By the time Monday rolled around, the Arcturus deal was close enough to taste.
“Two more days,” Jenna said, rolling her shoulders as she leaned over Maya’s desk. “If we get through Wednesday without Portvale staging a dramatic stunt, I’ll kiss you.”
“Tempting,” Maya said. “But you should know my exes have all said I’m bad luck.”
“Your exes are idiots,” Jenna said. “You’ve been here a week and a half and we haven’t accidentally set anything on fire. That’s a record.”
“I almost sent Marcus’s flight confirmation to a random Daniel in Accounting,” Maya said. “Would have been a fun surprise for him.”
“The flight or Marcus?” Jenna asked.
Maya made a face. “You’re all too invested in his sex life.”
“We’re all too invested in making sure *no one* is invested in his sex life,” Jenna corrected. “Sleeping with the boss is a litigation nightmare. HR has a whole binder about it.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Maya asked, wary.
“Because you’re the first assistant he’s hired in seven years who doesn’t stare at him like he hung the moon,” Jenna said bluntly. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”
Heat prickled along Maya’s collarbone. “I don’t—”
“I know,” Jenna said. “You’re terrified of him and turned on by spreadsheets, not jawlines. I get it.”
“I am not terrified of him,” Maya said. “Intimidated sometimes, yes. Respectful of his ability to ruin my life with a single performance review, yes. But I’m not—”
“Relax,” Jenna said, straightening. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m giving you the spiel now so we don’t have to do the awkward intervention later if he starts looking at you like you’re a shiny new distraction.”
“He doesn’t,” Maya said too quickly.
Jenna’s eyes sharpened. “He might.”
Maya opened her mouth, then shut it. Because she didn’t…know.
She knew he watched her. That he listened when she spoke, even when he didn’t show it. That sometimes, when she caught his gaze unexpectedly, there was something there she couldn’t name.
But that could just as easily be his CEO brain calculating her efficiency.
“I’m not here for that,” Maya said firmly. “I’m here for the money and the chaos.”
“Good,” Jenna said. “Keep it that way.”
She walked off, muttering about talking points and manipulated narratives.
Maya stared at her screen, Jenna’s words echoing.
*If he starts looking at you like you’re a shiny new distraction…*
She shook herself. She didn’t have time for that line of thought. She had a Monday full of meetings to juggle and an inbox that had multiplied like rabbits.
At eleven-fifteen, her phone buzzed.
Veronica: *Quick check-in? HR office, 11:30?*
Her stomach dipped.
She’d been bracing for the *how-are-you-adjusting* talk.
She texted back: *Be right there. If this is about my questionable jokes, I plead temporary insanity.*
Veronica: *…*
Veronica’s office on sixty-one was exactly as orderly as she remembered. Neat desk, neat shelves, photos of two kids and a golden retriever arranged geometrically like they’d been placed by a Feng Shui consultant.
“Ms. Brooks,” Veronica said, gesturing to a chair. “How are you?”
“Sleeping less, swearing more, contemplating writing a tell-all in my will,” Maya said. “So…great?”
Veronica’s lips twitched. “That’s about what I expected.”
“You haven’t called to fire me,” Maya said. “So I assume I haven’t screwed up catastrophically yet.”
“If you had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation in person,” Veronica said dryly.
“Good to know,” Maya said. “What’s up?”
Veronica tapped her stylus against her tablet. “Dress code.”
Maya blinked. “I’m…dressed.”
“You are,” Veronica said. “And very appropriately for ninety-nine percent of this building. However, you’re in the one percent that interacts directly with external stakeholders at the highest level.”
“I don’t go to investor meetings,” Maya said. “I sit outside the glass and move things around on a screen.”
“Yes,” Veronica said. “But the impression you make when people step off the elevator on sixty-two reflects on Marcus. On the company. He is…particular.”
Heat crept up Maya’s neck. “Is this because I wore sneakers on Friday?”
“It’s because you wore Pride Converse with glitter,” Veronica said. “I loved them. Marcus…noticed.”
“He didn’t say anything,” Maya protested.
“He wouldn’t,” Veronica said. “He’d tell me. Which he did. Politely.”
Maya winced. “I wasn’t trying to make a statement. My feet just hurt.”
