(Sienna POV)
I get in before the lights. Habit. Coffee first, chaos later.
The floor is still half-dark when I swipe in, my heels ticking across marble. I hit the espresso machine on autopilot—house pot for the vultures, custom pull for him: two shots, splash of hot water, no sugar. My hands don't shake. My heart does.
He's already here.
Through the glass wall, Adrian Kade sits behind his desk like he never left this building—jacket off. Sleeves rolled. Tie loosened just enough to be indecent. He's watching me and not even pretending not to.
I pour, grab his mug, and walk straight into the lion's office.
"Morning," I say, neutral.
"Morning, Miss Vale." His voice is smooth. Too smooth.
I set the cup on his desk, lean just enough to meet those eyes, and say low, "Stop that shit. If you don't want a harassment complaint, stop staring like that."
A blink. The flicker of a smirk. "Staring? I was appreciating punctuality."
I hold up one finger. "Mess around and find out, Mr. Kade."
Then I turn and leave before he can say anything clever. Or dirty. Or both.
—
By nine, the floor is loud and bright. I'm loud and cheerful with it. Professional is my armor—hair pinned, navy dress, neutral lipstick that says I don't have a mouth you've touched.
He tests me anyway.
Provocation #1: At the copier, he steps in behind me when there's an entire empty side. Heat at my back. This close is a request in his language. I don't move. I finished the print job, handed him the stack without turning, and walked away.
Provocation #2: In the strategy meeting, he passes me a file with his fingertips grazing mine. A second too long. He watches my face for any crack. I smile pleasantly and correct a decimal on slide eight.
Provocation #3: He says my name in front of four VPs. "Sienna." Low. Private. I keep my eyes on the spreadsheet.
Provocation #4: Hallway. He reaches past me to hit the elevator button when my hand is already there. A pointless move, a stupid flex. He waits for me to react. I don't. The doors open. I step in first and hold them with my palm. He follows. We ride down together without looking at each other, with two feet of polished floor that feel like a bed and a battlefield.
By noon, the gossip is circling. "Mystery woman" floats through the air like smoke. I'm the one refilling toner and ordering lunch and scheduling his board briefing, like my weekend didn't end with my back against the wall and his breath in my ear.
He signs off on a vendor contract without looking. "Thank you," he murmurs. It lands heavily. Like a promise. Like a threat.
I don't flinch.
—
Five o'clock bleeds into six—the floor empties. The city outside glows like a circuit board. I tie off an email thread, clear the last call from his calendar, and stare at my inbox until my pulse stops trying to write confessions.
Enough.
I stand, cross the glass hall, and knock once.
"Come in."
He's by the window, phone in his hand, skyline at his back. The second I close the door, the air changes. He doesn't do anything. He doesn't have to.
"We're setting ground rules," I say.
"Are we." Not a question. An amused observation.
"Yes." I stop at his desk. "Whatever that was today—the touches, the looks, the voice—stop it."
He slips his phone into his pocket, moves closer. "You didn't seem to mind Saturday night."
"That was Saturday. This is Monday. Those are different universes."
Silence. The kind that hums.
"I'm not a toy, a distraction, or your office entertainment," I continue. "If you can't keep it separate, there won't be anything left to keep separate. I will end it myself."
His jaw ticks. "So I can't even look at you?"
"You can look all you want," I say. "You just can't make it a message. In this office, I'm your assistant. Outside it, fine—book me properly after hours. Through the arrangement you insisted on. You wanted rules. Here they are."
He studies me like a problem he enjoys solving. Then he gives me the barest nod. "Understood."
"Good."
I turn for the door.
"Miss Vale."
I pause.
"Come here."
I exhale through my nose and turn back. "No."
A slow smile. "I said 'understood,' didn't I? You're safe."
Safe. That word from him. It hits places it shouldn't.
"Two more examples," I say instead, because if I don't keep control, I'll hand it over. "In front of other people, don't drop your voice when you say my name. Don't stand behind me at machines. Don't reach past me when there's nothing to reach for."
"That's three."
"Learn to count."
His eyes flicker. Not anger. Interest. God help me.
He moves around the desk, stops with a careful distance between us, hands in his pockets like he's restraining himself. "Anything else?"
"Yes. Please don't use me to make a point to the room. You're a CEO, not a twelve-year-old."
A beat. He laughs once, quietly. "Noted."
I clear my throat. "I need to get back to work before someone assumes you've forgotten boundaries again."
His smirk is faint. "I could remind them."
"Try it," I warn, holding his gaze. "And I'll file that complaint you joked about."
He doesn't answer. He watches me go.
I open the door, step into the hallway, and close it softly behind me.
Every breath feels heavier. Every step louder.
I don't know who's winning this game.
I know it's no longer clear who started it.