Three Years to Love You, Mr Ceo

NADIA’S POV

“Hey, sis, did you notice the paper on the door before leaving the house?” 

I paused over the document on my computer, pressing my phone closer to my ear. “What paper?”

Maya sighed. “Nadia, it’s an eviction notice.”

My fingers froze over the keyboard. “An eviction notice?” I repeated, lowering my voice as I glanced toward the boss’s office. “What do you mean, an eviction notice?”

“I found it taped to the door when I got back from the library. I thought you already knew about it.”

I leaned back in my chair, my stomach tightening. “How long did they give us?”

“Seven days.”

I closed my eyes briefly. Seven days to find the rent, and my sister’s college payment deadline was coming up just as fast. I was already struggling to keep up with our expenses, and now we had another problem to add to the list.

“Nadia, I’ve been thinking,” Maya continued. “You’ve already done so much for me. Maybe I should just stop going to college and get a job. We could both work and pay the bills together.”

“No.”

“But—”

“No, Maya. You worked too hard to get that admission, and I’m not letting you give it up.”

“But we can’t even pay the rent. How are we supposed to cover my college fees?”

“I’ll find a way.”

“You don’t even know where the money is coming from.”

“I’ll figure it out, Maya.” I lowered my voice, trying to sound more certain than I felt. “You have your whole future ahead of you. You’re not throwing it away because we’re having a difficult time.”

She went quiet for a moment.

“I just don’t want you to keep carrying everything alone.”

“I know, sweetheart. But I’ll handle this. Just focus on your studies, okay?”

Another sigh came through the phone. “Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Nadia.”

The call ended, and I slowly lowered my phone.

Seven days.

I had seven days to figure out how to keep a roof over our heads, and somehow, I still had to find the money for Maya’s college fees before her late father’s education fund became accessible when she turned eighteen at the end of the month.

I rubbed my forehead and turned back to my computer.

Whatever happened, I couldn’t afford to lose my job.

Unfortunately, my boss seemed determined to make it as hard as possible to keep it.

The office phone rang.

I picked it up. “Good morning, Loreto Industries. This is Nadia Sinclair speaking.”

“My office. Now.”

I recognized the cold voice immediately.

Lucien Loreto.

My boss.

And judging by his tone, my already terrible morning was about to get worse.

“I’m coming,” I replied.

I hung up and leaned back in my chair, taking a deep breath before standing. At thirty-two, Lucien Loreto was the CEO of Loreto Industries, one of the most successful companies in New York. He was wealthy, influential, and respected by nearly everyone who worked here. Unfortunately, respect was the last thing I felt whenever I had to deal with him.

Lucien was the kind of man who could find a problem with a report you had checked three times, give you five tasks to complete in an hour, and still look at you as if you had personally disappointed him when you asked for more time. He rarely raised his voice because he didn’t need to. His cold stare and clipped instructions were enough to make even experienced employees nervous.

As his personal assistant, I had become the unfortunate recipient of most of his unreasonable demands. I handled his schedule, prepared documents for meetings, communicated with important clients, arranged his business trips, and somehow found time to correct mistakes he insisted I had made, even when they weren’t mine. My job description might as well have been Do everything Lucien Loreto wants before he wants it.

And did he ever say thank you?

Of course not.

I grabbed the relevant files and walked into his office. He sat behind his large desk, his attention fixed on the document in front of him. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him offered a beautiful view of Manhattan, but I was too irritated to appreciate it.

“The London report,” he said without looking up.

“It’s on your desk, Mr. Loreto.”

“The figures on page twelve are wrong.”

“I corrected them this morning.”

“Then why am I still looking at the wrong version?”

I pressed my lips together. “I’ll replace it with the corrected copy.”

“The meeting with the Milan investors?”

“Confirmed for Thursday. Their office also sent confirmation of the revised schedule.”

“And the documents I asked you to send this morning?”

“Already sent.”

He finally lifted his eyes to mine. “Then make sure they received them.”

“I already confirmed receipt.”

“Confirm it again.”

I stared at him for a second, wondering if he had heard a single word I’d said. Apparently not, because he had already picked up another file.

“The figures in this proposal need to be reviewed again.”

“I reviewed them twice.”

“Then review them a third time.”

My jaw tightened. “Is there a particular figure you’re concerned about, sir? That would help me focus on the issue.”

His eyes rose slowly to mine. “Are you questioning my instructions, Ms. Sinclair?”

There it was. That tone.

“No, sir.”

“Good. I expect the revised proposal on my desk before the end of the day.”

I took the file from him, resisting the urge to remind him that I had other responsibilities besides endlessly reviewing the same documents. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Reschedule my call with the Singapore office, prepare the briefing notes for tomorrow’s board meeting, and send the updated travel arrangements to my driver.”

I waited.

He looked at me. “Was there something else?”

Yes. A long list of things I’d like to say to you, starting with the fact that you’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.