Chapter 2

Natasha Whitmore's pov

The phone in my pocket buzzed again. I didn’t dare look at it. I couldn’t.

What was there to see? More pictures of my childhood best friend...scratch that...Ex best friend posting that community dick? No way.

My hands were still trembling too hard, and the last thing I needed was Ryan’s voice in my ear while I sat here looking like something the rain had tried to wash away.

A shadow crossed over me, soft fabric brushed my shoulder, and the cold needles of rain suddenly stopped. I lifted my head.

An elderly man stood there, holding a plain black umbrella over both of us. He looked to be in his seventies with thin silver hair, a simple grey coat that had seemed expensive....and shoes polished but scuffed at the toes.

His smile was small and polite at first. Then it faded the second his eyes took in the black rivers of mascara on my cheeks, the bare foot, the way my shoulders still jerked with leftover sobs.

“What is a girl like you doing out here in this weather?” he asked. His voice was low, steady, the kind that didn’t demand an answer but waited for one anyway. “May I sit?”

I almost said no. The refusal sat ready on my tongue. I had nothing left to offer a stranger, and the thought of explaining any of this made my throat tighten again. But the bench was freezing through my skirt, my blister throbbed, and the way he simply stood there...neither pushing nor turning away made the word die before it left my mouth.

I gave a small nod then looked away.

He sat, careful to leave space between us, angling the umbrella so the worst of the rain stayed off my head and shoulders. For a long moment neither of us spoke. Cars hissed past on the wet street. My phone kept vibrating, I ignored it.

After a while he glanced toward the small coffee shop across the road, its windows fogged from the inside and glowing with warm light.

“There’s a place over there,” he said. “At least it had dry seats, hot tea. You look like you could use both.”

I should have refused. Pride still flickered somewhere under the exhaustion. Instead I stood on uneven feet...one shoe still on, the other lost somewhere in the gutter...and let him walk beside me under the shared umbrella.

I still didn't say a word.

The coffee shop was completely empty. Only the low sound of the espresso machine and the rich smell of roasted beans filled the quiet.

He ordered two teas without asking what I preferred, then guided me to a corner table by the window.

I wrapped both hands around the cup the moment it arrived. The heat bit into my palms, sharp enough to feel real. I kept my eyes on the surface of the tea, watching the steam curl and disappear.

“What’s wrong, child?” he asked gently.

The kindness in his voice almost cracked me open again. I swallowed hard and forced the words out flat. It reminded me of my late grandpa. He cared about me so much, for as long as I could remember. The loss of my parents settled in my chest once more l.

“I was fired this morning for real reason. Just… gone.”

He didn’t press harder. He simply nodded, as if that single sentence explained the ruined makeup and the missing shoe. Pity softened the lines around his eyes, but he didn’t offer the usual empty comforts. He sipped his tea, studied me for a longer moment, then set the cup down with quiet care.

“I might be able to help with that.”

I looked up, startled.

“I have a few strings I can pull,” he continued. “Nothing fancy. Just a door that could open if you’re willing to walk through it.”

“All right,” I whispered.

"Follow me." He smiled again and stood. I followed him out into the clearing air.

We walked three blocks in silence. The buildings grew taller and glassier until we stopped in front of the Ford Group tower, the tallest in the city, the one everyone pointed to when they talked about real power. I had walked past it a hundred times. I had never imagined stepping inside as anything more than a visitor on an errand.

I couldn’t stop the words that slipped out.

“I heard the CEO is ruthless. Cold. The kind of man who doesn’t keep people around if they disappoint him even once.”

The old man only chuckled, a quiet sound that held no offense. "Really? He will not eat you alive. I promise."

I stared at him in shock, he didn't even seem bothered by the fact that I was looking like a disaster.

He led me through the revolving doors, past security that barely glanced at him, into a private elevator that rose without stopping.

My stomach fluttered with every floor. When the doors opened onto a quiet executive corridor, he walked straight to the largest office at the end and pushed the door open without knocking.

Daniel Ford looked up from behind a wide black desk.

He was younger than I expected...Probably in his mid thirties, dark hair pushed back from his cold face, eyes the colour of winter steel. He wore a charcoal suit with no tie, the top button of his white shirt undone.

He took one look at me and displeasure flickered across his expression the second he saw me: the damp coat, the smeared makeup, the single high heel still clinging to my foot.

“Grandfather,” he said, voice cool and even. “What is this?”

"Grandfather? This old man is related to this cold hearted tycoon?" I thought. Feeling sudden embarrassment from the comment I made about Daniel earlier in the lobby.

The old man...Alex, I recalled the name when he told me earlier...gestured toward me as if the answer should have been obvious.

“Your new personal assistant. She starts immediately.” He folded his arms, his eyes held no hint of sarcasm.

Daniel’s gaze cut to me, then back to his grandfather. “No.”

“No,” I said at the exact same time, the word automatic and serious.

Alex only raised one silver eyebrow, unbothered by either of us.

My phone chose that moment to ring....I pulled it out without thinking. The screen showed a number I didn’t recognise, but the company name beneath it made my blood run cold.

I immediately excuses myself, stepped back into the hallway and answered, turning away from the open office door.

“Miss Natasha Whitmore?” a crisp female voice asked. “This is Priority Lending. We’re calling regarding the ten million dollar personal loan taken out in your name two weeks ago. The first payment is overdue. When can we expect the funds?”

The floor seemed to tilt under me.

“I never took out a loan,” I said. My voice sounded distant, thin.

“The documents are signed and verified, Miss Whitmore. Your identification, bank details, and employment records were all provided at the time of application. The loan was approved and fully disbursed. We will need payment arrangements today or further action will be taken.”

My free hand braced against the wall. Two weeks ago Ryan was asking for my ID, my passport, my bank statements. The soft smile he had worn when he said he wanted to add me to the promotion list early. The way he had kissed my forehead and told me not to worry about a thing.

I closed my eyes. The betrayal landed fresh, heavier than the rain had been.

“I’ll… I’ll make the payment soon,” I heard myself say. “I need a little time.”

I ended the call before she could answer.

For a long second I stayed in the hallway, forehead pressed to the cool wall, breathing through the new wave of nausea. Then I wiped the last of the tears from my cheeks with the heel of my hand, squared my shoulders, and walked back into the office.

Daniel and his grandfather were still standing in the same positions, the air between them tight with unspoken argument. I could tell Daniel was not happy, but judging ok Alex's smile. I knew something definitely happened when I left.

I met Daniel’s cold stare without flinching.

“I’ll take the job.” Swallowing my pride. I was in line to be the Director of operations, with a degree on me. And now, I was reduced to nothing for money.

Alex’s face lit with quiet satisfaction. He rested a hand briefly on my shoulder, the touch light and almost grandfatherly.

“Good,” he said. “Daniel, this is Natasha Whitmore. Treat her well.”

Daniel’s jaw flexed once. He looked at me like I was an inconvenience that had already lasted too long.

But he didn’t argue again.