chapter 3 . the end of the week

Bianca

By the time Friday rolled around, I was starting to feel the weight of the week lift. It wasn’t easy, but I’d managed to survive my first five days in the icy, corporate trenches of Andrews Tech.

My mornings were a blur of running around the polished glass building, answering calls, managing schedules, making sure Dean’s espresso machine was always stocked, and trying to keep up with his unpredictable demands.

Dean was a walking hurricane—demanding, impatient, and often, downright rude—but somehow, I didn’t mind. Not really. There was something magnetic about him that kept me coming back, even though I knew it was a battle.

But today? Today, I was looking forward to a break.

I had every intention of leaving the office by 6 p.m., even if I had to fake an emergency. I hadn’t planned on sticking around for an extra minute, especially after a week of barely having time to breathe between tasks. I’d earned some quiet time—maybe a glass of wine and an episode of whatever true-crime documentary Claire was obsessed with.

I was already packing up my things when I heard the sound of his voice.

“Bianca,” Dean’s voice called from the doorway, his tone effortlessly commanding.

I froze, fingers hovering over my bag. I didn’t look up right away.

“Dean,” I replied, trying to keep the edge of surprise out of my voice. I quickly zipped up my bag and stood, smoothing down my pencil skirt. “Is there something you need?”

He was standing there, framed in the doorway, arms crossed, his usual brooding expression barely softened. His eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of me.

“You’re leaving already?” he asked, an almost amused glint in his eye.

I shifted on my feet, trying to keep my voice light. “Well, it is 6 p.m., and my workday technically ends at 5:30.”

Dean’s lips curved upward, but it wasn’t a smile—more like the hint of a challenge. “I don’t think you’ve finished what I asked you to do this morning.”

I blinked.

“I… I thought everything was sorted out,” I said, my tone faltering slightly.

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “There’s a report I need before you leave. It’s urgent.”

“Urgent?” I echoed, trying not to show how irritated I felt. I’d already stayed late two other nights this week for random tasks. This wasn’t how I imagined my first week would go.

“Yeah. Very.”

“Of course.” I grabbed my things, unwilling to fight him. There was no point. “I’ll get it done.”

Dean didn’t move right away. Instead, he lingered, his eyes scanning me with that same intensity that always seemed to make the air feel thicker.

“I’m assuming you’re going out for the weekend?” he asked, his voice softer now. A little too soft.

I raised an eyebrow, not letting the fluttering in my stomach show. “That’s none of your business, is it?”

Dean’s smile—real this time—was almost predatory. “I’m your boss, Bianca. Everything’s my business.”

I swallowed, suddenly aware of the distance between us. He was close—way too close.

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “I want that report on my desk in an hour. No excuses.”

I nodded quickly. “I’ll have it ready for you.”

He gave a nod, his eyes flicking down to my lips for just a second before he turned and walked back to his office without another word.

I stood there, frozen for a moment, trying to shake off the lingering tension in the air. It was Friday night, and I should’ve been at home. But here I was, gearing up for another hour of work for Dean Andrews.

I knew I had no choice but to stay and do the damn report. I was starting to think that was all I’d be doing for the foreseeable future—constantly trying to impress him, always working around his whims.

The tension was almost suffocating. And yet, I couldn’t deny it—I was hooked.

As I worked, my phone buzzed, breaking my concentration. I picked it up, expecting a message from Claire, but instead, it was Dean again.

Dean: Also, I need you to accompany me to an event tonight.

I blinked, unsure if I read that right.

Me: An event? I thought I was done for the day.Dean: You’re not.

My hands shook slightly as I typed a reply.

Me: What kind of event?

Dean: A fundraiser. You’ll be fine. Just don’t look like you came from a sweatshop.

I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me, despite the situation. I’d barely finished that last sentence before another message came through.

Dean: I’ll send a car to pick you up at 8. Be ready.

I looked down at the time—6:15 p.m. There was no way I’d be ready in two hours, but there was no arguing with him.

I had no choice but to comply.

When the car pulled up outside my apartment building later that evening, I found myself standing in front of the mirror, staring at the dress I’d pulled from my closet—a sleek, black number with a plunging neckline and a hint of shimmer. It was far from the office attire I was used to. It was a little sexy.

But this wasn’t a work event.

I got in the car and made my way to the venue. When I arrived, Dean was already there, speaking with a few well-dressed individuals. His icy demeanor was on full display, and yet there was something magnetic about his presence, like the room shifted when he entered it.

He spotted me almost immediately, his sharp gaze cutting through the crowd.

“Bianca,” he said, his voice a little lower than usual, and he took a step toward me. “You made it.”

I nodded. “You didn’t give me much choice.”

Dean smiled, though it wasn’t entirely friendly. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.” He motioned for me to follow him as he made his way through the event.

I was keenly aware of every step I took beside him. People turned their heads as we walked by, some nodding in recognition, others clearly aware of Dean’s importance.

When we stopped near a group of donors, he introduced me briefly. His hand brushed against mine as he handed me a glass of wine, his fingers lingering a moment too long.

“I’m glad you could join me tonight, Bianca,” he said, his tone dropping just enough that only I could hear him. “You may want to keep your distance from certain individuals here. Some of them don’t have the best reputations.”

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to protect me or just exercising his usual control, but either way, his words stuck in my head.

The night went on, and with each passing minute, I could feel the walls between us start to close in. There was something about the way he held himself, the way he carried power effortlessly, that made everything else seem unimportant.

This wasn’t just an office event. This was a glimpse into his world—one I wasn’t sure I was prepared for.

But Dean Andrews clearly had plans for me. And I was beginning to realize that his plans weren’t all business.