Alexander's POV
The moment she stepped into my office, I recognized her instantly—the soaked, stubborn woman who'd cracked my car window with a fucking brick.
The woman didn't even flinch when I told her she'd pay and to make it more irritating, she walked away from me like I was nothing.
Now she stood in my doorway, still damp, still tense and her eyes wide with panic.
Interesting.
I expected anger to rise first, and it did, sharp and immediate.
But it didn't stand alone.
There was something else beneath it—a quiet pulse of satisfaction, as if I'd been waiting for something to disrupt my morning, and she'd delivered it in a much more entertaining form than any board report or meeting ever could.
She shut the door behind her, and the tiny click echoed louder than it should've.
I straightened, letting silence stretch long enough for her nerves to tighten. "Miss Moretti," I said, folding my hands on the desk. "You're late."
Her throat moved as she swallowed. "I know. I'm sorry."
"You arrived soaked," I continued. "That is completely unprofessional."
"I—there was an incident on the way."
"I imagine there was."
I let my gaze hold her just long enough for her to wonder whether I would bring up the window.
I could but watching the confusion in her eyes was far more... entertaining than calling her out immediately.
And from the look on her face, she recognized me as well.
"Sit," I said.
She obeyed, her shoulders tight, chin up, trying to mask her anxiety.
Admirable effort.
Even with her clothes clinging in stiff patches, she tried to maintain some sense of dignity.
I opened her file, though I'd already skimmed it. "You came recommended by Mr. Calder. He speaks highly of your work ethic."
"That means a lot," she said quietly.
"Don't rely on it. I form my opinions firsthand." I glanced at her. "Let's begin."
Her posture straightened.
Good.
She wasn't broken yet.
I fired the first question. "Your previous position ended abruptly. Why?"
She blinked, caught for a moment by the directness. "My employer downsized and my department was dissolved."
"You expect me to believe that?" I asked, watching her face carefully.
"Yes," she replied, steadying. "Because I'm simply telling the truth, answering a question that was asked."
I didn't nod.
I simply asked the next question, then the next.
I pushed her harder each time—problem-solving, scheduling conflicts, interpersonal tension, crisis handling.
She stumbled at first, her nerves getting in the way.
But she recovered quickly, answering with a clarity that contradicted her disheveled appearance.
She didn't ramble.
She didn't guess.
She didn't even try to flatter me.
She thought before speaking, and when her confidence emerged, it came quietly, without exaggeration.
I was... Surprised.
I shifted tactics, leaning back. "Tell me about a mistake you made recently."
This wasn't supposed to be a part of the interview questions, but I was looking for buttons to push for some reason.
Her lips pressed together.
For a second I wondered if she'd lie, or sugarcoat, or deflect.
Instead she inhaled and said, "Something happened today that I'm not proud of."
My eyes narrowed in amusement.
"What happened?"
She hesitated. "I reacted emotionally. It wasn't the right thing to do."
My eyebrow lifted.
She wasn't confessing, but she wasn't pretending to be flawless either.
"And what did you learn from that… emotional reaction?" I asked.
"That panic doesn't solve anything," she said. "And that I need to think twice before acting."
I studied her.
A simple answer, but honest.
Interesting, again.
Still, honesty alone didn't excuse poor decisions—like attacking my car.
I closed the folder. "Your presentation today is lacking. You look unprepared."
She flinched. "I—"
"But your mind isn't," I continued. "Your responses are clear. Quick. And you don't crumble when questioned directly."
She blinked, surprised.
"So," I finished, "you're hired."
Her mouth fell open slightly. "I—what?"
"You'll start today." I stood, buttoning my jacket. "Your onboarding has already been sent to Human Resources. They'll have your badge and access codes ready within the hour."
She stared at me as if waiting for a catch.
Many tried negotiating for time before their first day.
I didn't allow it.
Neither would I do so now.
"No grace period?" she asked carefully.
"No." I walked around the desk. "My assistant needs to be able to adapt instantly. If you can't, this isn't the place for you."
She nodded slowly. "I can adapt."
"We'll see."
She rose, clutching the folder she'd brought. "Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Harrington. Truly."
Before I could respond, the office door opened.
And the shift in energy was immediate.
