The first time Margot’s name showed up in a headline, she almost spit her coffee across her keyboard.
She was in the war room, half-listening to a logistics update while she scanned her inbox, when a link in a PR roundup email caught her eye.
*Hale’s Quiet Power Broker: Who Is Margot Chen?*
Her stomach dropped.
She clicked.
A mid-tier business blog, the kind that lived off scoops and LinkedIn stalking, had cobbled together a profile from public records, old conference photos, and “sources familiar with Hale’s executive suite.”
> When tech billionaire Declan Hale pulled off the surprise acquisition of industrial giant NexTelis, insiders say he didn’t do it alone. > > > Enter Margot Chen, his elusive executive assistant—described by one colleague as “the only person on the thirty-third floor who can tell him no and live.”
She read faster, pulse pounding.
> Chen, 32, has spent the last decade in the shadows of powerful men. From a fintech wunderkind to a streaming CEO, she’s been the woman behind the curtain, orchestrating war rooms, managing board meltdowns, and, according to multiple sources, “saving her bosses from themselves more times than they’d admit.”
There were quotes. Some she could identify.
Raj, with his “she’s the metronome when he gets lost in the music.” Eliza, probably, with “she pushes him in ways he needs, even when he hates it.” A former Veridian exec gushing about how she’d “basically run the company during the outage.”
And then—
> “You can’t understand Hale without understanding Chen,” says one Hale employee, who requested anonymity to speak freely. “They’re joined at the hip. He trusts her more than anyone. If she ever left, the whole place would fall apart.”
Her skin crawled.
She scrolled.
Photos.
One from a Veridian launch party, her in a green dress, hair up, laughing at something off-camera.
Another, grainy, from a hallway at Hale: her hand on Declan’s arm as she moved him through a crowd. He was looking down at her, profile half in shadow.
The caption: *Hale and Chen at a recent internal event. Insiders say the two are “inseparable.”*
Her jaw clenched.
It wasn’t entirely wrong.
It was also… not the whole truth.
At the bottom, the kicker:
> For now, Chen continues to decline interviews, letting her work—and Hale’s results—speak for themselves. But in a world finally waking up to the unseen labor that keeps visionaries afloat, perhaps it’s time we stop calling women like her “assistants” and start calling them what they are: power brokers.
“Whoa,” someone breathed behind her.
She jumped.
Raj leaned over her shoulder, eyes wide. “Well, damn.”
“Don’t,” she said, voice flat. “Finish that sentence.”
He held up his hands, backing away. “Not saying it. But… are you okay?”
She forced herself to close the tab.
Her reflection stared back at her in the darkened laptop screen.
Composed.
Barely.
“It’s… fine,” she lied. “PR will send a *‘we don’t comment on personnel’* boilerplate. It’ll die in a day.”
“Margot,” Raj said gently. “That wasn’t a hit piece. That was anointing.”
She grimaced. “I don’t want to be anointed. I want to be left alone to color-code his calendar and yell at him in private.”
He huffed. “That ship sailed when he started letting you yell at him in public.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“Where is he?” she asked.
“Investor call,” Raj said. “Nine to ten.”
“Good,” she said. “That gives me twenty minutes to get ahead of this before he reads it and has a meltdown about ‘unnecessary attention.’”
“And before HR has a stroke,” Raj added. “Nina already DM’d me: ‘We need to *manage expectations*.’ You know she only types italics when she’s panicking.”
She blew out a breath. “Tell her I’ll stop by in twenty. And ping Marissa. We need to coordinate responses.”
“As you command, O Quiet Power Broker,” Raj said, saluting.
“Raj,” she warned.
He grinned and disappeared.
She opened a new email.
> To: Nina; Marissa > Subject: That piece
Her fingers flew.
> Let’s not feed the beast. > > > My requests: > > * No official comment beyond “we don’t comment on internal personnel matters.” > * No pushing me for quotes. I’m not doing a profile. > * Please monitor internal Slack for blowback and ping me if anything crosses a line re: harassment or speculation. > > > Also: whoever is talking to bloggers about me needs a new hobby. I can’t control hallway gossip, but if you hear of someone blurring the line between “insider color” and “HR issue,” I want to know. > > – M
She hit send.
Then, against her better judgment, she reopened the article.
Her gaze snagged on one line she’d skimmed over.
> Rumors swirl about the exact nature of Chen and Hale’s relationship, but sources insist it is “strictly professional, if unusually intense.”
Her stomach flipped.
So they’d tried.
Whoever had talked hadn’t thrown her under the nearest bus.
Small favors.
She snapped her laptop shut.
“Margot?” Victor called from the front.
She pasted on a neutral expression and walked back to the table as if nothing in her world had just shifted ten degrees.
