Chapter Three

Tuesday morning felt like stepping into someone else's life.

Shayla stood in front of her bathroom mirror, smoothing down the same black pencil skirt she'd worn to the interview yesterday—freshly pressed this time, paired with a cream-colored blouse and her black blazer. Professional. Put-together. The kind of woman who had her life figured out.

Except she absolutely did not have her life figured out.

She still couldn't believe it. Couldn't wrap her mind around the email that had arrived less than twenty-four hours after her interview, the words practically burning themselves into her memory:

“Dear Ms. Hale, We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for the position of Personal Assistant at GC Group of Companies. Your start date is Tuesday…”

Employed.

She'd been employed.

After three months of applications that went nowhere, after countless rejections and dead-end interviews, after starting to believe that maybe she was destined to spend the rest of her life pouring coffee and stocking shelves—this.

A real job. A career. The kind of opportunity that could change everything.

"Momma, you're staring at yourself again!" Ayven's voice called from the kitchen, breaking through her daze.

Shayla blinked, realizing she'd been standing frozen with her mascara wand halfway to her lashes for God knows how long. She finished her makeup quickly, grabbed her bag—a simple black tote that would have to do until she could afford something nicer—and headed out to find her son already dressed and eating cereal at their small kitchen table.

"I told you, Momma," he said around a mouthful of Cheerios, grinning so wide she could see the gap where he'd lost a tooth last week. "I knew you'd get it."

She had. He really had.

Yesterday, when she'd opened that email with trembling hands right there in the school pickup line, Ayven had screamed so loud that three other parents had turned to stare. He'd jumped up and down, fist-pumping the air, shouting "I KNEW IT! I TOLD YOU!" until Shayla had to quiet him down before they caused a scene.

The memory made her smile even now.

And then there was Ruby.

Shayla had called her later that night, after Ayven was tucked into bed, needing to share the news with someone who would understand the magnitude of what this meant. Ruby had answered on the second ring, and the moment Shayla said "I got the job," her best friend had screamed so loud that Shayla had to pull the phone away from her ear.

"I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW IT!" Ruby had shrieked, and Shayla could hear her jumping around wherever she was. "Oh my God, Shay, this is it! This is your moment! You're going to kill it, you're going to be amazing, oh my God I'm so proud of you I could cry—"

"Please don't cry," Shayla had laughed, wiping at her own eyes. "If you cry, I'll cry, and I've already done enough of that today."

They'd stayed on the phone for over an hour, Ruby firing off questions about the salary (generous, almost absurdly so), the benefits (health insurance, paid time off, things Shayla hadn't had in years), and what she'd wear on her first day. By the time they hung up, Shayla's cheeks hurt from smiling.

Ruby had texted later—around midnight—apologizing that she wouldn't be able to help with the morning school run. She had a crucial client meeting with some cosmetics exec from overseas who was only in town for twenty-four hours. “So sorry mama bear. You got this though. Kill it tomorrow. Love you”.

Shayla hadn't even seen it as a problem. She could handle the drop-off. She could handle anything today.

"You ready, baby?" she asked, rinsing Ayven's bowl and setting it in the sink.

"Born ready." He grabbed his backpack—already packed, because of course he'd prepared it the night before—and followed her to the door.

---

The morning air was crisp as they walked to the bus stop, Ayven's hand warm in hers. He chatted the whole way, asking questions about her new job, what the office looked like, if her boss would be nice, if she'd have her own desk.

"I'll have my own office, actually," Shayla said, still marveling at the words even as she spoke them.

Ayven's eyes went wide. "Your own office? Like, with a door and everything?"

"With a door and everything."

"That's so cool, Momma. You're like a real businesswoman now."

She laughed. "I've always been a real businesswoman, baby. I just have a better business now."

The school bus pulled up right on time—miracles did happen—and Ayven gave her a quick hug before bounding up the steps. He turned at the top, waving dramatically like he was heading off to war instead of second grade.

"Good luck, Momma! You're going to be the best PA ever!"

"Thank you, baby. Have a good day at school."

The doors closed, and the bus pulled away, leaving Shayla standing on the sidewalk with her heart full and her nerves jangling.

She had to get to work. Her first day. Her new life.

No pressure.

---

The taxi ride to GC Group of Companies felt both too long and too short.