“I’m not scolding you,” Veronica said. “I’m clarifying expectations. You’re not in trouble. We just need to tighten your wardrobe for certain days. Investor visits. Board meetings. High-profile guests. I’ll email you a list of dates when the dress code is…stricter.”
“You have a stricter level than this?” Maya asked, glancing down at her blouse and trousers.
“Yes,” Veronica said. “Think ‘professional armor.’”
“Okay,” Maya said slowly. “I can…try to level up. My bank account might cry, though.”
“We have a clothing stipend for executive support,” Veronica said. “It’s modest. But it should help with a blazer or two that actually fits.”
“A…stipend?” Maya echoed. “Like, free money for clothes?”
“Within reason,” Veronica said. “Don’t buy a ballgown. Unless you’re planning to wear it to the next shareholder meeting.”
Maya imagined walking into a room full of hedge fund managers in tulle. “Tempting.”
Veronica’s mouth curved. “I called you in now because Wednesday is the signing. Arcturus executives, press, board members. Lot of eyes. We want a unified look. Marcus will be in a suit. So will everyone else. You should be too.”
“A…suit,” Maya repeated, thinking of her solitary blazer that pulled a bit across the shoulders. “I can do that.”
“Good,” Veronica said. “And…one more thing. Unrelated.”
“Okay,” Maya said warily.
“How are you…finding him?” Veronica asked, choosing her pronoun carefully.
“Him who?” Maya asked, playing dumb.
Veronica gave her a look.
“He’s…intense,” Maya said. “Predictably. Demanding. He doesn’t waste words. He also…hasn’t thrown anything at me yet, so I’m counting that as a win.”
“He wouldn’t throw anything,” Veronica said. “He’d use very precise language to cut you in half.”
“Comforting,” Maya said. “So far he’s only used that language on other people, within earshot.”
“You’re not afraid of him,” Veronica observed. It wasn’t a question.
“I wasn’t hired to be,” Maya said. “That’s everyone else’s job.”
“Just…remember what we talked about in your first interview,” Veronica said. “About…complications.”
“You mean the ‘don’t bang the boss’ chat?” Maya said.
Veronica pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re determined to make HR’s life difficult, aren’t you?”
“Not on purpose,” Maya said. “Look, I get it. I’m not here to mix business and…whatever. I like my paycheck too much.”
“Good,” Veronica said. “Because I’ve seen what happens when Marcus gets involved with someone in his orbit.”
Maya’s eyes widened. “He’s…dated inside the company?”
“Not in years,” Veronica said quickly. “He learned. But in the beginning, when he took over, there was a…period of adjustment. And by adjustment, I mean a lot of messy breakups and one very irate husband.”
“Oh,” Maya said. “Yikes.”
“He’s not that man anymore,” Veronica said. “He’s older. Smarter. More careful. But he’s still…him. Charming when he wants to be. Intense. Focused. It can feel like oxygen when it’s pointed at you. Until it starts to feel like a blowtorch.”
“That’s…vivid,” Maya said faintly.
“I’m not telling you this to scare you,” Veronica said. “I’m telling you because you’re good at your job, and I’d like you to stay. Emotional fallout is…inefficient. For everyone.”
“Understood,” Maya said.
Veronica studied her, as if checking for cracks.
“You’ll be fine,” she said ultimately. “You have…opinions. That helps.”
Maya snorted. “I come pre-installed with red flags for emotionally unavailable men. I’ll be fine.”
Veronica’s gaze softened the tiniest bit. “If he pushes too hard, tell me,” she said. “Or Oliver. Or Jenna. This place can swallow people whole if they’re alone.”
Maya thought of Marcus at the window on Sunday, staring out at a city he never seemed to leave.
“Is he alone?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Veronica considered. “Not for lack of options,” she said. “But…yes. In the ways that matter.”
Something in Maya’s chest tightened.
“Don’t make him your project,” Veronica said quietly. “He doesn’t need saving. He’s very good at taking care of himself.”
*You say that,* Maya thought, *but you’ve never heard the way he talks about ‘win-win’ like it’s a foreign concept.*
Aloud, she said, “Got it. No fixing the boss. Just the calendar.”
“Thank you,” Veronica said. “Now go. You have a show to prep for on Wednesday.”
