His secretary, His obsession
They were instruments, cutting through pretense, measuring every ounce of her worth.
“You are Ava Reed,” he said, calm and commanding.
“Yes,” she replied. “I am here for the secretary position.”
“You are late.”
Her heart lurched. “I am… I am sorry, sir,” she stammered. “Traffic was…”
“Traffic,” he repeated, sharp and measured. “I hope your work ethic is better than your punctuality.”
Ava swallowed hard and nodded. “It is, sir. I will not disappoint you.”
He studied her silently, and she felt every hesitation, every doubt, every insecurity laid bare beneath his gaze. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Very well. Follow me.”
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