CHAPTER THREE: ASSHOLE

The next three hours were a blur of intense, frantic work. The three black binders were massive, and contained complex financial structures, offshore shipping logs, and names of high-ranking board members. As I flipped through the pages, highlighting key figures and typing summary notes on my computer, my eyes kept catching recurring names.

Adam Alder. Silvan's uncle and the Vice Chairman.

According to these documents, Adam managed the logistics side of the company, the exact department my father used to work with three years ago. My grip tightened around the highlighter. The puzzle pieces were right here, buried under a mountain of numbers. I just needed to dig deeper.

At 8:42, I printed out a neat, ten-page summary report, placed it in a blue folder, and walked back to Silvan's office, knocking once before stepping in.

Silvan was sitting behind his desk, fully dressed in his black suit jacket now, typing rapidly on his laptop. He didn't look up as I approached.

I placed the blue folder right on the edge of his desk. “Your summary report, Sir. Eighteen minutes ahead of schedule.” my heart practically flipping with joy.

He stopped typing, looked at the folder, then raised his eyes to meet mine. For a second, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed his dark features, though he hid it almost instantly.

Bastard! I already saw it.

He picked up the folder and flipped through my notes. The room was quiet. I stood there with my hands folded at my back trying to keep a straight face from smiling.

“Not bad,” he murmured after two agonizing minutes. He closed the folder and looked at me. “Your analysis of the logistics division is surprisingly good. It almost makes me wonder if you have some kind of personal interest in shipping.”

Of course I do, bastard!

“My father worked in logistics, sir,” I lied calmly. “I grew up around the industry, so I'm familiar with the terminology.”

He leaned back in his leather chair, tilting his head slightly, studying my face like a hawk watching a field mouse.

“Is that so?” he whispered. “And where is your father now, Miss Martin?”

The question hit me like a slap in the face, cold wave of grief and anger surging through my veins.

You drove him to his death, you bastard!

Of course I wasn't going to say that. “He passed away three years ago.”

His gray eyes didn't soften, he stared at me intensely. He stood up from his chair, his tall, imposing figure casting a long shadow across the desk. He walked around the table, stopping just inches away from me.

The scent of cedarwood and tobacco hit me again, heavy and suffocating. I hate how he makes me feel.

“I don't like secrets, Camille,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, rough baritone that vibrated in the air. He didn't call me Miss Camille this time. He used my real first name, and hearing it roll off his tongue sent an electric shock straight down my core.

“I don't have secrets, Mr. Alder,” I whispered, holding his gaze even though every survival instinct was screaming at me to look away.

Silvan reached out. For a terrifying, breathless second, I thought he was going to touch me. But his long fingers simply brushed past my cheek to grab a pen resting on the corner of the desk right behind me. His chest lightly brushed against my shoulder, radiating a heat that made my skin tingle.

He leaned down slightly, his lips almost touching my ear.

“Everyone has secrets, sweetheart,” he whispered, his warm breath grazing my skin.

“The only difference is, in this building... I eventually find out what they are.”

Then, just like that, he straightened. Whatever had just happened seemed to disappear from his expression. He calmly picked up the pen from his desk and returned to his work as if he hadn't just invaded my personal space.

“You're dismissed, Miss Martin.”

His voice was back to its usual cool, authoritative tone. “Bring me my lunch and make sure the tea is hot.”

prick! Bastard! Scumbag! I stood there for two long seconds, running all insults I could think of. I couldn't say it out loud but my death stare on him could burn his skin. I turned around and marched out of his office, making sure my shoes clicked as loudly as possible on his pristine floor.

When the glass door shut behind me, I collapsed into my office chair and pressed my cold hands against my burning cheeks.

Silvan Alder was dangerous, arrogant, ruthless, and terrifyingly smart. But worse than all of that... he was making it very hard for me to achieve my plan without smashing his head against a wall.

By 12:30 PM, my stomach was making embarrassing growling sounds. I hadn't eaten a single bite since my half-cup of cheap coffee at six in the morning. I opened the dining directory on my computer. Luckily, Brenda, despite wanting me dead, had left a laminated cheat sheet in the top drawer of my desk with Julian's exact dietary preferences.

1:00 PM Sharp. Black tea, hot (195°F), no sugar, single drop of lemon. Grilled salmon, plain greens, no dressing.

This man eats like a wealthy mouse. Now don't ask me how I knew.

I dialed the private kitchen number on my telephone. At exactly one o’clock, I had ordered his lunch and tea. A catering cart rolled up to my desk with a silver-domed tray and a white porcelain teapot. I checked the tea twice, made sure the plate looked perfect, and smoothed down my skirt.

Knocking twice before entering his office. Silvan was on a phone call, speaking in rapid, fluent French into his headset while staring at three different computer monitors. He didn't even look up when I walked in. He just made a lazy motion with his hand, pointing toward the small glass table in the corner of his office.

I carefully placed the silver tray down on the table, the porcelain teacup next to a fresh napkin, and a saucer. I poured the steam dark liquid, watching the steam rise in a soft curl. It was boiling hot. Exactly as requested.

While I waited patiently with my hands at my back, for him to finish his call so I could be dismissed.

Silvan finally clicked off his headset, tossed it onto his desk, and stood up. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, walking over to the glass table with that slow, dangerous stride that made my chest tighten.