Shayla paid the driver—budgeting was still tight, but at least now she knew a real paycheck was coming—and stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the massive glass tower that was now her workplace.

Her workplace.

God, that felt surreal.

She took a deep breath, straightened her blazer, and walked through those gleaming glass doors like she belonged there.

Because she did. She'd earned this.

The receptionist from yesterday—the one with the sharp smile and sharper bob—looked up as Shayla approached, and this time her expression shifted into something warmer. "Ms. Hale, good morning. Welcome to the GC Group of Companies." She handed over a sleek ID badge with Shayla's photo already printed on it. "Ms. Morales is waiting for you on the executive floor. Twentieth floor, elevators on your right."

"Thank you." Shayla clipped the badge to her blazer, feeling oddly official, and headed for the elevators.

The ride up was smooth and silent, just her and the soft hum of machinery. She watched the numbers climb—10, 15, 18, 20—and then the doors slid open onto a hallway that screamed understated luxury. Soft gray carpet, recessed lighting, modern art on the walls that probably cost more than her rent.

Catherine Morales was waiting near the elevator, looking exactly as intimidating as she had during the interview. Same severe bun, same sharp suit—navy today instead of charcoal—same expression that gave away nothing.

"Ms. Hale. Right on time." She extended a hand, and Shayla shook it. "Follow me. I'll show you to your office."

Your office.

Those words still didn't feel real.

Catherine led her down the hallway, their heels clicking in sync against the polished floors. They passed several closed doors—conference rooms, other offices, Shayla wasn't sure—before stopping in front of a frosted glass door with a sleek metal nameplate that read ”Personal Assistant to the CEO”.

Catherine pushed the door open, and Shayla stepped inside.

And nearly stopped breathing.

The office was spacious. Not just adequate—spacious. A large desk sat near the windows, a sleek ergonomic chair behind it, shelves built into the walls, a small seating area with a modern couch and two chairs. Everything was clean lines and neutral tones, professional but not cold.

It was perfect.

"This is your workspace," Catherine said, moving to stand beside the desk. "You'll have access to all necessary systems, and IT will be up shortly to get you set up with your login credentials." She gestured to the far wall—a glass partition, dark and opaque, separating Shayla's office from what lay beyond. "That's the CEO's office. The glass is tinted for privacy, but you'll have direct access through that door." She pointed to a nearly invisible door cut into the glass.

Shayla nodded, taking it all in. "It's wonderful. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." Catherine's lips quirked in something that might have been a smile. "The job is demanding. Your predecessor lasted six months."

That was... not comforting.

"I understand," Shayla said anyway, because what else could she say?

Catherine handed her a tablet—sleek, expensive, already loaded with documents. "These are the details of your position. Responsibilities, expectations, protocols. You'll want to review them before the CEO arrives. He's expected at nine-thirty."

Shayla glanced at her watch. 8:47 AM. That gave her forty-three minutes.

"He'll want to meet you personally," Catherine continued. "I'll come get you when he's ready. Until then, familiarize yourself with the role. If you have questions, my extension is programmed into your desk phone."

"Thank you, Ms. Morales."

"Catherine is fine." She moved toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "And Ms. Hale? Welcome to GC Group of Companies. I hope you'll last longer than the others."

Then she was gone, leaving Shayla alone in her new office.

For a moment, she just stood there, trying to absorb the reality of it all. Then she set her bag down, settled into the chair behind her desk—God, it was comfortable—and opened the tablet Catherine had given her.

Time to see what she'd signed up for.

---

The first document was straightforward: an overview of her duties as Personal Assistant to the CEO. Managing his schedule, coordinating meetings, handling correspondence, screening calls. Standard PA responsibilities.

Then came the details.

“The PA may be required to work extended hours, including weekends, depending on business needs”

Okay. That was fine. She'd expected that.

“The PA may be required to attend off-site meetings and represent the CEO in certain professional capacities”.

Also fine. She could handle that.

“The PA may be required to work from the CEO's home office as needed”.

Shayla blinked.

His home office?

She re-read the line twice, then kept going.

Apparently, the CEO worked from home occasionally—high-profile clients, confidential meetings, whatever the reason—and when he did, she was expected to be there too. As his assistant.

At his home.

That felt... invasive. But maybe that was just how things worked at this level. Maybe this was normal.

She kept reading.

