CHAPTER 3: ASSHOLE

*CAMILLE POV*

The next hours were totally tiring. As I flipped through the pages, highlighting key figures and typing summary notes on my computer, my eyes kept catching a recurring name.

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

According to these documents, Adam managed the logistics of the company, the exact department my father used to work with three years ago. My fingers tightened around the highlighter.

At 7:50am, I printed out a summary, put it in a blue folder, and walked back to Silvan's office, knocking once before stepping in.

If Silvan never hurried me, I didn't believe I could be this fast, a three hour work was finished in just a few minutes.

Silvan was on 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 folder right on the edge of his desk. “Your summary report, Sir. Ten minutes ahead of schedule.”

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.

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 not to smile.

“Not bad,” he murmured after two long minutes. He closed the folder and looked at me. “Your notes on the logistics division are surprisingly good, almost makes me wonder if you have personal interest in shipping.”

“My father worked in logistics, sir,” I answered. “I grew up with him, so I know how it works.”

He leaned back in his leather chair, nodding. “That's good, really good. Then he paused, his brows raising in a questioning manner. “And where is your father now, Miss Camille?”

The question hit me like a slap in the face, a cold wave of sadness and anger surged through me.

You ruined his life, you monster!

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

He stared at me with so much intensity, standing up from his chair and walking towards me in slow steps. His tall, imposing figure casting a long shadow across the desk, stopping two inches from me.

He was way too close. And I could smell his scent of cedarwood and tobacco which made my heart do a weird, sudden flip in my chest.

“I don't like secrets, Camille,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, rough baritone that vibrated in the air. Hearing him say my name so casually, sends unwanted electric shocks 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 second, I thought he was going to touch my face. 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 touched my shoulder, radiating a heat that made my skin tingle.

He leaned down slightly, his lips so close to my ear I could feel his warm breath.

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

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

Then he straightened. Whatever had just happened seemed to disappear from his expression. He clicked his pen and returned to his work as if he hadn't just invaded my personal space.

“You're dismissed, Miss Camille.”

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

What the fuck just happened?

I stood there still in daze of what had happened. My death glare 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 I closed his doors, I sat down at my desk and pressed my cold hands to my hot face. My pulse was racing. He was terrifying, bossy, and way too smart—and the way he got so close to me was making me aroused. Something I often don't feel.

By 12:30 PM, my stomach was growling loudly. I pulled up the cheat sheet Brenda had left in my drawer.

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

Somehow I feel Brenda was more than a coordinator, she acts like his wife.

At exactly 1:00, the food cart arrived. 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 French. He 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 black tea, watching the steam rise in a soft curl. It was boiling hot. Exactly as requested.

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 down, looked at the cup and frowned. “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 looked at him.“You want me to check the temperature of your tea, too?”

His dark eyebrow went up. “I thought that was obvious.”

Oh, this man…

I took a breath. "It's hot, sir.”

“This is lukewarm, Miss Camille.”

"I'm sorry, sir? I brought it straight from the kitchen two minutes ago,” I said, feeling the temperature. “The steam was literally—”

"I don't care where it came from," he interrupted, leaning back and crossing his legs. "It’s cold. And the lemon ratio is wrong. Did you even taste it?”

"Would you like me to make another one?" I asked.

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 said, resting his hands on his forehead. "You can't even make a simple cup of tea on your first day, I don't know how you're going to manage my schedule for Zurich.”

Fuck professional composure, tea making wasn't part of my job and he knew that.

"My skills aren't for tea making, Mr Alder." I said a bit harshly. "Is there anything wrong with the salmon, or should I throw that in the trash too?”

A dangerous spark lit up in his gray eyes. He smirked looking at me. "Are you talking back to me?"

"I'm just making sure I know what you like, sir," I lied, giving him a fake smile. "So I don't disappoint your high standards."

The room went silent, he stared at me for a long time. I thought for sure he was going to fire me at the spot. Instead he smiled lightly.

"Take the tea," he murmured, averting his eyes. "Remake it yourself. And if it's not on my desk in five minutes, you'll be staying until 9:00 tonight.”

"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.

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

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

The rest of the day was exhausting. He sent me on endless errands, yelling at directors on the phone and slamming things down. He was a complete nightmare to work for.

To make it worse, his scary guard, Reto, stood in the hallway like a brick wall every time Silvan left his office. His cold eyes watched my every move, so I couldn't even sneak inside to look for the vault key.

Finally, it was 5:00pm. My feet were throbbing, and my head was pounding. In a hurry, I arranged my things, completely prepared to sprint toward the elevator when Silvan's deep voice suddenly interrupted me.

“Miss Camille.”

I turned around with my bag on my shoulder. Silvan was standing in his doorway, fixing his sleeves. He looked completely fresh, like he hadn't just worked ten hours straight.

“You'll need to resume work earlier tomorrow, 5:30 AM. I have an urgent overseas trip to handle, and I need you before my flight.”

“5:30 AM, sir?” I choked back a groan.

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

“No, Mr. Alder,” I forced a smile. “I’ll be here.”

He nodded and walked toward the elevators with Reto behind him.

If Silvan was flying out of the country, his office would be totally empty. No Silvan, no Reto. I’d finally have the whole floor to myself to break into his office and get the proof I needed.

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: That’s the best news! It relieves you of further stress. Get in, grab the files from his hard drive, and get out. I’ll be waiting by my laptop to unlock 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.

I was so exhausted I could barely keep up with texting Damian, so I texted him goodnight and went to bed.