***
He read it between investor questions.
He was on slide twelve of a presentation about projected synergies when his iPad pinged with a news alert.
He should have ignored it.
He didn’t.
He flicked it open during a lull, scanning.
By the third paragraph, his stomach was a knot.
“Declan?” a voice crackled from the speaker. “Are you still with us?”
He forced his eyes back to the slide.
“Yes,” he said evenly. “As I was saying…”
He finished the call.
Politely.
Efficiently.
He hung up.
Then reopened the tab.
*Hale’s Quiet Power Broker: Who Is Margot Chen?*
He read every word.
His jaw clenched at the “inseparable” line.
His hand tightened on the tablet at the “rumors” bit.
He didn’t like being speculated about.
He liked even less that they’d dragged her into it.
When he reached the bottom, he sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Of course this was coming.
He’d known, abstractly, that people would eventually notice.
His media coach had said it: “You have a story. She has a story. Together, you’re a narrative people can’t resist. Use it.”
He’d refused.
He still refused.
He also knew he couldn’t ignore this.
It was already ricocheting around internal channels, no doubt.
He picked up his phone.
His thumb hovered over her contact.
He didn’t call.
He checked his email instead.
Her note to Nina and Marissa hit his inbox at that moment, CC’d.
He read it.
A ghost of a smile flickered.
She was already moving pieces.
As always.
He stood.
Walked out of his office.
The war room murmurs hushed a bit as he passed. People pretended not to watch him.
He ignored them.
Nina’s office on thirty was lit up like a command center. She sat at her desk, fingers flying over her keyboard, multiple windows open.
Marissa perched in the spare chair, smartphone in hand, expression both excited and stressed.
They both looked up when he entered.
“Declan,” Nina said. “Saw the piece?”
“Yes,” he said. “Margot?”
“In the war room,” Marissa said. “Pretending it’s not happening. She’ll be here next; we coordinated.”
“Good,” he said.
He shut the door behind him.
“This is a problem,” Nina said.
Marissa snorted. “It’s also a gift. People love these stories. ‘The woman behind the man.’ It humanizes him. Sorry.” She winced at her own phrasing.
“It objectifies her,” Nina snapped. “She’s not a prop in his narrative.”
“I know that,” Marissa said. “I’m just saying—”
“Stop,” Declan said quietly.
They both did.
He took a breath.
“No one talks to press about her without her explicit consent,” he said. “No off-the-record ‘color’ about our dynamic. No ‘anonymous colleagues’ speculating on what she means to me. If I find out anyone on my team is feeding that, they’re gone. I don’t care how senior.”
Marissa lifted her hands. “Understood.”
Nina nodded, relief flickering.
“She doesn’t want a profile,” Declan added. “We respect that. If she changes her mind, *she* reaches out. Not us nudging.”
“Can I at least quietly monitor how it’s playing?” Marissa asked. “Sentiment, engagement, that kind of thing? There’s value in knowing how people perceive your partnership.”
He grimaced at the word.
“Yes,” he said reluctantly. “Data is… data. Just don’t turn her into a… brand.”
“She already is, a little,” Marissa said. “Internally, at least. This just… externalizes it.”
He scowled.
Nina watched him.
“You okay?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “But I’ll… function.”
She tilted her head. “What are you worried about most? Her safety? Her reputation? Your image?”
He gave her a look. “You know the answer.”
“Say it,” she said.
He exhaled. “Her. Obviously.”
“Good,” she said. “Because HR’s already fielding a few… unhelpful responses on internal channels. Nothing egregious yet. Some… ‘jokes.’ Some thinly veiled envy. We’re on it.”
“Loop me,” he said. “If anything crosses the line.”
“Are you going to talk to her?” Nina asked.
“Yes,” he said. “After she yells at all of you first.”
Nina smiled. “Smart man.”
He left.
Back upstairs, he hesitated outside the war room door.
Through the glass, he saw her at the far end of the table, back straight, pen moving, expression neutral.
He could read the tiniest tension at her jaw.
The war room discussion was mid-sentence. He could disrupt.
He didn’t.
He waited until there was a natural break, then caught her eye.
Tilted his head toward his office.
She nodded once.
Finished whatever she was saying to Victor.
Then walked out.
Closed the door behind her.
“Congratulations,” he said, deadpan. “You’re famous.”
She made a face. “Kill me.”
“That can be arranged,” he said. “We have a whole acquisitions team.”
A huff of amusement escaped her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, more seriously.
“No,” she said. “But I’m… not on fire. Yet.”
He gestured toward his couch. “Sit?”
“I’ll stand,” she said. “Feels less like an intervention.”
He nodded.
Leant against his desk instead.
“I read it,” he said.
“Obviously,” she said.