The salary section made her forget about everything else.

The number staring back at her from the screen was absurd. Genuinely absurd. More than her two previous jobs combined over nine months. In one month. Every month.

Shayla's hand went to her mouth, pressing hard to keep from making a sound.

This was life-changing money. The kind of money that meant Ayven's school fees wouldn't keep her up at night. The kind of money that meant fixing the car, paying rent on time, maybe even saving something for emergencies.

The kind of money she couldn't afford to lose.

She would do anything—anything—to keep this job. For Ayven. For his school, his future, his health. He deserved stability, and this job could give it to them.

Shayla set the tablet down and exhaled slowly, centering herself.

She could do this. She would do this.

Next, she pulled up her daily schedule on the tablet. Meetings, calls, deadlines—everything laid out in meticulous detail. There was a lot. More than she'd anticipated for a first day, but she'd handled worse.

One item caught her eye: “CEO wardrobe selection - 9:00 AM”.

She frowned, scrolling for more details.

Apparently, the CEO changed clothes twice during the workday—once mid-morning, once before evening meetings—and it was her responsibility to select and prepare his wardrobe. She'd need to know his schedule, the tone of his meetings, and choose accordingly.

Shayla sat back in her chair, bemused.

What a rich, spoiled brat, she thought, shaking her head.

Who needed their assistant to pick out their clothes? Twice a day?

She made a mental note to figure out where his wardrobe was kept and what his preferences were. If picking out suits was part of the job description, fine. She'd pick out the best damn suits he'd ever worn.

Another item on the schedule: “CEO coffee - 9:00 AM daily”.

Of course. Because God forbid the man make his own coffee.

Shayla bit back a smirk. She'd worked in a coffee shop for years. If there was one thing she could do in her sleep, it was make a perfect cup of coffee.

She kept scrolling, absorbing details, making mental notes, preparing herself for the day ahead.

At exactly 9:00 AM, her desk phone rang.

Shayla picked it up, suddenly nervous. "Hello?"

"Ms. Hale, this is Catherine. The CEO has arrived. Please come to his office."

Her heart kicked against her ribs. "Of course. I'll be right there."

She stood, smoothed down her skirt, and took a steadying breath.

This was it. Time to meet her new boss.

The man whose schedule she'd manage, whose coffee she'd make, whose clothes she'd apparently pick out like he was a particularly high-maintenance toddler.

She could do this. She was professional. Competent. Ready.

Shayla crossed to the glass partition separating her office from his and opened the door Catherine had pointed out earlier.

The CEO's office was massive. Easily three times the size of hers, furnished with dark wood and leather, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Everything about it screamed power, wealth, masculinity.

And standing with his back to her, facing those windows in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, was a man who stood at least 6'4".

Catherine stood near the desk, professional and poised. "Mr. Cross, your new personal assistant, Ms. Shayla Hale."

Shayla stepped forward, forcing confidence into her posture. "Good morning, Mr. Cross. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm looking forward to—"

The man turned around.

And Shayla's world crumbled.

No.

No, no, no, no, no—

Dark hair. Blue eyes. A face she'd spent seven years trying to forget, trying to bury, trying to pretend had never existed.

Grayson Cross.

Her new boss was Grayson fucking Cross.

The man who'd destroyed her. The man who'd made a bet to break her heart. The man who'd taken everything from her and didn't even know it.

And he was staring at her with the same shock that was currently ripping through her chest like a bullet.

"Shayla?" His voice was rough, disbelieving, like he'd seen a ghost.

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stand there, frozen, as every carefully constructed wall she'd built over the last seven years shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

What the hell was happening?

What the actual hell was happening?

Catherine was looking between them, confusion flickering across her usually impassive face. "Do you two... know each other?"

Shayla's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Grayson took a step forward, his expression shifting from shock to something else—something desperate, something raw. "Shayla, I—"

"No." The word ripped out of her, sharp and final.

She took a step back, then another, her hands shaking so badly she had to clasp them together to hide it.

This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

Seven years. She'd run seven years to get away from him, to protect herself, to build a life where he couldn't touch her.

And now he was standing ten feet away, her boss, the man who controlled her livelihood, her future, everything.

"I—I can't—" Her voice broke.

And before anyone could say another word, before Grayson could take another step, before her legs gave out completely—

Shayla turned and ran.