He sat on the chair, his eyes landing on the cup. “That's too much.”

“Excuse me?"

“The cup.” He pointed at it. “You filled it too much.”

I stared at him. “I'll fix it.”

“And the temperature?”

I slowly looked at him.“You want me to check the temperature of your tea too?”

His eyebrow lifted. “I thought that was obvious.”

Oh, this man…

"It's hot sir.” I said calmly, trying my best to sound professional.

“This is lukewarm, Miss Martin.”

I blinked, taking a small step forward. "I'm sorry, sir? I brought it up straight from the executive kitchen two minutes ago. The steam was literally—”

"I don't care if it was brewed in the sun, Miss Martin," he interrupted smoothly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "It's not hot enough. And the lemon ratio is off. Did you even taste it before bringing it to me?” He said in a harsh tone.

"Would you like me to make another one?"

The word came out so calmly, I really didn't want to argue with him.

Gaining no reaction from him, I picked up the tray."I’m sorry, I will take it back down and have them remake it" I said, putting on the fake, sugary-sweet customer service voice I used when I worked retail in college.

"Don't bother," he suddenly said, pulling his laptop toward himself on the glass table. "If you can't even manage a simple cup of tea on your first day, I shudder to think how you're going to manage my schedule for the Zurich summit.”

That was it! He was doing it on purpose. He was poking at me, trying to break my professional composure just to see me lose my temper.

"I assure you, Mr. Alder, my administrative skills extend far beyond beverage temperatures," I said, keeping my head high and my tone sounding a bit harsh. "Is there anything wrong with the salmon, or should I throw that in the trash too?”

A slow, dangerous spark lit up in his gray eyes. He closed the laptop slowly, resting his chin in his hand to look at me."Are you talking back to me, Miss Martin?"

"I am clarifying your preferences, sir," I lied smoothly. "So I don't disappoint your high standards.”

The room went silent, I thought for sure he was going to fire me right then and there. Instead he smiled lightly.

"Take the tea," he murmured, turning his attention back to his laptop. "Remake it yourself in the executive lounge. And if it's not on my desk in five minutes, you'll be staying until 9:00 PM tonight to re-index the entire board archive.”

"Right away, Mr. Alder.” I nodded before leaving.

He was testing me, fine! But I was going to make sure that tea was hot enough to melt his cold, miserable heart.

***************

After successfully brewing another tea, making sure it was boiling hot and contained the exact drops of lemon, I brought it back to his office. He had wanted to find another fault, because I saw the way he looked at the tea before giving me an unimpressed “acceptable". He was still a prick and clearly wanted the satisfaction of picking a fight.

The following hours were exhausting, with Silvan sending me on endless errands. I couldn’t count how many times I heard him swear under his breath as he slammed phone receivers down or barked orders at high-ranking directors. He was a complete nightmare to work for. At one point, after he ordered me to re-type a fifty-page report just because the line spacing was off by half a millimeter, I genuinely felt like smashing his head against the glass doors.

What an annoying bastard!

To make matters worse, the intimidating-looking man whose name I now knew was Reto made things even harder. Whenever Silvan stepped out to go to high-level meetings, Reto stood near the hallway like a stone wall. His cold eyes followed my every move, completely preventing me from slipping into Silvan's office to find that encrypted vault key.

Finally, closing time was here. My feet were throbbing, and my head was pounding, my soul felt completely drained. I hurriedly arranged my things, packed my bag, and was completely prepared to sprint toward the elevator when Silvan's deep voice suddenly interrupted me.

“Miss Martin.”

I slowly turned around with one strap of my bag already over my shoulder. Silvan was standing at his doorway, adjusting his cufflinks, looking as impossibly fresh as if he had just woken up from a ten-hour nap.

“You'll need to resume work earlier tomorrow than you did today,” he said, his gray eyes locking onto mine. “Say, 5:30 AM. I have an urgent overseas trip to handle, and I need your full attention before my flight takes off.”

“5:30 AM, sir?” I swallowed back a scream.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, Mr. Alder,” I said quickly, forcing a polite smile. “I’ll be here.”

He nodded then walked away with Reto trailing behind him.

Inside, though? I was practically dancing. If Silvan was traveling out of the city, it meant the executive floor would be empty for the rest of the week. It meant I would finally have all the time in the world to access his office, crack his safe, and get the proof I needed. What a relief of stress.

Reaching home, I kicked off my shoes, collapsed onto the sofa, and pulled out my phone, texting Damian right away: Silvan is flying out of the city tomorrow. I have to go in super early, but once he leaves, his office is wide open.

Damian replied instantly: That’s the best news I’ve heard all week! Get in, grab the files from his hard drive, and get out. I’ll stay by my laptop all day tomorrow to decrypt whatever you d******d.

I typed back: Thank you, Damian. Seriously, I owe you a massive dinner after this.

We kept chatting for the next hour, talking about normal things to distract me from the stress. We laughed over how terrible my cheap coffee tasted compared to the fancy Italian espresso beans in Silvan's office, and Damian made fun of my terrible luck with bossy men. It felt so good to talk to someone who actually knew the real me.

After freshening up and eating dinner. I was so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open. I crawled into bed, pulled the blanket up to my chin, and drifted off into a deep sleep.