Chapter One

Chapter One

Olivia’s POV

If I’d known tripping into the most powerful man in Manhattan’s office would be the least embarrassing part of my day, I might have worn flats.

 Or maybe prayed harder. 

Or not worn the silk blouse that was now soaked through with coffee and shame.

The elevator dinged.

Too late.

The floor stretched out before me like a runway for corporate models. I stepped out, my stiletto heels sharp, spine pretending to be steel.

 In my hand: a leather folder clutched like a shield. Inside: my carefully doctored résumé, threaded with just enough reality to be defensible and enough fiction to be dangerous.

I didn’t have a choice.

Three weeks late on rent. Credit cards in cardiac arrest. Mom’s constant calling and demanding for money like it grows on trees. And me—Olivia Wilde, former drama student, failed actress, sometime bartender, recent dog-walker, and full-time disappointment—walking into a job interview at Stone International like I had any right to be there, maybe because I day dream too much.

Except the CEO wasn't a stranger.

Fabian Stone.

Thirteen years old the last time I saw him. All wild eyes and awkward limbs, trailing after me like a puppy. I was nineteen, cocky, broke, babysitting him for a summer in the Hamptons.

Then I left. Like I always did, always on the run from reality.

And he—he grew up.

Now, at thirty-two, I was a walking, panting contradiction. And Fabian? CEO. Billionaire. Power pressed into a tailored suit.

The receptionist gave me an awkward smile. "Mr. Stone will see you now."

My pulse doing werid dancing in my throat.

I pushed through the glass doors, coffee trembling in my left hand, folder in the right. And then—

Betrayal.

My heel caught on the rug.

The world tilted.

Coffee flew in the air. My mouth opened.

Time stretched, broke, snapped.

Strong fingers closed around my wrist before I hit the ground.

And there he was.

Fabian Stone.

Up close, he smelled like woodsmoke and sharp cologne. His green eyes—no, not green. Forest. Watchful. Unreadable.

His mouth twitched. “Still falling for me, huh, Liv?”

I gaped.

He remembers me! And that nickname!

Liv. Not Olivia. Not Ms. Wilde. Liv, like I was still nineteen and babysitting him through his parents' cold fights and colder silences.

My stomach turned.

“That was thirteen years ago,” I said. “And I don’t fall.”

“You just trip artistically?” 

I yanked my hand back. "Thanks. I'm fine."

“Clearly.” 

I straightened, brushing my blouse—pointless, it was ruined. My cheeks burned. My dignity lay dead on the floor.

“Your coffee,” he said, reaching for the cup. His fingers brushed mine.

It was heat.

Not warm. Heat.

Molten.

Dangerous.

I yanked my hand away.

He smiled. Slow. Unhurried. Like a lion who had all the time in the world to watch the lamb realize it had wandered into the den.

His eyes scanned me, lingering longer than necessary.

“You’re here for the assistant position?”

I nodded, faking composure. "I am."

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. I sat. He stayed standing, watched as I sat, before going to sit on his seat.

He opened the folder and glanced over the résumé.

"Langdon and Hill? You worked there?"

I swallowed. "Briefly. Contract role."

"And NYU?" he asked.

I paused.

His eyes met mine. Calm. Unblinking.

“You lied,” he said.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

He set the folder down. “You never worked for Langdon and Hill.”

Shit!

“And you dropped out of NYU halfway through your sophomore year.”

Shit! Shit!! Shit!!!

"I lied. I just desperately need this job" I said.

“That’s not an excuse. That’s a confession.”

My mouth dried up.

He leaned forward. “But I don’t care.”

My heart skipped a beat. “You don’t?”

He stood.

I took a step back.

He crossed to me, slow, predatory.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Liv.”

My stomach flipped. My breath caught in .

And suddenly, I was nineteen again, staring down at a boy with forest eyes and too many bruises on his arms. A boy who clung to my every word. Who used to watch me like I was a lighthouse in a storm.

Except now he was taller. Broader. Sharper.

Silence.

I braced myself for the rejection. For the polite thank you and the quiet escort out of the building.

He didn’t say anything for a while.

Then, “You start tomorrow.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

He walked behind his desk, sat down, fingers intertwined. “You're hired. As my assistant. If you want it.”

“But I—”

“Lied. I know. I said you're hired, not that you're forgiven.”

My brain spun.

Oh my.

“Why? Why would you hire someone who—”

"Because I know you, Liv. Because I remember a girl who taught me how to climb fences and read lines from Death of a Salesman in a fake Brooklyn accent."

My mouth dried, again. He looked away.

"You were the only person who ever listened. Even if it was just because you were paid to babysit me."

"I wasn’t—"

"Doesn’t matter. You showed up. And I don’t forget that." He stood up again, walked to the seat in front of his desk.

He shrugged. "Unless you're scared."

I lifted my chin. "Of what?"

He stepped closer. Close enough I could feel the heat off his chest.

"Me."

Instantly, my conscience started screaming.

I shouldn’t be here. I didn’t deserve this job. He was giving it to me out of some twisted nostalgia.

Dude, I'm not the same, I'm not the nice babysitter that made you climb fences. I'm twisted. I wanted to say.

But my pride had long since lost the war to survival.

"So... what do I do?" I asked ignoring whatever the hell he meant by me being scared of him.

He opened a drawer and handed me a slim, leather-bound planner. "You show up at 7:45. You stay until I leave. You don’t bring coffee until you're sure your balance is acceptable. And you don’t lie again."

I took the planner.

"You trust me to handle your schedule?"

"I trust you to follow instructions. Trust is earned, Liv. Not inherited."

Your fault if something goes wrong, because I don't even trust myself with my own life.

My shoulders sagged. "I understand." I muttered.

"Good."

He turned back to his screen. The conversation was over. I stood up to leave, my head buzzing.

"Liv."

I stopped.

"Don’t screw this up. I don’t give second chances. Not anymore."

I nodded once, left the office, and closed the door behind me.

~~~

My first day was a lesson in humiliation and grace.

The office was a cold jungle of glass, metal, and indifferent glances. I sat at my desk outside his door, typing schedules and sorting files with fingers that trembled just slightly.

By 9:00 a.m., I’d made two typos, spilled tea on my own notes, and nearly sent an internal email to the wrong department. Fabian didn’t say a word.

But I felt him watching.

I kept hearing his voice in my head.

Don’t lie again.

What he didn’t know was that I hadn’t just lied on paper. I’d lied to myself. I told myself I could keep this professional. That I could pretend the past didn’t matter. That I didn’t feel his eyes like a bruise beneath my skin.

At noon, he stepped out of his office. "Walk with me."

I blinked. "Sir?"

He gave me a look.

"Fabian," I corrected.

We walked through the top floor. Silent at first. I matched his stride. Barely.

He stopped at a corner window. "Why are you really here?"

The city stretched out before us like a beast, glittering and indifferent.

"I need the job," I said.

"That’s not what I asked."

I looked at him. Looked past the suit, the billion-dollar company, the polished control. He wasn’t the boy I used to read bedtime stories to. But part of him—part of him still remembered me as something safe.

"Because I don’t know what else to do," I whispered.

He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he nodded once.

"Then don’t waste the chance. I don’t hire charity cases, Olivia. You’re here because I believe you can do the job. But I won’t carry you."

"I’m not asking you to."

He turned back toward the office. "We’ll see."

And just like that, he walked away.

Leaving me with my guilt, my planner, and a job I hadn’t earned.

Way to go dude.

But maybe—maybe I could.

Maybe for once, I could stay.