CHAPTER 3: Monday Morning

I didn't sleep.

Not a single minute. I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, running through every possible version of Monday morning in my head, and each one ended in disaster. I imagined walking into the office and him being there. I imagined the look on his face when he saw me. I imagined everyone somehow knowing; the receptionist, the other assistants, the janitor; all of them whispering, "That's the girl who married the CEO in a drunken haze in Miami."

By the time my alarm went off at seven, I had already been awake for hours. I dragged myself to the bathroom and stared at my reflection. Red eyes from no sleep. My braids needed redoing. My skin looked dull and tired. Lovely. Just the impression I wanted to make on my first day.

"You can do this," I told my reflection. "You are smart. You are capable. You got this job because you earned it. Whatever happened over the weekend is a mistake that will be fixed, and it has nothing to do with your ability to do this work."

My reflection did not look convinced.

I showered, drank two cups of coffee strong enough to dissolve a spoon, and put on my best outfit. Black trousers, a fitted burgundy blouse, and the only pair of heels I owned that didn't make my feet want to cry. I pulled my braids into a neat bun and put on just enough makeup to look alive.

Khloe was leaning against the kitchen counter eating toast when I came out. She looked me up and down and nodded. "You look good."

"I feel like I'm walking to my execution."

"Drama queen. Listen to me." She set down her toast and grabbed my hands. "You are going to walk in there with your head high. You are going to be professional, calm, and amazing. If he's there, you treat him like any other boss. You do your job, you learn everything you can, and you remember why you took this position in the first place."

"Because I need the money?"

"Because you're going to be the best damn interior designer this city has ever seen one day, and this job is the first step. Don't let some pretty-eyed billionaire mess that up for you."

I squeezed her hands and nodded. "You're right."

"I'm always right. Now go before you're late."

I made it to the office with four minutes to spare. Williams Group headquarters sat in the middle of Midtown Manhattan, a tower of glass and steel that stretched so high into the sky it looked like it was trying to touch the clouds. I stood on the sidewalk and tilted my head back, staring up at it, my stomach doing backflips.

Inside, the lobby was all marble floors, high ceilings, and the kind of quiet that said "rich people work here." I gave my name at the front desk and was directed to the thirty-second floor. The elevator ride felt like the longest of my life.

When the doors opened, a woman with warm brown skin and a bright smile was waiting for me. "Lara Emmanuel?"

"That's me."

"Welcome to Williams Group. I'm Mirabel. I'll be showing you around today and getting you settled in." She shook my hand with both of hers and squeezed. "We are so excited to have you. Mr Williams handpicked you himself."

My stomach turned. "Mr Williams... you mean the CEO?"

"Oh no, sorry. Mr Richard Williams, the founder. He handles the hiring when his son is out of town." She started walking and gestured for me to follow. "The CEO is his son, Xander. You'll meet him shortly. He just got back from a trip."

I bet he did.

Mirabel walked me through the open-plan office, explaining everything as we went. She showed me the design department, which made my heart ache because it was full of massive screens displaying building plans and 3D models of hotel interiors. She showed me the conference rooms, the break room stocked with every snack and drink imaginable, and finally, my desk.

"This is you," she said, gesturing to a sleek glass desk positioned right outside a large corner office. "And that," she pointed to the office behind me, "is where Xander works. Your main job is to keep his schedule running smoothly, manage his calls, handle his correspondence, and basically make sure his day goes the way it should."

"Got it." My voice sounded normal, which was a miracle because my heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my fingertips.

Mirabel lowered her voice and leaned in. "A little tip between us? He's brilliant, but he can be... intense. He works around the clock. He barely eats if you don't remind him. He hates small talk, doesn't like surprises, and if you see him loosen his tie and lean back in his chair with his eyes closed, leave him alone. That means he's stressed and he needs five minutes."

"Noted."

"Oh, one more thing. His coffee. Black, no sugar, with a small glass of cold water on the side. Have it on his desk by seven forty-five every morning. That's non-negotiable."

"Seven forty-five. Black coffee. Water on the side. I can handle that."

Mirabel beamed at me. "I have a feeling you two are going to work well together. Let me go check if he's out of his meeting and then we'll pop in and introduce you."

The second she walked away, I gripped the edge of my desk and breathed. In through my nose, out through my mouth, the way Maya had taught me during my panic attacks in college. This was fine. Everything was fine. Maybe it wasn't even him. Maybe there was some huge misunderstanding. Maybe Xander Williams was a common name.

"Lara?" Mirabel's voice floated across the office. "He's ready for you."

My legs moved on their own. One step. Two. Three. Down the short corridor to the corner office. Mirabel pushed open the glass door and stepped inside, and I followed her because turning around and sprinting to the elevator was not an option, no matter how badly I wanted to.

"Mr Williams, this is your new executive assistant. Lara Emmanuel."

I lifted my eyes.

He was standing behind his desk, his back to us, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window at the city below. He wore a charcoal grey suit that fit like it was sewn onto his body, and his shoulders were broad and tense. When he turned around, those green eyes met mine, and the world stopped.

It was him.

Vincent. Xander. The man from the rooftop bar, the dance floor, the pizza on the curb, the jet, the chapel, the penthouse. The man whose ring I had worn on my finger less than forty-eight hours ago. The man whose last name was on a marriage certificate currently sitting in the bottom of my handbag.

My husband was standing five feet in front of me, and he was my boss.

His expression didn't change. Not a flicker, not a twitch. He looked at me the way you'd look at a stranger, calm and professional, but his jaw tightened and I saw his fingers curl slightly against the desk.

"Miss Emmanuel," he said, and his voice was smooth and controlled and nothing like the warm, loose voice that had whispered in my ear on the dance floor. "Welcome to Williams Group."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Mirabel looked between us, her smile still bright and oblivious.

"Have you two met before?" she asked, tilting her head.

"No," Xander said quickly. Too quickly. "We haven't."

I found my voice. "No. Never."

Mirabel clapped her hands together. "Wonderful. Well, I'll let you two get acquainted. Lara, you'll be sitting right outside, so if you need anything, just buzz me." She squeezed my arm and walked out, closing the glass door behind her.

The silence that followed was so heavy it could have cracked the floor.

We stared at each other. His green eyes searched my face, and for one brief second, the mask slipped and I saw it; the same shock, the same disbelief, the same silent screaming that was happening inside my own head.

"You," I said.

He exhaled slowly and pressed his fingertips against the desk. "Me."