“Some of it was… flattering,” he said.
“Some of it was… invasive,” she countered.
He nodded. “Agreed.”
She studied him. “How mad are you?”
“At them? Very,” he said. “At you? Not at all.”
She blinked. “Me?”
“Some men would be… threatened,” he said. “By a piece suggesting their right hand is as powerful as they are. I’m not.”
“Because you’re secure,” she said dryly.
“Because it’s… true,” he said simply. “I wouldn’t have closed NexTelis without you. I don’t want to pretend otherwise.”
Her throat tightened.
“That’s… nice,” she said. “Also unhelpful.”
“I’m not going to do a media tour about you,” he said. “I’m not going to trot you out as ‘the woman behind the man.’ I’m not going to let Marissa turn you into a hashtag. I will, however, back whatever boundaries you set. If you want to go on record and say, ‘Don’t talk about me,’ I’ll support it. If you want to write your own piece, I’ll support that too.”
She blinked.
“Declan,” she said slowly. “You realize… you’re asking what *I* want. Not telling me what’s ‘strategic.’”
He shrugged. “Kline. Again.”
She almost smiled.
“I don’t want to be… a story,” she admitted. “At least not now. Not like this. I want time to do the work before people start… writing think pieces about me.”
“Then we do nothing,” he said. “Beyond what you’ve already done.”
She exhaled, some tension draining.
“Thank you,” she said.
He tilted his head. “You’re… not angry? At me? For… making you visible? Indirectly.”
“I was,” she said. “Last night, when I saw the piece. For about thirty seconds, I thought, *This is his fault. He pulled me onto that stage. He put my name in that memo. He pointed at me when he said ‘accountability.’*”
“And?” he asked.
“And then I remembered I walked onto that stage,” she said. “I wrote that memo. I didn’t exactly hide. I’ve been leading rooms for years. I just… liked doing it without my face on a blog.”
He watched her.
“You don’t have to be… invisible to be powerful,” he said quietly.
She snorted. “You would say that. You’ve always been visible.”
“Not like this,” he said. “Not… examined. Not… speculated about. I know what it is to be a spectacle. I… don’t want that for you. Not if you can avoid it.”
She softened. Just a fraction.
“We can’t control it entirely,” she said. “People will see what they want. But we can… shape it. A little.”
He nodded. “You want to shape it?”
She hesitated.
Someday, maybe.
Tell her own story on her own terms.
Not as his appendage.
Not as his foil.
Not now.
“Right now,” she said, “I want to make sure some asshole in accounting doesn’t think this gives him the right to joke about me ‘sleeping my way into power.’”
His eyes chilled.
“Already on it,” he said. “Nina’s… monitoring. And I meant what I told her. If I hear of anyone crossing that line, they’re gone.”
“You can’t just fire people for gossiping,” she said.
“Watch me,” he said.
She huffed. “That’s… satisfying. And maybe… impractical.”
“Then we’ll find another… consequence,” he said. “Training. Warnings. Public humiliation.”
She smiled reluctantly. “You really hate this.”
“Yes,” he said. “Because it touches you. Not me.”
Her heart stuttered.
“This is… dangerous,” she said softly.
“I know,” he said. “We’ll… be careful.”
She rubbed her temple.
“Okay,” she said. “Enough about my unexpected celebrity. We have supplier claims to review and a board that thinks ‘remediation’ is a marketing term.”
He smiled faintly. “Back to hell, then.”
“Back to hell,” she agreed.
As she turned to go, he said, “Margot.”
She looked back.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “they got one thing right.”
“What?” she asked warily.
“You are… a power broker,” he said simply. “With or without me.”
Heat pricked behind her eyes.
She scoffed. “Don’t get poetic on me, Hale. It’s gross.”
He smirked.
She left.
In the hallway, her phone buzzed.
An internal Slack ping.
She opened it.
#company‑chat.
Someone had posted the article link with the caption: *When your EA gets more press than you.*
A flurry of responses.
*About time the real MVPs got recognition.* *She scares me a little.* *Same.* *Stan a queen who tells Declan no.*
She smiled despite herself.
Then saw one comment further down.
*@productbro420: So is it like, a requirement to be hot to work that close to him? Asking for a friend.*
Her jaw clenched.
Three seconds later, the comment disappeared.
A DM from Nina popped up.
>*Handled. HR will be talking to him. You okay?*
She typed back.
>*Yeah. Just send me the popcorn transcript later.*
She slid her phone back into her pocket, squared her shoulders, and walked into the war room.
The world was watching.
Fine.
Let them watch.
She had work to do.
And a man to keep from becoming the thing she feared most.
Even if that man was also the one she was falling for.
Slowly.
Stupidly.
Inevitably.