Chapter 4
CAROL
"Damn, what a horrible, annoying noise." I groaned, my arm flailing blindly until I managed to slam the 'off' button on my alarm clock. "I swear I'm buying a new one today," I muttered into my pillow.
But who was I kidding? No alarm clock in the world makes waking up at six in the morning feel like anything other than a slow death. I dragged my heavy body to the edge of the bed, my head spinning slightly. Today was the day. The start of my new life as the personal assistant to the owner of the most powerful real estate firm in London. Even if it was a Thursday, any day was a good day to start getting a paycheck again.
The first thing I did was stumble toward the kitchen. I needed caffeine to function. I turned on the coffee maker, the rhythmic bubbling sound acting as a temporary lullaby while I retreated to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, adjusted the shower to a scalding temperature, and pinned my hair into a high, messy bun.
Stepping into the steam, I let the hot water wash away the remnants of last night's dreams—dreams that had been far too vivid, far too silver-eyed.
When the coffee maker gave its final hiss, I wrapped myself in a towel and headed for my daily dose of liquid gold. I knew I'd need it more than ever today.
I stood before my closet, scanning for something that screamed 'professional yet confident.' I settled on a black and white polyester dress—sleeveless, elegant, and hitting just at the knee. It was a classic combination that never failed to make me feel like I had my life together, even when I didn't. I left my dark hair loose, flowing over my shoulders, and spent extra time on my makeup: a smoky brown eye, sharp black eyeliner, and enough mascara to make my eyes pop. I finished with a nude lip.
I grabbed my black heels and scanned the room for my purse. I found it on the kitchen island, sitting right next to my phone. I paused, a frown tugging at my lips. Didn't I take my phone to bed with me last night? I shook the thought away—I was probably just more exhausted than I realized. I grabbed my brown folder with my personal documents and my keys, ready to face the world.
I opened the front door, and the air left my lungs in a sharp gasp. I stumbled, my hand flying to the doorframe to keep from falling flat on my face.
Will I ever get used to the sight of him? Probably not.
William Reyes was leaning against the hood of his sleek black sedan, looking impeccably relentless in a charcoal-gray three-piece suit. He looked authoritative, dark, and dangerous—the kind of man who didn't just walk into a room, but owned the air within it.
I checked my watch: 7:15 AM. We weren't due at the office for another forty-five minutes.
His gray eyes tracked my every movement as I crossed the street. He didn't smile. He didn't give me a single hint of what he was thinking. He simply straightened up and met me halfway.
"Good morning, Carol."
I reached out to shake his hand, trying to keep things professional, but he ignored my gesture. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek. My heart stopped. His scent hit me like a physical wave—mint, fresh water, and a hint of something sweet and masculine. It was intoxicating.
"H-hello," I stammered, feeling like a complete fool. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to take you to your new job," he said, his voice so deep it seemed to vibrate in the very air between us.
"Oh! Um... I was planning on taking the metro. You shouldn't have bothered, Will."
"You're no bother." The way he said it, his eyes lingering on my lips for a fraction of a second, made my mind go to very unprofessional places.
I shook my head, locked the door, and tucked my keys away. "Alright then, let's go. I don't want my new boss to think I'm late on my first day."
We walked to the car, and he held the door open for me. As we merged onto the highway, the morning traffic was already starting to thicken.
"Indeed," he replied, his gaze fixed on the road. "We wouldn't want to make a bad first impression."
I looked at his profile—the sharp jaw, the straight nose, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel. "So, you do have a sense of humor," I teased.
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. "Did you think I didn't?"
"I... I didn't mean it like that." Smooth, Carol. Real smooth.
"Relax, Carol. It's fine." He glanced at me briefly. "By the way, you look very pretty today."
I felt the heat rush to my face, a deep blush I couldn't possibly hide. "Thank you," I whispered.
He seemed not to notice my embarrassment and shifted the subject. "Did you know about Susan and Henry?"
"No more than you do. To be honest, we haven't seen each other much lately. We only caught up yesterday."
"I see," he said thoughtfully. "Has she mentioned when she's planning to move out?"
I snapped my head toward him, my defensive walls going up instantly. "Will, if you hired me to get information about your daughter, I'm afraid you've picked the wrong person. I don't betray my friends. If you want to know her plans, ask her yourself."
I was getting annoyed. The idea that he was using me as a spy made my stomach churn. "If that's the only reason I'm in this car—"
"Enough, Carol!" His voice was a whip-crack—strong, demanding. He turned to me as we hit a red light, his expression stern. "You're talking nonsense. I didn't hire you to spy on my daughter. It was a simple question, especially since she mentioned you'd be moving into the apartment with us this week. I knew Susan chose her friends well, but damn, you need to learn how to calm down."
I felt like the world's biggest idiot. I wanted to crawl under the seat and disappear. I shut my mouth tight and didn't say another word for the rest of the drive.
When we finally pulled up to the glass-and-steel tower of the company, I scrambled for the door handle, desperate for some space. The car felt far too small for the both of us.
"Wait."
His hand caught mine just as my foot touched the pavement.
An electric current surged through the contact point, traveling up my arm and settling in my spine. We both froze, our eyes dropping to where his tan, large hand was wrapped around my smaller one. From the way his jaw tightened, I knew he felt it too.
"I'm sorry for raising my voice," he said, his tone softening into something that made my knees weak. "That wasn't my intention."
I looked at him, stunned. Here I was, the one who had overreacted, and he was the one apologizing.