08 — The CEO's Den

When the doors opened, we stepped out into a spacious office area. We arrived at the top floor, where the Chief Executive Officer's office was located. I was vividly aware of my surroundings, my nerves on edge, eager to see the devilishly handsome man but also reluctant for the outcome of the event.

"Ally, I'm sorry, I won't be able to accompany you to his office. I have lots of files on my desk that need to be sorted out, and I'm already lagging behind," Rose, my savior, said apologetically.

She rummaged through her purse, bringing out a small white card. "Here is my business card; it contains my details. You can get to me through this." She smiled, handing me her business card.

"No stress, Rose; you've done a lot for me. I'm grateful."

"You're welcome, Ally. You're one funny girl, just doing my job. Don't mention it again; friends help each other, right? And again, I think any human would have done the same thing."

Rose smiled and continued, "Before I forget, count seven steps from here; the door on your left side is his office. Quick reminder, make sure you knock!"

"Knock?" I asked, perplexed.

"He doesn't appreciate the noise the bell makes," Rose explained.

"Then, why have it? That's stupid, if you ask me," I said, letting my opinion be known.

Rose smiled mischievously. "He's the boss, after all; he's a nice man, Ally. You'll figure that out later."

"Yeah, right," I replied dismissively.

We chatted more until her phone rang; she pleaded with me once more and left me to continue my journey to hell alone.

I counted seven steps like she said and found myself in front of a glass door. I couldn't see the inside, but I was sure anybody in there could see me.

As I raised my hand to knock, a blonde woman’s words stopped me before my hand could touch the door.

She eyed me from head to toe from her cubicle and smirked irritably. "What are you doing here, whore?"

Whore? Did she know me from somewhere, because I had never met her until that moment? This one was a bitch with an icy demeanor. Not icing, but bitchy frost. Icy like her words.

She probably felt threatened. But of whom?

I ignored her question and strolled to her desk, sitting on the opposite chair.

She pranced up and stood directly in front of me, her long artificial nails drumming on the table. Her bright red lipstick glared at me, and her short skirt seemed to be screaming for attention.

"Excuse me, aren't you supposed to ask yourself that? I mean, look at you," I stared at her in disgust, from her red lips that screamed "hoe" to her tight-fitting shirt with the first five buttons undone, exposing more than half of her cleavage. And her breasts? Her boobs were 100% fake.

Dressings like this should be condemned in organizations because workers are the supposed faces of the company.

"Your personality screams 'I'm a slut, treat me like one,' and you think you're better than me? By the way, I'm not here for you; Mr. Reynolds demanded I come here. Make your bitter self scarce now, bitch!" I said.

She stood up, her face red with anger, her claw-like fingers stretched to grab my T-shirt, but my quick reflexes kicked in, and I slightly pushed her.

She fell on her butt and shrieked like the hawk that she was.

I made my way back to the door with "C.E.O" boldly written on it.

I loved it when I got to say the last word; there was something about it that I couldn't explain.

Just as I was about to knock, the door opened abruptly, and I was met with one of the beauties of the place once again.

He smiled sheepishly and gave me an acknowledging nod.

I smiled back, not wanting to come off rude, and walked past him into the room.

As I stepped inside, I was struck by the luxurious feel of Trevor Reynolds' office. The room had sleek, modern glass walls with a stunning view of the Manhattan skyline. The transparent walls seemed to disappear, giving the illusion that I was floating above the city.

From the top floor of the high-rise building on Wall Street, I could see the majestic Statue of Liberty towering above the harbor, her torch shining brightly in the morning sunlight. The Brooklyn Bridge stretched across the East River, connecting the boroughs of Brooklyn and Manhattan. The Brooklyn skyline rose up, a sprawling tapestry of buildings and skyscrapers, bathed in the warm glow of morning light.

The room was filled with expensive-looking furniture. A massive mahogany desk dominated the space. Behind the desk, Trevor sat in a comfortable-looking leather chair.

To one side of the room, a comfortable-looking seating area was arranged around a low coffee table. The walls were adorned with elegant artwork, and the air was thick with the scent of luxury.