Valerie Cross swept inside like she owned the room—chin lifted, lips painted in a shade that was way too bold for the morning, eyes already assessing who she believed was beneath her.
My irritation arrived instantly, as predictable as her perfume.
"Alex," she said, ignoring Gina completely. "There you are. I've been trying to reach you all morning."
I masked my displeasure with practiced ease. "Valerie."
She looked at Gina like she was a stain on the carpet. "Who is this?"
Gina glanced between us, already shrinking back.
Before Valerie could open her mouth again, Gina cleared her throat. "I should go. Thank you again, Mr. Harrington."
I gave her a short nod. "We're not finished."
Her eyes widened slightly before she slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Valerie exhaled dramatically. "You really need to screen people better. She looked like she crawled out of a drainage pipe."
My patience thinned. "Why are you here, Valerie?"
She moved closer, brushing imaginary lint from my sleeve.
I stepped away.
Her smile tightened before she twisted it into a pout she believed was charming.
"My father told me about the art gala tonight," she said. "I'll be ready at eight. I assume the car will pick me up?"
"No," I said simply.
She blinked. "What?"
"You won't be accompanying me."
Her expression cracked. "Alex, don't be ridiculous. You're always my date for these things."
"I was forced into that arrangement because our fathers believed it was convenient," I said coolly. "I am no longer indulging it."
Her eyes hardened. "People expect us to arrive together."
"I don't care what people expect," I answered. "You and I have no such agreement."
"You're being cruel."
"I'm being clear."
Her jaw clenched. "Fine. But don't embarrass yourself by showing up alone like some antisocial hermit."
I opened the door pointedly.
She stared at me, waiting for me to soften or contradict myself.
I didn't.
"Goodbye, Valerie."
She huffed, flipping her hair as she walked out.
The moment she was gone, silence returned—a silence that felt calmer simply because she wasn't in it.
I pressed the intercom button. "Send Miss Moretti back in."
Less than a minute later, she reappeared.
Her entrance was… chaotic.
Even more than before.
Papers slipped from her folder and scattered across the floor. She dropped to her knees to grab them, hair falling forward, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
I watched her for a moment, the corner of my mouth tugging. "You're already making a mess and you've not been hired for an hour."
She froze, then looked up at me, mortified. "I—I'm so sorry. I swear this isn't normal for me. Today is just—"
"A disaster," I finished.
She shut her eyes briefly. "Yes."
I let the moment stretch before speaking. "Stand."
She got up quickly, still gripping the disorganized papers.
"We maintain a strict professional standard here," I said. "Your appearance this morning is unacceptable. It won't happen again."
"It won't," she said quickly. "I'll do better."
"You will," I agreed. "You'll need to dress appropriately. Clean, pressed and organized. And if you're late by even a minute, consider your employment terminated."
Her breath caught. "Understood."
"Good." I stepped closer, just enough that she straightened instinctively. "You'll also attend evening functions with me when required. That means you dress for them too."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Evening functions… like events?"
"Yes."
"Oh. I didn't know that was part of the role."
"I just added it."
She blinked, unsure how to respond.
"I expect my assistant to adapt," I said again.
Her voice was soft but firm. "I will."
For a woman who threw a brick at my car, she certainly had moments where she looked like she might fold.
But she didn't.
Not fully.
I liked that more than I should've.
"One more thing," I said. "You'll be picked up this evening."
Her brows pulled together. "Picked up? For what?"
"For work," I replied. "We're not finished after office hours. My driver will be outside your apartment at seven. Be ready."
"I—sir, I don't even know the location—"
"You'll be informed," I interrupted. "All you need to worry about is being punctual."
She opened her mouth, probably to argue, but something in my expression must have warned her.
"Alright," she said, exhaling. "Seven. I'll be ready."
I nodded once, then stepped past her toward the door. "Good. Don't make me regret hiring you."
I reached for the handle.
Her voice followed me, barely above a whisper. "Mr. Harrington?"
I paused without turning.
"Yes?"
"Where exactly are we going tonight?"
I allowed myself a small, unreadable smile.
"You'll find out."
Then I left her standing alone in my office—confused, overwhelmed, and completely unaware of what she had just stepped into.
A complication I hadn't expected.
And one I couldn't quite walk away from.