CHAPTER NINE: BUILDING TRUST

Five weeks in, something shifted.

It started small. Adrian asking if I'd eaten lunch. Commenting on the weather. Little things that didn't mean anything except they did.

Then one Thursday afternoon, his door stayed open.

I looked up from my computer. He sat at his desk, staring at his screen, rubbing his temple. That gesture. The one that meant stress.

I waited. Watched.

He didn't close the door.

At 4:30, he called out. "Reina. Do you have a minute?"

I grabbed my tablet. Walked to his office.

"Close the door."

I did. Sat across from him.

He leaned back in his chair. Looked tired. More tired than I'd seen him. "The Hartford merger. What do you think?"

I blinked. "You're asking my opinion?"

"You sit outside my office. You hear every call, read every email. You probably know this deal better than half the board. So yes. What do you think?"

I set down my tablet. Chose my words carefully. "Hartford's numbers look good on paper. But their leadership team has high turnover. Three executives left in the past year."

He nodded slowly. "I noticed that too."

"It could mean internal problems. Culture issues. Things that won't show up until after the merger."

"The board wants to move forward."

"The board sees profit margins. You have to live with the consequences."

He stared at me. Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise maybe. Or respect.

"You're right." He exhaled. "I keep thinking the same thing but everyone else is pushing."

"Then push back."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not? You're the CEO."

His laugh was bitter. "Being CEO means managing fifty different opinions that all think they're right." He rubbed his face. "Sometimes I miss when it was just me. Building something. No board breathing down my neck."

I said nothing. Just listened.

"Sorry." He shook his head. "You didn't sign up to be my therapist."

"I don't mind."

He looked at me. Really looked. "For being honest."

"That's my job."

"No. Your job is scheduling and filing. Honesty is different."

I stood. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No. That's all."

I walked to the door. His voice stopped me.

"Reina?"

I turned.

"I'm glad you're here."

My chest tightened. I smiled. "Of course, Mr. Thorne."

I closed the door behind me. Sat at my desk. Stared at my screen.

He'd asked my opinion. Listened to it. Valued it.

I told myself it meant nothing. Just another step in the plan.

But deep down, I knew it wasn't true.

---

After that, the door stayed open more often.

Monday morning, he called me in to discuss a difficult client. Wednesday, he asked about a contract negotiation. Friday, he wanted my take on a new hire.

Each time, I gave him honest answers. Thoughtful ones. The kind that made him nod and say "good point" or "I hadn't considered that."

I was becoming more than his assistant.

I was becoming his confidant.

Two weeks later, I arrived to find him already at his desk. 6:45 AM. His coffee sat untouched, gone cold.

I made a fresh cup. Brought it to his office.

"You're here early," I said.

He looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. "Couldn't sleep."

I set down the coffee. "What's wrong?"

He hesitated. Then gestured to his screen. "This acquisition. We're supposed to announce it tomorrow. I've been going over the numbers all night."

"And?"

"And I think we're making a mistake."

I sat down without being asked. "Why?"

"The valuation is too high. We're paying for potential, not results. If it doesn't pan out, we'll lose millions."

"Did you tell the board?"

"They don't want to hear it. They've already approved everything. Press release is written. The announcement is scheduled."

"So cancel it."

He laughed. "Just like that?"

"If you think it's wrong, then yes. Just like that."

"You make it sound easy."

"It's not easy. But neither is explaining to shareholders why you lost their money because you were too afraid to speak up."

He went quiet. Stared at his coffee.

"My father built this company from nothing," he said finally. "When he died, everyone wondered if I could handle it. Some people still do." He looked at me. "I can't afford mistakes."

"Nobody can. But you'll make bigger mistakes by ignoring your instincts."

"The board—"

"The board works for you. Not the other way around."

His jaw tightened. Then he picked up his phone. "Get me Davidson. Now."

I stood. "I'll have him on the line in two minutes."

I walked back to my desk. Made the call. Connected Adrian.

Through his door, I heard pieces. "I want to postpone... I don't care what they say... We need more time... No, this is final."

Twenty minutes later, he emerged. Looked exhausted but relieved.

"I postponed the announcement. Told them we need another month of due diligence."

"Good."

"They weren't happy."

"They'll be less happy if you're right and they ignored you."

He almost smiled. "You're really good at this. At cutting through the noise."

"I've had practice."

"With your last job?"

I nodded. Vague enough to be true.

He studied me for a moment. "You ever think about doing more than assistant work? Strategy? Consulting?"

