A month had passed, and things had… shifted. But in my world, nothing really changed. The same routine, the same cold air around me. I still couldn't quite get over the events at the party, but honestly? I had my own ways of dealing with things. Most of the time, I buried it. Work, meetings, the usual distractions. The day had started like any other. Endless back-to-back calls, the steady stream of emails needing attention, and urgent meetings scheduled that I'd half expected to push to the next day. But when you were the CEO of a company like mine, pushing things to tomorrow was a luxury that rarely existed.
I stood by the window in my office, watching the grey skyline burn under the weight of city smoke and morning light. Coffee steamed in my hand—blacxk, bitter, the way I liked it. The quiet inside my office was the only thing between me and chaos. My suit was already on, charcoal with a navy tie, pressed to military accuracy. A board meeting waited in two hours. Legal needed my approval on a partnership contract. And someone somewhere wanted to launch a new ad campaign without my signature.
In other words, it was business as usual.
A knock tapped against the door—three times, crisp. Only one person knocked like that.
"Come in," I said without turning.
"Got a minute?" Cameron's voice, as usual, was sharp but polite.
I didn't lift my head, still reading over the documents. "Go ahead."
"The assistant interviews," he said, his voice carrying a mix of formality and familiarity. "We've sent the letter out to all the candidates. They'll be expecting to hear back."
I glanced up then, narrowing my eyes. "Candidates for what?"
"Personal assistant position," he replied, as though it was obvious. "We've got a decent pool, actually. Should make for a good selection."
A personal assistant. Of course. I'd almost forgotten that I'd tasked someone with finding people for the role. But now that he mentioned it, the thougght of interviewing candidates didn't exactly thrill me.
I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a long breath. "Who's going to be handling the interviews?"
Cameron's lips twitched with a hint of sarcasm, and I felt the slight lift in my brow. "You, of course," he said, his tone as dry as the desert. "Do you expect me, or any of the other executives, to do it for you? You're the one who needs someone, Adrien. You think we're going to choose someone dumb for you?" He shook his head. "Hell no.."
I snorted, feeling the edge of a smile tug at my mouth. He was right, of course. The last thing I needed was some idiot making the decision on my behalf. But I didn't like the thought of wasting time on interviews. It wasn't the best way to spend a Monday morning, but it had to be done.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers tapping against the armrest. ""Fine. I'll handle it."
Cameron nodded, not surprised by my answer. "The interview's scheduled for 9:30 a.m. on Monday," he added, and I noted the finality in his voice. "You'll need to be sharp."
I gave him a nod, signaling the end of the conversation. He started to turn, but I called after him.
"Make sure the candidates know to come prepared," I said, my voice steady but with a touch of warning. "I don't want anyone walking in here thinking this is a formality. If they want to work for me, they'll need to prove it."
Cameron gave me a tight-lipped smile, already at the door. "You got it, boss."
****
I glanced at the next folder in the stack, flipping it open out of habit more than interest. I had already interviewed five people this morning, and not one of them had left an impression strong enough to deserve more than a polite rejection.
Isabella Miller.
I stared at the name.
It tugged at something.
Miller was a common enough surname. Isabella… well, not rare either. But something about the combination twisted uncomfortably in my chest.
No.
It couldn't be her.
I rubbed a hand across my jaw, forcing my focus back to the résumé in front of me. College degree. Decent GPA. Two part-time jobs. A familiar kind of strentgh of will on paper. The kind of background I would've once respected without hesitation.
But still…
I sat back in my chair, frowning slightly as I read it again.
My eyes stayed on the page, unmoving. I didn't want it to be her. I didn't want to think about that damn night, the way she challenged me in line, the fake girlfriend stunt i pulled, her smile that still managed to crawl under my skin.
She was bold. Calculated. And now—here?
In my company. Applying to be my personal assistant?
Seriously?
I tried to recall─her voice, sharp and steady, calling me arrogant. The way she'd looked at me like she wanted to punch me and kiss me in the same breath.
