ELIZABETH'S POV
By the time I reach Starlight the next morning, the sky is still gray and sleepy. The lobby lights cast a soft gold glow across the marble floors, and the air smells faintly of fresh polish and burnt coffee from the security guard's thermos. I swipe my badge, push through the glass doors, and feel the familiar shift in my chest—the one that always comes when the day is about to run faster than I can.
I'm balancing a folder under my arm, a half-finished cup of tea in my hand, and my phone pressed between my shoulder and cheek as Rose whispers that she's studying with friends after her first class. I tell her to text me when she gets there, hang up, and step into the elevator.
The doors close. Silence wraps around me for a moment.
Just long enough for my stomach to tighten.
Liam is coming back today.
I remind myself that it shouldn't matter. He's just another CEO in an expensive suit, someone I'll only ever interact with from a respectful, professional distance. A small part of my brain knows that. The rest… well, the rest needs to shut up.
The elevator stops. The doors slide open, and Starlight's buzzing second floor spills out in front of me—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, voices overlapping as people try to sound more confident than they feel. I move toward my desk outside Leonard Lennon's office, drop my things, and take a long breath.
My inbox is already a mess.
Three follow-ups from the marketing team. Two from the accounting floor. One from Edward, liams brother, asking for confirmation on the adjusted projections. And—
My phone vibrates.
Unknown Number
I hesitate for a second before opening it.
I'm moving the meeting to ten. I expect updated documents before then.
— L. Smith
My heart gives a strange, sharp thump.
Of course it's him. Who else texts like an instruction manual with legs?
I glance at the time. It's eight forty.
I need to finish compiling the board packets, adjust the printed projections, alert the team, confirm Leonard's availability, and prepare conference room three—all in eighty minutes.
Great.
I pick up my pace and start sorting the documents I organized late last night, grateful I stayed up the extra hour. Leonard likes everything color-coded. Liam likes everything sharp, fast, and unforgiving. Between the two of them, I sometimes wonder if I work for two different storms.
Leonard arrives at nine with a soft greeting. He carries a newspaper tucked under his arm and smells faintly of cedar and aftershave.
"Morning, Elizabeth."
"Good morning, sir. Global Legacy moved the meeting to ten. I've already started the adjustments."
He nods, impressed. "You read my mind."
"No, sir. I'm just trying to stay ahead of Mr. Smith."
"That's a wise strategy."
He disappears into his office. I fire off two emails, print new documents, organize them into folders, and notify the board members.
At nine-twenty, I'm walking down the hallway when the elevator dings.
I don't need to turn around to know who just stepped out.
Everything in the hallway shifts. The air. The energy. Even the way people stand—suddenly straighter, more alert, like someone important has entered the atmosphere and they're terrified of breathing wrong.
I turn anyway.
Liam walks forward with steady, confident steps. Black suit. Dark tie. Expression carved from stone. His gaze scans the hallway with the kind of cool sharpness that makes people pretend not to look at him even as they stare.
Becka james, his assistant, follows at his side, clutching her tablet like it's both a weapon and a lifeline. Her eyes flick across the room, landing on me before I can look away.
She narrows her gaze.
Wonderful.
I straighten my spine, smooth down the front of my blouse, and hold the folders against my chest as I walk toward Liam.
As soon as he reaches me, his eyes settle on mine.
A flicker—barely noticeable—moves across his face. Something between recognition and irritation. Like I'm an itch he can't reach.
"Miss Williams," he says.
"Mr. Smith."
"Did you receive my message?"
"Yes," I say, keeping my tone calm. "The updated documents are ready. Conference room three is prepared. The board members have been notified."
Liam studies me for a second too long. "Efficient."
I can't tell if it's a compliment or an accusation.
"Thank you," I say carefully.
Becka steps closer, her voice sweet but brittle at the edges. "Mr. Smith, I was going to handle the notifications for you—"
"You were not," Liam says in a tone that leaves no room for argument.
