The Man Across the Desk

Bella’s POV

He turned.

Dorian Ashford.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

The boy who used to stroll into school with a crooked tie had become a man who looked at home in an expensive suit, standing in an office overlooking half of Manhattan.

His eyes settled on mine. Recognition flickered across his face.

“Arabella Marlowe,” he said.

“Mr. Ashford.”

He set my résumé on the desk.

“Sit down.”

I obeyed, placing my bag beside the chair. My palms were damp, and I wiped them against my trousers.

Of all the people I could have ended up working for, it had to be him.

Dorian had once replaced my class presentation with a slideshow of my worst school photographs. He'd called it a harmless prank. I'd spent the following week making his life miserable.

We'd both been seventeen, and neither of us had been sensible.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” he said.

“Neither did I.”

For a moment, neither of us seemed to know what to say. Then he opened my résumé.

“Top of your class. Strong recommendations.” He glanced at me. “You seem to have done well for yourself.”

“I worked hard.”

“I can see that.”

I had expected a joke about my grades. His acknowledgment caught me off guard.

He turned to my application.

“Why do you want to work here?”

“I studied technology because I enjoy solving problems. I've followed Ashford Technologies for a while, and I want to understand how a successful company operates from the inside.”

“As an executive assistant?”

“Yes.”

“You realise you'll be managing my calendar, coordinating meetings, and handling confidential correspondence. This isn't a graduate technology role.”

“I read the job description.”

His eyes lifted.

“I assumed you had.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“I know it's not exactly what I studied for. But I want to learn how decisions are made at this level. Being good at this job could teach me more than I would learn in a junior position without understanding the bigger picture.”

He studied me before moving to his next question.

“Tell me about a time you handled conflicting priorities.”

I described a university group assignment that had nearly fallen apart when two members missed their deadlines. I'd redistributed the remaining work, clarified everyone's responsibilities, and informed our supervisor before it became a crisis.

“Why didn't you report them immediately?”

“I wanted to understand what had happened first. One had a family problem. The other misunderstood his responsibilities.”

“And if they'd failed again?”

“I'd have reported them. I'd rather have an uncomfortable conversation early than explain a preventable disaster later.”

He nodded.

“Fair enough.”

The questions continued. He was direct, sometimes challenging, but he listened to my answers. Annoyingly, he was good at his job.

Then he slid a sheet of paper across the desk.

“Let's try something practical.”

It was a mock executive schedule with overlapping meetings, an urgent request from a senior executive, and a project deadline. One appointment had no explanation beside it.

“What would you do?” he asked.

“Confirm the fixed deadlines, contact the meeting organisers, and find out which decisions require your presence. I'd look for something that could be delegated before moving anything important.”

“And if the most senior person insisted their meeting came first?”

“I'd explain the conflict and offer an alternative. If they still disagreed, I'd bring you the options and my recommendation.”

“So you'd bring the problem to me?”

“After trying to solve it myself.”

He pointed to the unexplained appointment.

“Would you move this one?”

“Not without checking first. Missing information doesn't automatically make something unimportant.”

He picked up his phone.

“Give me a moment.”

He made a brief call, confirmed a project deadline, and asked whether another team member could handle one meeting. After listening, he changed two appointments.

“Move that meeting, notify the people involved, and make sure the project team has what they need before the deadline,” he said before ending the call.

Then he looked at me.

“That's the difference between rearranging a calendar and managing priorities. You verify the facts before making decisions.”

I glanced at the revised schedule. He hadn't just tested my answer. He'd demonstrated how he expected the job to be done.

“Understood,” I said.

He gathered the papers.

“Why aren't you joining your family's jewellery business?”

I straightened in my chair.

“I didn't realise that was relevant to my qualifications.”

“It isn't. Your commitment to this position is.”

“My family has plans for me. I have plans for myself.”

“And they don't agree?”

“Not entirely.”

“What happens if they ask you to leave?”

I thought of Mum's expression when I'd told her about the interview. Nathan had suggested I join the family business as though my future had already been decided.

“I won't make career decisions based on someone else's disappointment.”

Dorian stopped turning his pen.

“Have you considered how demanding this position might be?”

“Yes.”

“And you're still willing to take it?”

“I wouldn't have applied otherwise.”