The sun had barely risen when Claire stepped out of the hostel, her breath fogging in the chilly air. She wrapped her coat tightly around her as she made her way through the still-waking streets of Midtown. The city yawned around her—coffee carts rolled into place, bakery windows glowed with golden light, and taxis honked like restless children.
Claire blended into the quiet hum of the morning, slipping into the metro with the practiced motion of someone used to disappearing.
Her phone buzzed.
[Urgent placement: Administrative Assistant – Reed & Cole. Report by 8:45 AM. Business casual. Address attached.]
A flicker of excitement fluttered in her chest. Finally, something. A job—temporary, but still a step forward. A chance to earn money. Something to hold on to.
She tapped the address.
And froze.
Reed & Cole.
The name felt oddly familiar. She frowned, zoomed in on the address, and a chill much colder than the morning air settled in her chest.
It was the same building.
The one from yesterday.
At exactly 8:30, Claire stood in front of the glass-paneled entrance, her reflection staring back at her—a low bun hurriedly brushed into place, a clean blouse from her limited wardrobe, and trembling fingers clinging to a worn leather bag.
She had almost turned around.
But her bank account said $74.26, and the bruises pride left behind couldn't pay rent.
Inside, the receptionist gave her a polite smile and directed her to the eleventh floor. The ride up felt too fast.
The Human Resources floor was sleek and sterile. A sharply dressed woman greeted her, every line of her posture crisp and calculated. Her name tag read Madeline Carrington.
"It's a short-term contract," she said, voice clipped. "Two weeks minimum. Filing, organizing schedules, running errands—basic admin work. You'll be assisting the operations team."
Claire nodded, trying to keep her nerves in check.
"Mr. Reed prefers quiet, efficient staff," Madeline added. "No phones, no gossip. Keep your head down. Understood?"
"Yes. Understood," Claire replied.
"Good. You'll report to Jenna on the fifth floor."
Relief fluttered through her.
Downstairs. Away from him.
The work was simple but steady—folders, spreadsheets, supply runs, calendar syncing. Claire dove into the tasks without hesitation. It felt good to keep moving, to stay busy. Her body ached by noon, but the routine was comforting. Predictable.
Jenna noticed quickly.
"You sure you haven't done this before?" she asked, pausing at Claire's desk as the younger woman typed with quiet speed.
Claire gave a small smile. "No."
Jenna raised an eyebrow. "You're a fast learner."
Claire didn't explain that necessity had made her that way. That she was used to figuring things out alone. She simply kept working.
Just after midday, Claire slipped into the pantry for a quick cup of tea. The room was quiet, sunlight slanting through the blinds, catching on polished counters. She moved to the electric kettle, carefully reading the labels on the buttons.
She'd never needed to use one before. Her old life—lavish, orderly, protected—had been filled with maids and marble kitchens, not shared breakrooms and vending machines.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she tried to start the kettle.
Behind her, the door swung open.
She glanced over her shoulder—and froze for a second too long.
Him.
Tall, composed, sleeves casually rolled up, his presence carrying the same quiet dominance it had the first time she saw him. Their eyes almost met.
Almost.
Claire quickly turned back, pretending to be deeply invested in handling the kettle. Her hands fumbled slightly with the buttons—she wasn't used to these machines.
Behind her, she could feel him moving. The steady, unhurried steps. The soft hiss of the coffee machine engaging. Everything about his movements was clean, practiced—habitual.
He didn't speak.
Neither did she.
Claire tried to focus on pouring the water but spilled a few drops on the counter. She grabbed a napkin, hoping the soft sound of her flustered cleaning didn't betray her nerves.
Then—without warning—his hand reached past her and took the kettle from her grasp.
She gasped softly, startled.
"Is it that hard?" His tone was neutral, almost flat, but not cruel.
Claire turned to face him, eyes wide.
Their gazes met. His expression wasn't cold or amused. Just... curious. Calm.
He wasn't smiling. There was no trace of mockery or judgment. Just calm curiosity.
She didn't respond. What could she say?
After a brief pause, he said, "Didn't you hear?"
"I'm sorry," she replied quickly, her voice almost a whisper. She turned, intending to leave.
"Hey," he said, sharply.
She stopped.
"Are you always ungrateful?" His voice was more clipped now. But his expression shifted again—something flickered in his eyes.
Recognition.
The girl from the store.
He didn't say it aloud, but Claire saw it—felt it—like a pin drop in a silent room.
Jaxon tilted his head slightly, observing her. His gaze wasn't cold, but it was unreadable, unsettling in how clearly it saw her.
She hesitated, then stepped forward as he gestured toward the tea cup he had just filled. She took it carefully, keeping her fingers from brushing his.
"Thank you," she said, quieter now.
"You're new?" he asked.
She nodded. "I'm just here temporarily."
A pause.
Then he turned back to his coffee. Claire took her tea and left the room, trying to steady her breath.
She didn't look back.
But she knew he was still standing there.
Watching.
Later that afternoon, Claire was seated at her desk, sorting through a stack of client portfolios, when Jenna slid over and nudged her shoulder conspiratorially.
"You know who that was, right?" she whispered.
Claire blinked. "Who?"
Jenna pulled up a photo on her phone and tilted it toward her. Claire leaned in, frowning.
"Jaxon Reed. Our Director. Some say he built the company from scratch—no degree, just street hustle and brilliance. Keeps to himself. Total machine in the boardroom. Practically a legend around here."
Claire's fingers stilled on the keyboard.
Jaxon Reed.
The man from the store.
The one who handed her tea. Who snapped at her. Who remembered.
She felt heat rush to her cheeks.
She'd told the Director she was just "temporary."
Wonderful.
From behind his tinted office glass, Jaxon watched her.
Her movements were fluid, efficient. Head bent over folders, lips pressed in quiet concentration. She never spoke unless spoken to. Never looked around like the others. She worked like the job was all she had.
Maybe it was.
Jaxon didn't understand why he noticed.
But he did.