The assistant wing of the Volkov Headquarters was a marvel of modern architecture—clean lines, glass-walled cubicles, and soft lighting that bounced gently off polished floors. Each assistant had their own small space divided by transparent panels that allowed for privacy without opacity. Everything was organized, minimal, and intentionally exposed—Xander liked to see everything. No hiding.
From his office, perched like a glass command post overlooking the floor, Xander could see her.
She was in the far-right unit marked Personal Assistant. Seated with her back straight, legs crossed at the ankle, eyes glued to the screen. Focused. Composed. Not once had she looked up in the past fifteen minutes.
He told himself he was just observing.
Making sure she wasn't slacking. That's all.
But that reason wore thin.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped out of his office. His shoes echoed down the corridor, drawing the eyes of a few assistants who immediately straightened their postures. Erin, however, didn't notice him until his reflection shimmered across the glass wall of her space.
She looked up just as he leaned an arm casually on the edge of the glass panel.
Her eyes met his, guarded but calm.
"Sir?" she asked, trying for neutral.
"I told you to stop calling me that," he said, a little sharper than he intended.
She leaned back slightly in her chair, crossing her arms. "Right. Mr Volkov. What brings you here?"
He ignored the tiny smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Just checking in."
"Checking in?" she repeated. "Why do you care?"
He shrugged. "You're my assistant."
She arched an eyebrow. "Do you do this for all your assistants?"
He leaned a little more on the glass, pretending to consider. "Only the ones my mother forced on me."
She smiled faintly and turned back to her screen. "Lucky me."
"You seem… composed," he added.
"You were expecting breakdowns?"
"I was expecting something. It's only day one, but you've taken every ridiculous task I've thrown your way like you're enjoying it."
"I'm not," she said without missing a beat. "But I'm getting paid."
That earned a small twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He thought 'Oh, so that's what all this is about. The money.'
"And besides," she added, glancing sideways at him, "if I cracked this early, you'd be unbearable."
He gave her a look.
"Worse than you already are, I mean," she said sweetly.
"Is this how you speak to all your employers?" he asked.
"Only the ones who lean on glass walls and pretend they aren't checking up on me."
He held her gaze, letting a moment pass between them. There was no flirtation in her eyes—just sharp wit, and a trace of something unreadable.
"You're different," he muttered.
"Noted," she replied dryly. "Is that all?"
He didn't answer. Just straightened, adjusted his cuffs, and said, "Lunch is in twenty. You'll bring it to me in the office."
"I didn't know I was doing deliveries too."
"You're not. Just do it."
Without waiting for her reply, he turned and walked away, expression neutral.
In his office, he didn't look back.
In her glass cubicle, Erin finally exhaled.
And smirked.
....
The CEOs office was bathed in warm light, the afternoon sun slicing through the glass walls like a golden blade. Xander sat behind his desk, one leg crossed over the other, fingers tapping absently on the armrest of his chair. His eyes were locked on the screen, but his attention wasn't on the numbers.
Not really.
A soft knock pulled him out of it.
She entered without waiting for permission.
Erin stepped in, holding a tray with two covered dishes and a bottle of mineral water. Her hair was still neat, her posture still annoyingly perfect. She didn't speak, didn't meet his eyes. Just walked up and placed the tray on the coffee table beside the long leather sofa.
She straightened to leave—
"Wait," he said, grabbing her wrist.
She froze.
He didn't grip hard. Just enough to keep her there. "You're not done."
Her head tilted slightly. "I brought the food."
He gestured to the tray. "Organize it."
There was a flicker of a sigh in her posture, but she knelt down with quiet grace, removing the tray's cover and arranging the plates in the correct order on the table: salad, grilled salmon, a side of roasted vegetables. Silverware beside napkins. Everything perfect.
She stood and turned again.
Again, he held her back.
"What now?" she asked, only half hiding the edge in her tone.
He leaned his head back against the seat, eyes closed like he was exhausted. "My hands went numb. You think you could help?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"You want me to feed you?" she asked flatly.
He opened one eye, raising an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"
"What are you? Five?!"
He raised his other brow too, clearly unimpressed.
She sighed. "Sorry. I meant… Sir, I'm in no position to do that."
"I told you to stop calling me that."
"Fine. Then what should I call you?"
He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it. "How about Your Grumpiness?"
He gave her a look.
She smiled. "Xander, then."
His name on her lips—so soft, so natural—landed somewhere deep in his chest.
He wasn't sure why it mattered. But it did.
He blinked and leaned back again. "Feed me."
Rolling her eyes, she picked up the fork and gathered a small bite of salmon, guiding it toward his mouth like it was the most ridiculous thing she'd done all day. Which, frankly, it was.
He accepted it in silence, chewing slowly.
"Comfortable?" she asked, dryly.
"No," he said. "But I'm entertained."
Another bite.
"Do you do this with all your bosses?" he added.
"Only the ones with mysteriously paralyzed hands and too much pride to admit they're just lazy."
His lips twitched.
She fed him another bite, slower this time.
A silence stretched—awkward at first, then not.
"About that night..." He initiated but paused.
She said quietly, "Nothing happened that night."
His eyes met hers.
"I know what it looked like," she said. "But I didn't plan any of it."
He didn't speak.
"You were shivering. Your skin was ice-cold after that cold bath I gave you. I thought—" she broke off. "I thought body warmth would help."
"And the shirt?" he asked, voice unreadable.
"I removed it because it was soaked," she said. "You were half-conscious, and I… I hugged you. I guess I fell asleep."
There was something vulnerable in the way she said it. No dramatics. No embellishment. Just sincerity.
"As for the picture," she continued, "I don't know who took it. And the drink… I didn't spike it."
He looked at her for a long, long moment.
She added, almost defensively, "I wouldn't drug someone just to get a job, Xander. That's not who I am."
The way she said his name again—it made something flicker behind his gaze. A shift. A hesitation.
Another bite hovered halfway to his mouth before she placed the fork down.
"I think you can manage the rest," she said softly.
She turned to go—but paused at the door.
"And just so we're clear," she said without looking back, "I'm not trying to impress you. Or anyone."
She left.
The office went quiet again.
And for the first time all day, Xander didn't feel like finishing the meal.