stitches," I reminded him.
"No."
"Two."
"No."
"One."
"No."
"Then glue it shut."
He stared at me. "You're enjoying this."
"A little."
"I can tell." I carefully cleaned the cut again. "You're strangely calm."
"About what?"
"Blood."
I looked at him. "Should I be screaming?"
"Most people aren't comfortable."
"Most people aren't nurses."
"You didn't react when you saw my hand."
"You had a paper cut."
His eyes narrowed. "It wasn't a paper cut."
"Exactly." I paused. That answer had slipped out too easily.
He watched me carefully. "You knew."
I shrugged. "I have eyes."
"What did you think caused it?"
I placed the bandage over his hand. "I didn't think anything."
"Liar."
I looked up. "That's a strong accusation for someone who just met me."
"I'm good at reading people."
"So, am I."
His gaze held mine. For a moment, the room became strangely quiet. Then he leaned closer. "Then what do you read when you look at me?"
I swallowed. "That you don't sleep enough." He said nothing. "That you have a terrible temper." His eyebrow lifted. "That you don't trust people." Still nothing. "And that you're used to getting hurt."
Something flickered across his face. Gone almost immediately. "Anything else?"
I slowly put the medical supplies away. "You're lonely."
That got him. His expression hardened. "You've known me for one day."
"Exactly."
"Don't pretend you know me."
"I didn't say I know you."
I closed the kit. "I said I can read you."
He stared at me. Then he smiled faintly. "You're dangerous."
I laughed. "That's dramatic."
"I'm serious."
"So, am I."
He stood. We were suddenly too close. I had to tilt my head slightly to meet his eyes. His gaze dropped briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes. I noticed. So, he did. Neither of us moved.
Then his phone rang. He stepped back. The moment shattered. He answered. "Yes." His entire demeanor changed. The warmth disappeared. The CEO returned. Cold. Controlled. Untouchable. I watched him listened. "Where?" A pause. "How many?" Another pause. "Don't move anything. I'll handle it." He ended the call.
I crossed my arms. "Business emergency?"
"Something like that."
"Do you need me?"
"No."
"Medical kit?"
"No."
"Secretary?"
"No."
"Then why are you still standing here?"
He looked at me. "Because you're asking too many questions."
I smiled. "Occupational hazard."
He walked toward the door. Then stopped. "Stay in the building tonight," he said without turning around.
I frowned. "Why?"
"I said so."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting." He left.
I stared at the closed door. Something about that phone call bothered me. Something about the way his voice changed. Something about the blood on his hand. A CEO could have enemies. A billionaire could have rivals.
But ordinary businessmen didn't usually come back from "business trip" with injuries that looked like they belonged to someone who had been somewhere much darker than a boardroom. And Alistair? He was hiding something.
I just didn't know what. Yet. I packed my medical kit and returned to my desk. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. One message.
Mr. Ashford: Don't leave without telling me.
I stared at the screen. Then typed back.
Me: Are you always this controlling?
The reply came almost immediately.
Mr. Ashford: Yes.
I smiled at myself.
Me: Good night, Mr. Ashford.
Three dots appear. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Mr. Ashford: Good night, trouble.
I stared at the message longer than I should have. Trouble. I shook my head and placed the phone facedown. "This is going to be a long job."
I had no idea how right I was.