Becka's smile freezes.
I keep my face perfectly neutral.
Liam looks at me again. "Bring the documents."
"Yes, sir."
We walk together toward the conference room, though the distance between us feels charged. Like static waiting for a spark. I keep my steps even, my breath steady. The last thing I need is to give him the satisfaction of thinking he unsettles me.
But he does.
Not in a romantic way. That would be ridiculous.
It's more like… he sees too much.
I hold the conference room door for him. He glances at me as he passes, eyes dark and unreadable. I place the folders in front of each seat, double-check the projector, and hand him a printed copy of the agenda.
"If you need anything, let me know," I say.
I turn to leave.
"Wait."
My steps stop.
He closes the agenda, sets it aside, and leans back in his chair. He looks at me again, long enough that my pulse shifts.
"How long have you been working here?" he asks.
"Three years."
"Hm."
I can't tell if that means approval or disappointment.
"What did you do before Starlight?"
"I studied business and communications at the university."
"And why Starlight?"
"Because it's stable," I say before I can filter myself. "And because Leonard gave me a chance when I needed one."
Liam's jaw moves slightly, like he's considering that. "You're loyal."
"I try to be."
His eyes hold mine, sharp and unreadable. "That's rare."
Then, as if someone hit a switch, his expression returns to neutral steel.
"That'll be all."
Dismissed.
But not ignored.
I nod and step out of the room.
As soon as the door closes behind me, I take a breath. My hand is faintly unsteady. I curl my fingers into my palm and force them steady again.
I walk back toward my desk, hoping my heartbeat decides to stop acting like an idiot.
But I don't get far before Becka appears in front of me like a shadow waiting for a light source.
Her smile is polite. Too polite.
"You're very eager," she says.
"Just doing my job."
"Of course." Her gaze trails down my blouse, then back up. "You must really enjoy interacting with him."
The comment lands heavy.
"I interact with him when necessary," I say simply.
"Right."
She steps closer.
"Just so you know, Mr. Smith doesn't like when assistants get too involved. He prefers distance. Professional space. He values structure."
Her tone is soft, but her meaning is not.
I meet her eyes. "I'm aware of what professionalism looks like."
Something cold moves through her expression, but she covers it quickly.
"Just looking out for you," she says with a small shrug. "It would be a shame if you… misunderstood your position here."
Before I can respond, she turns and walks back toward the conference room.
I close my eyes for half a second.
Calm. Stay calm.
I return to my desk, sit down, and try to focus on my tasks. But it's hard to concentrate when I can feel the meeting starting behind that door—the voices, the shifting chairs, the long pauses where decisions are made.
When the door eventually opens, it's Liam who steps out first.
He checks his watch, expression still unreadable. Then his gaze flicks to me.
It's only for a second.
But it's enough.
Enough to make Becka stiffen behind him.
Enough to make the air thicken.
Enough to make something new spark in the space between us.
He walks closer.
"Miss Williams."
"Yes, sir?"
"I'll need a summary of the board's questions. Email it by six."
"I can have it ready sooner."
His jaw ticks.
He doesn't like that I don't stress.
That I don't scramble.
That I'm not intimidated in the way he's used to.
"Six is fine," he says.
"Alright."
He nods once and walks toward the elevator. Becka follows, her expression tight and resentful.
When they reach the end of the hallway, he presses the elevator button. He waits with his hands in his pockets, gaze straight ahead.
But when the doors open, he looks back.
Right at me.
Just long enough for my breath to hitch.
Then he steps inside and disappears.
The office exhales around me, tension melting slowly. People begin murmuring again, returning to whatever they were doing before he walked in and rearranged the air.
I pick up my pen, flip open my notebook, and write at the top of the page:
Summary — Board Questions
But my mind isn't fully on the paper.
It's still replaying the look in his eyes.
Sharp.
Curious.
Irritated that he feels either.
And something else—
Something I'm not ready to name.
Not yet.