Twoo

Hillary

“Hi—um, I’m here for Bentley Brown. I have… this.” I reach into my bag for the envelope I’ve been told to present and hand it to the doorman.

The lobby is quiet. Only one person walks out as I come in.

The uniformed doorman unfolds the paper and reads it carefully.

“Oh… Director Brown mentioned you,” he says, looking up with a smile.

I nod, maybe a little too excited for this.

“I’m Adam,” he introduces himself, extending his hand.

I let go of my suitcase and shake it. “Hillary.”

“Okay, Hillary. Take the elevator up to the 30th floor. Someone will be waiting to take you to Director Brown,” Adam says.

“Thank you, Adam.” I smile and turn, dragging my suitcase into the elevator.

He waves kindly as the doors close.

Awww. Such a nice soul.

I press the button for the 30th floor and wait nervously. The elevator glides smoothly upward, fast and silent. All of this must cost a fortune.

When the doors open, I step into a fluorescent-white hallway. A young man stands by a massive door, and I walk up to him, nearly collapsing from exhaustion after dragging my heavy bags. Why did I pack so much?

“Hi,” I breathe. “I’m Hillary Clarke, and I’m here for Bentley Brown.”

His brows shoot up.

“Careful in there. It’s Director Brown,” he corrects.

“Oh.” I nod. Weird.

He taps in a code, then pushes the door open for me. I drag my luggage inside, trying not to gawk like a peasant—but my jaw nearly hits the floor.

Is this someone’s house or heaven?

I feel completely out of place.

Bright white light fills the massive living room, dining area, and kitchen. Everything is sleek, expensive, immaculate. I’ve heard he’s a germophobe—apparently, that’s not an exaggeration.

No one is in sight. The man at the door doesn’t come in with me, so I stay put, drinking in the view. The staircase is massive, the kitchen breathtaking.

A woman appears through a side door, dressed neatly in what I guess is a housekeeper’s uniform.

“Hello,” she greets with a smile so warm it calms me instantly.

“Hi, good evening. I’m—”

“Miss Clarke, the new personal assistant, right?” she cuts in.

“Yeah, that’s me.” I nod quickly.

“Give me a minute. I’ll get Director Brown.” She disappears, only to return through the glass doors that lead to the balcony—this time with a man.

That must be him.

He eyes me suspiciously as he walks closer, stopping a safe distance away.

He doesn’t look like a man who controls billions of dollars. Casual white sweatpants, a white t-shirt with black stripes, a bowl of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. His hair—dark and light brown curls, thick and messy—is more than I’ve ever seen on a man. His beard is neatly shaved, his face sharply defined with cheekbones, a cut jawline, thick brows, and sunken eyes.

He looks like a hot nerd.

A geek who somehow narrowly escaped being ugly and he looks nothing like Jake too.

“Good evening, Director Brown. I’m so glad to be here. I promise I’ll learn quickly and be as excellent as I can,” I say nervously.

His face only grows more irritated. His eyes drop to my white pants.

I look down. Oh… right. The stain.

“A kid at the airport bumped into me with a dragon fruit smoothie,” I explain quickly.

He sighs like he already regrets hiring me.

“What’s your middle name?” His voice catches me off guard.

So thick, deep, mechanical—like something out of an automated machine.

“Diana. Hillary Diana Clarke,” I answer.

“Congratulations on that,” he says, nodding at my ring. The way he says it makes marriage sound like a shameful mistake.

“Thank you, sir.” I force a smile.

“Okay, Clarke. You work Monday through Saturday. Your only free day is Sunday. I feed you, house you, and still pay you. You don’t understand how lucky you are. You never would’ve gotten this job if it weren’t for my brother.”

Ouch. What a lovely way to talk to your brother’s fiancée.

I remind myself of my promise—not to take offense. So I just smile.

“Get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow. Isabel will show you to your room and get you something to eat,” he says dismissively as another man approaches him with a ringing phone.

He walks away, leaving me with the housekeeper.

“Let me help you with one of those,” Isabel offers, reaching for a suitcase.

“It’s quite heavy, thank you.”

“Come on,” she insists, lifting it easily.

“Thanks,” I say, following her up the long, floating staircase.

Once we reach the top, she points. “That first room is yours. Down the hall is Director Brown’s.”

“Thank you so much, Isabel.”

“Dinner in fifteen,” she says before leaving.

I push my bags inside the luxury room and slump against the door. Tired doesn’t even begin to cover it. Still, I manage to unpack a few things and take a shower. The bathroom is like gold—clean, elegant, beautiful.

Afterward, I go downstairs for dinner, then back up to prepare for my first day. Checking my emails, I see Bentley’s former PA has sent a checklist of daily tasks.

The first? Pick out his outfit.

What?

How am I supposed to decide what a billionaire wears?

Oh—apparently, his wardrobe manager will tell me what to choose.

I unbox my new iPad, set everything up, and try to calm my excitement. Finally, a job I can maybe learn to love.

Before bed, I call Jake.

“Hey, beautiful,” he answers almost instantly.

“Jake, hi. I’m here. I just settled in, and I’m about to go to bed. I just wanted you to know I’m fine.”

“That’s great, my love. I hope you and Ben get along. He can be a handful, but I trust you.”

I giggle softly.

“I’ll definitely miss dropping by to see your beautiful face, but this is for the best. I’ll find time to visit you soon. I love you, Lary.”

“I love you too, Jake.”

The call ends, and I exhale.

I try calling Georgia, but she doesn’t pick up. So I go to bed, gazing out at the buzzing city from my window. The view is perfect. My bed is tucked close to the wall, and I don’t bother closing the blinds.

I leave them open, falling asleep slowly with one reminder echoing in my head: Jake loves me. And tomorrow is a new day.