The Rules are Simple

Noah had barely sat down at his new desk—an unforgiving glass slab outside Elias’s office—when an email pinged on his screen.

Subject: YOUR RULES

From: [e-mail]

Attachment: Rules_for_Assistant.p*f

He opened it.

1. No personal questions.

2. No touching. Ever.

3. Do not enter my office uninvited.

4. Anticipate my needs before I ask.

5. You belong to this company until I say otherwise.

That last one made Noah blink.

Was that even legal?

Before he could question it, the glass door behind him whispered open.

Elias stood there—perfect suit, cold expression, eyes fixed on him like he was a chess piece being moved into position.

“Follow me,” he said.

Noah scrambled to his feet, grabbing a tablet and stylus from his desk. He trailed Elias down the private corridor into a silent, black-walled conference room that overlooked the skyline like a shark tank.

Elias pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

Then he sat across from him, silent.

Noah tried to match the silence for a full ten seconds before cracking.

“So… what’s this meeting about?”

Elias didn’t blink. “I want to understand your limits.”

“My… limits?”

“You’re inexperienced. Underqualified. And yet…” Elias’s gaze dropped to Noah’s hands, then back up to his face. “You were the only candidate I didn’t immediately dislike.”

Noah shifted in his seat, throat dry. “Is that a compliment?”

“No. It’s a warning.”

A slow pause stretched between them. Noah couldn't read him—couldn't tell if this was a test, a trap, or just how Elias spoke.

Then Elias leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

“There are three kinds of assistants, Mr. Hart.”

Noah swallowed.

“The ones who crumble under pressure. The ones who try to impress me. And the ones who know how to stay invisible while still keeping me in control.”

“And you want the third kind.”

“I want the kind,” Elias said smoothly, “who doesn’t flinch when I get close.”

He stood. Walked around the table.

Stopped behind Noah’s chair.

Noah froze. He could hear Elias’s breathing. He could smell his cologne—clean, sharp, expensive. His neck prickled.

And then—a hand on his shoulder.

Just resting there. Calm. Casual. Yet absolutely not casual.

Noah’s heart thundered. He sat like a statue, unsure whether to lean away or melt into it.

“You’re very still,” Elias murmured by his ear.

Noah’s voice cracked. “You said no touching.”

“I said you don’t touch me.”

Elias stepped back. “But I can touch you. If I choose.”

Noah turned in his chair. His mouth opened. “Is that—are you trying to—”

Elias cut him off with a smirk that wasn’t quite a smile. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m only observing how you respond to pressure. If you plan to work for me, you’ll need to learn how to sit still when someone gets too close.”

Noah didn’t answer.

Because the truth? His body was still buzzing where Elias had touched him.

And he hated that.

---

Back at his desk an hour later, Noah was typing up minutes from a meeting he barely remembered. His hands shook once when he paused.

It didn’t mean anything.

He wasn’t into guys.

He wasn’t into him.

Except… he hadn’t stopped thinking about Elias’s hand on his shoulder.

The weight of it. The heat of it.

The control.

And for one dizzy second, Noah wondered:

What would it feel like if he touched more?