Could be a coincidence.
Could be someone else.
Before I could decide, there was a knock on the door.
My secretary leaned in. "Your next candidate's here, sir. Isabella Miller."
That name again. Spoken aloud, it hit differently. More… solid. Like confirmation.
And then she walked in.
The air seemed to shift.
She was dressed differently—prim, professional. That white blouse tucked neatly into a black pencil skirt. Hair pulled back. Makeup subtle. And a stiff kind of poise that hadn't quite masked the tension in her shoulders.
But I knew those eyes. That mouth. That stubborn chin. That presence.
It was her.
No more doubt.
My stomach turned, but not from surprise—no, from something darker.
Of course it's you.
You just happened to show up again, didn't you?
The club. The party. And now here, in my company, for a job that would put you inches from my personal life?
I sat up straighter, the disgust rolling over me like a quiet wave. A slow-burning realization that felt like betrayal, even though she owed me nothingg.
But now?
Now she would.
Because there's no way this was a coincidence. No one just stumbled into my world three times without a plan.
So that's what you are, huh?
A pretty face with sharp words and an even sharper strategy.
Stalker. Manipulator. Gold digger.
I felt something bitter uncoil in my chest.
No, this was something else.
I didn't know what her game was, but I was already sick of it.
And suddenly, I hated her for it.
I felt the recognition hit her like a slap. Good.
But me?
I didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Didn't give her anything.
"Have a seat," I said coolly, flipping her résumé shut without looking at her again.
And she wasn't worth the acknowledgment.
This was my office. My company. My rules.
If she wanted to play games, she came to the wrong place.
She sat down slowly, stiff-backed, like she wasn't sure if the chair would bite. Good. Let her squirm.
I picked up her résumé again, mostly for show. I already knew what was on it—I'd checked it earlier while trying to convince myself it wasn't her. But now? Now every line made sense. All that hustle, all that "determination" written between the lines? Strategic. She'd probably planned this from the moment she saw my face.
She knew who I was. Of course she did.
Everyone in this city did.
I kept my voice even. "Your name is Isabella Miller, correct?"
She nodded. "Yes."
Still that same voice. Calm, controlled. Like the girl who'd called me arrogant in front of a nightclub didn't exist.
"You're applying for the personal assistant position. Let's begin."
I didn't give her time to speak, didn't give her the space to breathe into the room. I fired off the questions fast, one after the other─qualifications, past experience, pressure tolerance. She answered each one cleanly, smoothly, like she'd prepared for it all her life.
Impressive. Too impressive.
It made me hate her a little more.
She was good. Too damn good. I'd give her that. But she wasn't here just for the job. No way.
"Can you handle discretion?" I asked, watching her carefully.
Her head tilted slightly. "Of course," she said, voice light but firm.
My fingers tapped once against the desk, quiet.
She didn't know I saw through her? That I knew exactly what kind of woman she was?
But I didn't let it show. Not in my tone. Not in my face.
I stayed blank. Professional. Completely unreadable.
If she thought she could trap me into a reaction, she'd be disappointed.
She kept playing the part. She was matching my energy now. Smart girl. Maybe smarter than I gave her credit for. But it didn't matter.
I wasn't going to let her get to me again.
When I'd asked Cameron to post the job opening, I'd expected a bunch of overqualified, overconfident Ivy League types. What I hadn't expected was her.
Of all the people…
Eventually, I set the résumé down.
"That'll be all for now. You'll be contacted by the end of the week."
She stood. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Walton."
I nodded. "Miss Miller." Then I turned back to my screen like the conversation never happened.
No handshake. No smile. No trace of the man she'd met that night.
Just cold air and silence.
I didn't look up as the door closed behind her.
But I felt her leave.
The tension eased from the room like a ghost slipping through a crack in the wall, and I leaned back slowly in my chair.
Let her think she fooled me. She wants a job in my world? Fine.
Let's see how long she lasts.