My heart skipped. "I like what I do."

"But you're capable of more."

"Maybe someday."

He nodded. Started to walk away. Stopped. Turned back.

"Anytime."

He went back to his office. I sat down. My hands were cold.

He trusted me now. Really trusted me.

I should have felt satisfied. Triumphant.

Instead, I felt something else. Something uncomfortable.

---

The next week, it happened again.

Late afternoon. Everyone had gone. Just Adrian and me.

He stood at my desk. "You have dinner plans?"

I looked up. "No. Why?"

"I'm starving and I don't want to eat alone. Join me?"

Warning bells went off in my head. "Mr. Thorne, I don't think—"

"It's just dinner. We can talk about the Santiago proposal. I want your input."

"We could do that here."

"We could. But I've been staring at these walls for twelve hours." He grabbed his jacket. "Come on. There's a good Italian place two blocks away."

I hesitated. Every instinct screamed no.

But this was what I wanted. Closer. More access. More trust.

"Okay."

The restaurant was small. Warm lighting. White tablecloths. A hostess led us to a corner booth.

Adrian ordered wine. I got water.

"You don't drink?" he asked.

"Not usually."

"Why not?"

"I like staying in control."

He smiled. "Smart."

The waiter came. Took our orders. Left.

Adrian leaned back. "So. Santiago proposal. They're asking for too much equity."

We talked business for twenty minutes. I gave my thoughts. He listened. Agreed with some points, pushed back on others.

Then the food arrived. We ate. The conversation drifted.

"You have family in New York?" he asked.

"Some."

"You're not from here originally?"

"No." I kept my answers short and unclear.

"Where from?"

"Midwest. Small town. Nothing interesting."

"Everyone is from somewhere interesting. They just don't see it."

I took a bite of pasta. Changed the subject. "What about you? You grew up here?"

"Upper East Side. Boarding schools. The whole privileged kid routine." His voice had an edge. "My father made sure I never forgot that he built everything. That I was just lucky to be born into it."

"That must have been hard."

"It was what it was." He drank his wine. "He died four years ago. Heart attack. I was twenty-two. Suddenly I'm running a billion-dollar company and everyone's watching to see if I'll screw it up."

"But you didn't."

"No. I didn't." He paused. "Though there were times I wanted to walk away. Sell everything. Disappear."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because he'd have won. He always said I wasn't tough enough. That I was too soft." His eyes darkened. "I couldn't let him be right."

I set down my fork. "Sounds like you're still trying to prove something to a dead man."

He went quiet. Stared at his plate.

"Sorry," I said. "That was—"

"No. You're right." He looked up. "I never thought about it like that but you're right."

The waiter cleared our plates. Brought dessert menus.

Adrian waved them off. "Just the check."

We walked back to the office building. The street was quieter now. Evening settling in.

"For dinner," I said.

"For coming. For listening." He stopped at the corner. "I don't really talk about this stuff. My father. The pressure. It's easier to just... not."

"Sometimes not talking makes it worse."

"Maybe." He looked at me. "You're easy to talk to. You don't judge."

My throat tightened. "Everyone's fighting battles nobody sees."

"Yeah." He nodded. "Yeah, they are."

We reached the building. He pressed the elevator button.

"You need anything else tonight?" I asked.

"No. Go home. Get some rest."

The elevator arrived. I stepped in.

"Reina?"

I turned.

"I'm really glad you're here. I mean it."

The doors closed before I could respond.

I rode down to the lobby. Walked outside. The air was cold.

My phone buzzed. Marcus.

*Check in. Everything okay?*

I stared at the message.

Adrian trusted me. Confided in me. Saw me as someone who understood him.

I was supposed to feel victorious.

Instead, I felt sick.

*Yeah. Talk later.*

I walked to the subway. Down the stairs. Onto the platform.

The train pulled in. I found a seat.

A man across from me read a newspaper. The headline: "Thorne Industries Posts Record Profits."

Adrian's face smiled from the photo.

I looked away.

The plan was working. Better than I'd imagined.

So why did my chest hurt?

The train plunged into a tunnel. Darkness swallowed everything.

I pressed my hand against my collarbone. Felt the ring underneath my shirt.

Leo's face flashed in my mind. Those green eyes. So innocent.

I was doing this for him.

I had to remember that.

The train burst back into light. I looked at my reflection in the window.

A stranger stared back.

And for the first time since this started, I wasn't sure who she was anymore.