Chapter five

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.