I noticed that the office was more than just a workspace — it was a self-contained suite. Two doors, discreetly tucked away in a corner, hinted at the presence of additional rooms. One door bore a subtle plaque that read "Sanctuary" — clearly, the restroom. The other door, adorned with a plaque that read "Retreat", likely led to a bedroom or resting area. It was clear that Trevor Reynolds was a man who valued his comfort and convenience.

Trevor Reynolds' office was a testament to his wealth and power, and I couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by the grandeur of it all.

"Hello!" I called out, my voice echoing off the glass walls.

He spun around, facing me with a stoic expression.

"Good morning, Miss...?"

"Alessia Maxwell," I completed it for him.

This arrogant man! Did he just pretend not to know my name? I'd already told him before, and now he's playing dumb?

"Miss Maxwell, I'm sure you're here with my money, aren't you?" He asked, now sitting on his seat. He lacked manners, he couldn't even ask me to sit.

"I'm not here with your money. I already decided that I will work for you, and again, are you always fine with people standing over you?" I asked.

I'd been there for just ten minutes or more, and he had already angered me.

"Be careful what you say, Maxwell. I'm your boss, you won't get to tell me what is right or wrong, and if you're not okay with it, you can drop my money and leave." He sneered, twirling the pen in his hand.

"Excuse me, you might be the boss, but we all have equal rights. Is it bad for you to learn some manners, Mr. Reynolds?" He made me want to slap his stupid face repeatedly. He was egotistical, rude, and hot. Great combo!

"Alessia, have you forgotten that I can ruin you, or should I remind you about who you're speaking to?" He tsk-ed. God save me from this sin of a man.

There was something compelling about the way he said my name that made me want to have my way with him. The man was a walking sin!

"I'm not sorry because I'm not wrong. It's just manners." I countered back.

"You're walking on a thin line now, Alessia, and believe me, you don't want to know the consequence." He taunted.

Should I beg him? He could make my life a living hell in a matter of just seconds, but I didn't do anything wrong. He should be the one apologizing, not me. Oh, my enlarged mouth would definitely put me in trouble someday. I just had to say my damn mind every time, now look where it had got me? In the lion's den.

I needed to swallow my pride and apologize.

"I'm sorry, sir," I stated reluctantly.

"Now, that's more like it. You can have a seat, Alessia. Pardon my manners." He said sincerely.

Did he apologize? To me? Pigs do fly. I laughed mentally in my head.

"It's good we finally agreed on something." I faked a smile.

"Now let's not get too comfortable, Alessia. You will be working as my assistant. And by personal assistant, I mean you'll have to move in with me because you'd be the coordinator of my home. I’m a bit of a neat freak. Everything has its place. During this period, I won't tolerate you having any kind of romantic relationship outside of your work. Can't have you bringing little boys to my place."

"Every morning, you're to make my coffee and bring it directly to my room. If I'm not there, you'll find me in my office. I hate tardiness; you must be prompt and always up to the task."

"If you need anything, come to me directly. I detest it when someone beats around the bush; it's irritating." He sure said a lot in a matter of two minutes.

"Sir, I can't agree to all that. My mom needs me; she has cancer. You don't expect me to just leave her all by herself at the hospital and go live at some guy's place." I said, tears brewing in the corner of my eyes.

I couldn't leave my mom now, not when she needed me the most. That woman did a lot for me; I was never going to let her down, even if it demanded my self-respect. Everyone had a price to pay.

"Some guy that is your alleged boss, huh? I understand your predicament. How about this: your mom will move in with us but on one condition?" He said, raising one brow.

"You would really allow a total stranger to stay at your place, isn't that risky? What's the condition?" I asked, totally confused.

"Forget about the job I said earlier, the personal assistant position. Honestly, I don't really need it; Rosalie is efficient and also convenient because I'm always at the office."

"Alessia, I drafted a much better contract." He stated, bringing out a folder from under some big books.

He signaled me to take it from him, which I did.

"Read what it states, and if you're okay with it, you can sign over there, I mean the last page." He said, smirking mischievously.