The low hum of the jet's engines fills the cabin, but I sware it wasn't nearly as loud as the sound of my own racing heart.
My legs are refusing to stay still. They've been bouncing up and down for the past five minutes and trust me, it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm seated opposite coffee bastard on his private plane travelling to switzerland.
It also has nothing to do with his barbed veiled insults which he graciously gifted me on realising that I've never been outside the country.
I mean. I have a passport. That should count for something right?
But my nervousness has everything to do with the contract Xavier is eyeing to get in Switzerland.
I'm terrified.
Reading the documents Xavier handed me few days ago in his office felt like me being introduced to another floor of business, one that I'm not familiar with, one that holds a lot of risk.
I've never been privy to sensitive information as this. I was the forgotten member of the company in my previous intern position, just happy to get by with the salary given.
I was the one everyone walked by, nothing was passed by my desk for advice, consultation, ideas or anything!
My work was to exist. To do as I was told.
So, I'm terrified now. That if Xavier doesn't get the contract, it'll be because of me. Because I can't hold my own.
Because I'm a useless secretary, it will show in my career and I'll be the stain that destroyed the Xavier's Steele winning streak!.
*******
I sit stiffly in the leather seat, my eys trying to take in every possible information which I had written down that might help in securing the contract.
I swallow nervously, my chest going up and down with every breath intake and expiration. I steal another look at Xavier.
Xavier Steele—coffee bastard, my boss, my tormentor, everything I don't want in her life —and yet here I was, trapped on an international flight with him, traveling to Switzerland on "business."
My role? Officially, secretary. Unofficially, personal assistant, damage control officer, and occasional victim of his impossible moods, possible contract sabotaging individual.
"You're sulking," Xavier says finally, not bothering to look up from the file he was reviewing.
His tone is cold, but I am familiar with that tone—meant to provoke.
"I'm not sulking," I reply intending to copy his calmness, though the defensive snap in my voice betrayed me.
Coffee bastard lifts a brow, still reading, the corners of his mouth curving just slightly. "You've been glaring holes through my forehead for the last twenty minutes. That qualifies as sulking."
"Maybe I'm just trying to set your forehead on fire," I mutter.
That makes him look up.
His green eyes gleams with amusement, the kind that makes my blood pressure spike. "Careful, Hazel. You might find you like the heat." he replies
My jaw drops open, "You—!" I stop myself, biting down on the reply bubbling to the surface.
No.
Coffee bastard's favorite thing to do is getting under my skin and i would die before giving him the satisfaction.
Heck. I change my mind once more. I'm resigning once this project is done. My mental health is constantly dragged through the mud.
So, I lean back in my seat, digging my nails into the armrest with a confidence I would not have naturally dared to show, "I'm only here because you insisted. Don't mistake my presence for willingness."
"You're my secretary. It's literally your job to be here," Xavier replies smoothly, turning another page as if i was no more than a mere background noise.
"Besides, I need someone who can manage schedules, fend off overeager investors, and prevent me from throwing my phone at reporters. And since you have a knack for having people throw their stuff at you, Congratulations—you're the chosen one."
I close my eyes tightly letting the annoyance wash over me like low tide, " the coffee spilling was obvi ---" I sigh, " Nevermind."
This time he looks up, "I said I could act as a therapist."
I let out a sharp laugh.
" Fine!. Congratulations? I do not attract negative energy so I'm not some label a shaman can give to you to ward off evil. This is not a gift. You didn't even ask me. You just tossed the document at me and said, 'Pack a bag.'"
"Efficiency," he replies casually, without a shred of remorse.
Xavier Steele is infuriating. Arrogant. Smug. Absolutely unmanageable.
Worst of all—he looked far too good doing it.
His tailored white shirt clung perfectly to his lean frame, his tie slightly loosened as if the rules of professionalism bent themselves for him and like he usually did when involved in deep work, the shirt was rolled at the wrists showing peeks of black ink stretching across his skin.
Even sitting there, all sharp edges and quiet power, he commanded attention.
I force my eyes away, focusing on the safety card in the pocket in fr
ont of me. The fact that i was even noticing irritates me more than anything.