Chapter 3: Miss Bennett Walks Into the Fire

Knock knock

"Come in."

Claire pushed open the door, and the sharp bite of cigarette smoke hit her immediately.

She frowned before she could stop herself. Nathaniel, mid-drag, caught the look and stubbed the cigarette out hard against the ashtray.

The motion was rough, agitated.

Her eyes flicked to the crystal dish three, maybe four crushed-out butts already piled there.

He'd only been in the office fifteen minutes.

A man this disciplined only smoked when something had rattled him badly.

Claire bit down on the inside of her lip, using the small sting to steady her racing pulse, and forced her feet to move.

"Mr. Cross. Today's schedule and meeting materials."

He took the folder without looking up, flipping through it, then asked without warning:

"How are you feeling?"

Ice shot straight down Claire's spine. She kept her eyes on the floor.

"Thank you for asking, sir. The fever broke after I took the medicine."

His gaze dropped to her hand, gripping the edge of the folder a little too tight.

For one unbearable second, those fingers seemed to blur into the memory of another hand clutching his arm in the dark.

Cold sweat prickled across her back. Just as her lungs seemed to forget how to work, he lifted a hand to rub at his temple instead.

"Headache. Get me a coffee."

"Right away, sir."

The second the door shut behind her, Claire sucked in a breath, palms slick with sweat.

She'd been so sure he'd figured it out. That lingering look had burned straight through her, down to the bone.

It took a full thirty seconds before her legs remembered how to hold her up.

In the break room, two other assistants huddled together over the coffee machine, wearing near-identical expressions of dread. The moment they spotted Claire, they lit up like she'd survived a firing squad.

"Claire are you okay? Did he tear into you?"

She hit the grinder, letting the noise buy her a second. "I'm fine."

"The CFO walked out white as a sheet earlier," one of them whispered.

Claire poured her coffee, steam fogging her glasses just enough to hide her eyes. "Someone left a stray English punctuation mark in his budget report. Mr. Cross threw the whole file across the room."

Both women hissed through their teeth.

Claire's grip tightened slightly around the cup.

She knew him well enough on a day like this, even breathing wrong could count against you.

"Enough gossip. Do your jobs and you'll be fine." She said it gently, then picked up the coffee and her laptop and headed for the boardroom.

The meeting ran two hours. Nathaniel's expression never thawed once by the end, half the senior staff couldn't meet his eyes.

Back at her desk afterward, Claire's stomach was cramping with hunger. Hands shaking slightly, she tore open the bag of cookies Megan had given her.

She'd just popped one in her mouth when Nathaniel's office door swung open, his face like a thundercloud.

She froze mid-chew, cookie still in her cheek.

The coworker beside her stopped breathing entirely, sneaking a horrified glance sideways.

This is it.

Everyone knew Nathaniel couldn't stand food anywhere near the office floor didn't matter who, didn't matter what, catch someone eating and they'd lose their bonus on the spot.

Claire had just walked straight into it.

The dark look on his face flickered barely, almost nothing.

Then, just as everyone braced for the explosion, the corner of his mouth twitched, something almost fond passing through his eyes before he smoothed his expression back into ice.

"Send me the meeting notes once they're done. I'll be out don't bother with lunch for me."

Claire nodded numbly, cookie still lodged in her cheek.

Only once he'd disappeared into the elevator and the pressure in the room lifted did she dare finish chewing and swallow.

Her coworkers stared at her, equal parts awe and envy.

"Only you could get away with that. Any of us would've been screamed at for a week."

When Nathaniel lost his temper, he didn't discriminate men, women, didn't matter. Claire remembered her first months on the job, when she couldn't keep pace with him and ended up in tears more than once.

She laughed it off awkwardly, tucked the cookies away, and sent off the meeting notes before heading to lunch with Megan.

Cross Enterprises took care of its employees two thousand yuan loaded onto every staff card each month, good for the cafeteria or the family's chain of supermarkets.

The cafeteria spread was generous and cheap. Thirty yuan could get you a full, good meal.

Claire walked past the seafood counter and the simmering stews without a glance, heading straight for the home-style window.

One meat, one vegetable eight yuan total.

Across from her, Megan eyed the tray, hesitating before she spoke.

Claire ate like it was a feast.

That card alone saved her a small fortune every month enough to cover her groceries, with some left to send her grandfather his supplements.

Megan's brow furrowed. She sliced off a generous piece of salmon from her own plate and dropped it straight into Claire's bowl.

"Eat more protein. You've lost weight. Take care of yourself."

Claire looked up, smiling easily, eyes crinkling. "I will. I promise I'm not starving myself. I'm making garlic ribs tonight, potato tarts, blueberry yogurt cake in the air fryer the works."

"Another sponsorship?"

"Yep!" Claire nodded, unable to hide her grin. "The air fryer brand's paying really well three thousand for this one post. That's my third deal this month."

Megan's happiness for her faded quickly into something quieter, sadder. "With your salary added in... is it enough?"

Claire's eyes went glassy. She nodded. "It's all paid off now. I'll take you out to celebrate."

"Deal." Megan squeezed the back of her hand, sniffing hard, voice unsteady. "I want something expensive."

"You've got it."

By evening, the sky outside had gone dark.

Claire double-checked Nathaniel's schedule for the next day on her screen, then walked it in to the president's office once she'd confirmed everything was set.

Two soft knocks, permission granted, and she set the printed itinerary on his desk.

"Sir, tomorrow's schedule's ready. And do you need me to stay late tonight?"

"No. Let's go now."

He had a full-time driver on staff, but more often than not, he chose Claire instead.

Only in her car did he ever let his guard down enough to take calls about trade secrets or family scandals he'd never admit to anyone else.

If Claire had an ounce of ambition in her, she could've made herself very rich off what she overheard.

But none of it was hers to take. She never once let herself want it not even when it was sitting right in front of her, close enough to touch.