A Ghost Named Annabelle

Julia was always smug about being the only woman allowed near Richard Barton. In her head, she wasn't just another employee—she was the woman in his life. His right hand. His not-so-secret favorite. It was every other woman's fantasy in the city to be close to Richard, and she was living it.

She was convinced that beneath that cold, gruff exterior, Richard had a soft spot for her. He just didn't know how to show it—too uptight, too stoic. But one day, he'd crack, and she'd be right there to catch him. She could already see it: his eyes dark with want, his voice low with confession. All in due time.

But that delusion got a hard slap when Richard handed her a bizarre order himself, bypassing Marc, his usual go-to guy.

Set up a girl.

Julia blinked. A girl?

Who the hell is she? And why the hell is Richard interested in her?

It wasn't just the task that made Julia squirm, it was the way he said it—curt, final, no room for questions. She couldn't even get a name out of him.

Later, she found out the target: Annabelle Hamilton, a senior server at one of the Grand Hayat restaurants Richard recently acquired. A nobody. A waitress. Or so Julia thought.

The moment she opened Annabelle's file, her stomach twisted with jealousy. The girl was jaw-droppingly beautiful, effortlessly elegant, and to top it all off? Brilliant. Graduated top of her class from one of Vegas' most elite universities and currently pursuing her master's.

So she's got brains and looks? Great. Just great.

That envy turned into pure hatred when she realized Annabelle had somehow caught Richard's attention. Unbelievable. Julia was furious, but she played her part like a pro. She did what Richard asked: made Annabelle trip and fall straight into him during the first lunch service.

She had wanted Annabelle to faceplant into Richard's lap, something that would explode his temper like a ticking bomb. But that girl had good reflexes. She braked just in time, and only a bowl of hot soup spilled—right onto Richard's very expensive pants. Still, it worked well enough. Public embarrassment? Check.

But instead of being fired or blacklisted, Annabelle was appointed Richard's personal maid.

Julia's jaw hit the floor.

What the hell? Richard never let women into his private quarters. No one served him in his bedroom except her. Now, some nobody waitress was suddenly assigned to that sacred post?

She convinced herself that Annabelle had bewitched him. The girl had probably played the damsel-in-distress card and used those pretty eyes to her advantage.

And that's when Julia kicked into high gear.

She ordered a maid uniform three sizes too small, knowing exactly how Richard reacted to indecency. It would spark his wrath, and with a bit of luck, she'd be able to toss Annabelle out like yesterday's trash. She had more tricks up her sleeve—this was just round one.

Miss Hamilton, she thought, glaring at her own reflection, you messed with the wrong woman. I know every inch of Richard Barton, and you're nothing but a phase he'll regret.

She approached Richard later that day, batting her lashes.

"Step back," Richard said coldly, not even looking up.

Julia blinked, shocked by the sharpness in his voice. Her lips parted in disbelief. He... he never spoke to me like that before.

Richard sat down, eyes pinned to a file Marc had dropped off.

"I wasn't expecting a mistake from you, Julia. You know very well—every mistake has a price," he said without flinching.

Julia froze. Her heart dropped to her gut. Never had Richard used such a tone with her. It hit her like a slap.

Still, she tried her usual play.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Richard," she said softly, moving closer. "But if I messed up, I'm really sorry."

She gently began massaging his shoulders, something he had never outright refused before. But this time, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her in front of him.

He looked her dead in the eye.

"Marc, from today, Miss Walker will work under Jordan as his secretary," he said calmly, flipping the page in his file.

Julia felt the floor vanish beneath her. What?! The demotion was a slap to her pride.

"No, Richard, please. Don't do this to me," Julia whispered, her voice cracking as she blinked away tears. "I didn't mean any harm."

"Marc," Richard said coldly, not even sparing her a glance, "if Miss Walker isn't satisfied, she's free to resign."

Julia swallowed the lump in her throat, cheeks flushed with humiliation. Rage boiled underneath, but she bit it back. She couldn't afford to lose this job—not after everything she'd invested.

"Fine," she spat under her breath and stormed out, heels clacking like gunshots against the marble floor.

"Boss, you're a genius," Marc muttered, half amused, half impressed.

Richard didn't even blink. "Find me a competent, reliable male secretary. One with no delusions. Until then, you're handling her duties."

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling, eyes fluttering shut.

And there she was again.

Not in front of him—but in his mind. That stubborn glint in her sea-green eyes. The way her jaw tightened when she was annoyed. That innocence wrapped in defiance. That hot and smoky figure with fierce expression. Annabelle Hamilton. Again.

He shot upright, jaw ticking.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why was that girl haunting his thoughts like a damn ghost? 

Her presence... it lingered like expensive perfume in the air. He could almost feel it on his skin.

Frustrated beyond reason, he stood abruptly. "Send me home," he ordered Marc.

Marc blinked. "Home? It's barely past noon—"

"Would you prefer a permanent transfer to Siberia?" Richard snapped.

"Understood." Marc zipped it and hit the gas.

Back at the mansion, Richard didn't wait. The second the car stopped, he stepped out.

"Tell my new maid I want a cup of black coffee. Now."

Then he disappeared inside, slamming the door behind him, leaving Marc staring after him, baffled.

Inside, Richard sat down on his massive bed, still in his crisp suit, shoes and all. He leaned his head against the bedpost, eyes trained on the door.

He was waiting—for the coffee. For her.

A knock echoed.

He straightened up. "Come in."

It was Lily.

She walked in calmly and set the tray down. "Master, here's your coffee."

His brows furrowed. "Where is my personal maid?"

Lily shrugged. "She's not home." And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Richard baffled.

Richard sat still, the silence pressing against him.

Not home? A strange panic crept in.

Where the hell could she be? Did she run? Did she think she could leave? No. She can't. She won't. She's mine to deal with. Her punishment for being Angela Sharper's daughter is far from over.