Chapter 3

Lena Carter had survived angry drunk customers, broken espresso machines, and a literal kitchen fire at her old diner job. She thought she could handle anything.

That was before she walked into Blackthorne Enterprises at exactly 8:59 AM and was immediately swallowed whole by a sea of glass, tension, and stiletto heels.

The receptionist—same woman from yesterday, lips still red and judgmental—gave her a once-over and smirked. “You’re late.”

“It’s 8:59.”

“It’s your first day,” she said, typing dramatically into her keyboard like she was writing a symphony. “Mr. Blackthorne expects his staff five minutes early. Minimum.”

“Noted,” Lena replied, biting back the urge to roll her eyes. She swore this place dripped with perfume, privilege, and passive aggression.

She stepped into the elevator, bracing herself. The same men from yesterday were there—suits, ties, zero expression—but now their eyes flicked to her in open confusion. And disapproval.

As if someone had brought a street cat into a luxury pet boutique.

She straightened her spine and stared ahead, pretending she couldn’t feel every stare poking holes in her back.

By the time she reached the 77th floor, she was sweating under her blazer.

A tall blonde woman in a silk blouse and heels sharp enough to kill met her at the door. “You’re the… assistant?”

“Lena Carter,” she said, holding out a hand.

The woman shook it briefly, her eyes sweeping Lena’s outfit like it had personally offended her. “I’m Vivienne. I manage PR and client relations. You’ll be assisting Mr. Blackthorne directly. Please try not to get in the way.”

“Oh, I live to please,” Lena said with the sweetest sarcasm.

Vivienne blinked. “Charming.”

Lena smirked and walked past her.

Rafael’s office was open. He was already seated, wearing a navy suit that looked sinfully expensive, typing something on his laptop. When he looked up, a faint smile tugged at his lips.

“You made it.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I expected you to punch someone before nine.”

She glanced at Vivienne, who lingered like a ghost. “Give it time.”

Rafe chuckled, stood, and motioned to the empty desk just outside his office. “You’ll work here. Files come in at ten. Meetings start at eleven. Don’t answer my phone unless I’m on the roof or unconscious. Oh, and if anyone calls about Monaco, I’m ‘in strategy talks.’ Got it?”

“Sure,” Lena said. “Except for one thing… what the hell is Monaco?”

He gave her that devilish half-smile. “You’ll figure it out.”

By noon, Lena had spilled coffee on a thirty-thousand-dollar marble floor, accidentally emailed a private memo to the entire investor chain, and was being actively ignored by the other assistants, who spoke in tight little cliques around the espresso bar like a high school hallway.

To make matters worse, one of them—Jasmine, or maybe Juliette—actually hissed at her when Lena tried to use the shared printer.

She was hungry, dizzy, and about two minutes away from flipping a desk when Rafe’s voice rang from behind her.

“Walk with me.”

Lena nearly tripped trying to stand too fast.

He handed her a tablet and a bottle of water like she was some kind of elite soldier. “I need you in this meeting.”

“With who?”

“Investors. Old men with too much money and not enough sense.”

She followed him down a corridor lined with frosted glass walls. “Why me?”

“Because Vivienne’s busy, and I need someone who isn’t afraid to call out BS.”

“Is this the part where I yell at millionaires?”

“Not yet,” he said, smirking. “That’s for phase two.”

The meeting room was massive and cold—like a courtroom without the justice. Rafe took the head seat. Lena slipped into the chair beside him, trying to look like she belonged.

An older man across the table eyed her. “New assistant?”

“She’s not for decoration, Leonard,” Rafe said smoothly. “Try not to embarrass yourself.”

Lena smirked and clicked open the notes on the tablet like a pro. If she was going to be here, she was going to be useful—and enjoy watching Rafe snap at rich creeps.

The meeting lasted thirty minutes. She said nothing—but her eyes did most of the talking. Rafe noticed. Every time someone made a ridiculous suggestion, Lena’s expression screamed are you serious?—and he had to bite his tongue not to laugh.

As they walked out, he leaned closer. “You’re going to get me fired for grinning like an idiot during budget talks.”

“Glad to be of service,” she said. “And Leonard smells like old whiskey and desperation, by the way.”

Rafe laughed—a real one, deep and unguarded—and Lena felt something strange flutter in her chest.

He held the elevator door open for her. “You okay?”

“First day on the battlefield? I’ve had worse.”

“Not bad for someone who used to work weekends and nights.”

“Careful,” she said, stepping in. “You’re starting to sound impressed.”

“I am,” he admitted. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As the doors slid shut, the elevator jolted slightly—stopping halfway between floors.

“Oh no,” she groaned.

“Relax,” Rafe said, pulling out his phone. “Happens sometimes. They’ll fix it.”

“No air. Tight space. Nothing to do,” Lena muttered, pressing her hand against the wall. “This is my nightmare.”

He raised a brow. “You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

“No, just cranky when I don’t eat.”

He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out… a granola bar.

Lena blinked. “Is that for me?”

“I learned the hard way not to argue with hungry women.”

She took it, eyeing him. “You’re full of surprises, Mr. Blackthorne.”

“Only when I’m trapped in elevators with mouthy assistants.”

She bit into the bar, then accidentally dropped a crumb straight onto his shoe.

“Oh my God,” she said, leaning down to brush it off.

But she miscalculated.

Hard.

Her hand slipped—landing squarely on his thigh.

They both froze.

Time stopped. Her eyes met his. His were wide, dark, and a little dangerous.

“I—” she started.

“Don’t move,” he said, voice hoarse.

Lena yanked her hand back like she’d been electrocuted. “Wow. Okay. That was… accidental.”

“Sure it was.”

“You think I did that on purpose?” she snapped, cheeks burning.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it with your stupid eyebrows.”

“My eyebrows are perfect,” he said, deadpan.

Lena snorted, then burst out laughing.

Rafe just stared at her, then shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re insane,” he said.

“You hired me.”

Just then, the elevator jolted again—and resumed moving. Doors opened.

They stepped out in silence, still laughing under their breath.

Vivienne was waiting, arms crossed. “Rafael, the Lawson deal is on line three.”

“Handle it,” he said, walking past her.

Vivienne’s eyes flicked to Lena. “You look flushed. Trouble with elevators?”

Lena smiled sweetly. “Just your boss making me laugh. It’s terrifying.”

Vivienne’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

As Lena sat back down at her desk, a notification pinged on her computer: TRANSFER RECEIVED: $10,000.00

Subject: Week One.

She stared at the number, mouth falling open. It was real. He’d actually paid her—before the first day was even over.

“Holy sh—” she whispered.

Just then, Rafe stepped out of his office, hands in his pockets. His expression unreadable.

“You survived the jungle,” he said. “Congratulations.”

She smirked. “Barely. But I’ll take your money and your granola bars.”

He leaned closer, voice low. “Be ready tomorrow. Things only get wilder from here.”

And with that, he disappeared into a meeting room, leaving her stunned, flustered, and secretly thrilled.

This job was chaos.

And she might’ve just started to enjoy the fire.