“Do you have any experience as an assistant?”
“Yes. I worked for the owner of a high-end estate agency all through university. I’m organised, reliable, and good with clients.” I nodded toward my CV on the desk.
He glanced at it like it was the first time he’d seen it. “Well,” he said after a pause, “I’m not exactly great with… people. That could be helpful.”
Something in his tone faltered — a crack in the armour — and I swore I saw a faint blush rise on his neck. For a moment, he didn’t look like the powerful architect everyone talked about. He just looked… human.
Our eyes met again. Silence stretched between us — the charged, dangerous kind that felt like a live wire.
My pulse kicked hard. Oh, for the love of God, not now.
I stood abruptly, desperate to escape before my imagination made a fool of me.
“Can you start Monday?” he asked, standing too.
“What?”
“Monday,” he repeated. “Nine is the official start time. I’m usually here by eight — take that as you will.”
He sat back down, already reaching for a stack of papers, his focus gone as quickly as it had appeared.
“Y–yes. Monday. I can start Monday,” I managed, still dazed.
And then, before he could change his mind, I did the only sensible thing — fled the room.
Two
Henry
26th January 2019
“Mr Chase, your ten o’clock has arrived,” Jennifer’s voice crackled through the intercom.
I grunted in response — more out of frustration than acknowledgment. Another interview. Another parade of overly rehearsed candidates who’d tell me their “biggest weakness” was beingtoo much of a perfectionist.Christ, spare me.
“Thanks,” I said flatly, pushing back my chair and grabbing the next CV from the neat pile Jennifer had prepared. I didn’t have the patience to read them myself — all the self-proclaimed overachievers started to sound the same after a while.
Matilda Green.
The name didn’t mean much. Not yet.
When I stepped into reception, the first thing I noticed was the sound of frantic tapping — heels on marble. Pink heels. Who the hell worepink stilettosto an interview?
“Miss Green?” I called.
She startled so hard I thought she might fall over. Her hair flipped back as she looked up at me, and for a second, I forgot what I was supposed to be doing.
Her eyes — warm, deep brown, curious — met mine. She stood quickly, extending a hand, and I took it before I had time to think. Her hand was small and soft, swallowed by mine, and when she stepped in closer, the faint scent of vanilla and something floral hit me like a sucker punch.
Her dress — purple, fitted, far too distracting — didn’t help. I clenched my jaw, annoyed at myself for noticing. I shouldn’t notice. I didn’t notice things like that.
“Mr Chase,” she said with a nervous smile that sent a ripple of something unwelcome through me.
“Come in,” I said, forcing my voice into something gruff, controlled. Whatever this was, I needed to shut it down.
I led her into the conference room, every step echoing louder than it should. Something twisted low in my gut — irritation, attraction, or maybe both — and I hated not knowing which.
“So,” I said, cutting straight to the point, “why do you want the assistant position?”