***
Wednesday.
The word took on a capital letter in everyone’s mouths.
The Arcturus signing would be small by design—no public spectacle, just a formal agreement in a glass-walled conference room, followed by a tightly controlled press opportunity. But the ripples would be massive.
“Heavy navy suit day,” Jenna told Maya Tuesday night. “Minimal jewelry. No loud patterns. We’re going for ‘solid, dependable, not here to eat your children.’”
“I’ll leave my pitchfork at home,” Maya said.
“You joke,” Jenna said, “but Portvale once staged a photo op with a literal golden retriever to soften their image. We’re still recovering.”
Maya did laundry. She ironed. She stared at her reflection in her bathroom mirror Wednesday morning in a tailored black blazer and matching trousers she’d bought on deep discount and had hastily altered at a dry cleaner.
She looked…different.
Sharper. Less soft.
Professional armor.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her mom.
Mom: *Good luck today, babygirl. Saw your boss on the news. He looks mean. Don’t let him scare you.*
Maya smiled, thumbs flying.
*He’s mostly bark. And very expensive bite. I’ll call you tonight.*
She slipped her feet into black heels—sensible height, because she’d learned from Pride Converse Gate—and grabbed her tote.
In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself.
“Maya Brooks,” she said. “Personal chaos manager to a shark. Try not to get eaten.”
***
The elevator doors slid open on sixty-two and for a second, she thought she’d stepped into a different company.
The usual organized frenzy had been turned up a notch. Florists wheeled in arrangements that were carefully *not* showy—white lilies, clean lines. A catering team set up discreet stations of sparkling water and coffee. IT checked cables and screens like they were prepping for a space launch.
“Good,” Jenna said when she saw her. “You look like someone who could credibly fire me.”
“Is that the goal?” Maya asked.
“In a room full of old men who control freight routes and capital flows? Yes,” Jenna said. “Minimal lipstick. No red. Trust me. We don’t need any ‘femme fatale’ headlines.”
“I own one lipstick,” Maya said. “It’s nude. You’re safe.”
“Perfect,” Jenna said. “Marcus in his office?”
His door was closed. The blinds, usually open, were partially drawn.
Maya checked the time. 8:47.
He had twenty-eight minutes before the first Arcturus car arrived.
“Let’s find out,” she said.
She knocked once, then cracked the door.
“Come in,” came his voice.
She stepped inside—and forgot, briefly, what words were.
She’d seen him in suits almost every day since she started.
But this—
This was different.
Dark navy, almost black. Crisp white shirt. Tie perfectly knotted. Cufflinks that probably cost more than her car. Beard trimmed a shade closer than usual, hair coaxed into just enough order that he looked intentional, not vain.
He was all clean lines and controlled power. Ruthless CFO cosplay, if CFOs also owned entire shipping lanes.
He looked up.
His gaze slid over her, down and back up, in a pass that felt less like a check for dress code compliance and more like an involuntary assessment.
She straightened instinctively, heat creeping up the back of her neck.
“Good morning,” she said, aiming for brisk and landing somewhere closer to breathy.
“Morning,” he said.
His eyes lingered a beat too long at her throat, where the V of her blouse showed a hint of collarbone, then snapped back to her face.
“You clean up well,” he said, voice even.
“So do you,” she said, before her filter could tackle her vocal cords. “I mean. You look—very…CEO.”
His mouth curved minutely. “That is literally my job description.”
“I know, I just—forget sometimes,” she said.
He lifted a brow. “Forget what?”
“That you’re…this,” she said, gesturing vaguely to all of him. “The guy on CNBC. The ‘Kane Global’ in headlines. You spend most of your time in front of a laptop complaining about bad coffee like the rest of us.”
“Only you complain about the coffee,” he said.
“Because it’s bad,” she said. “But my point stands.”
His gaze softened by half a degree. “You look…” He seemed to search for a word. “…appropriate.”
She choked on a laugh. “Wow. Careful, Marcus. Too many compliments and I’ll get a big head.”
“In this company, ‘appropriate’ is high praise,” he said dryly.
She smiled despite herself. “Arcturus arrives at nine-fifteen,” she said, sliding into professional mode. “Kincaid and his son, plus their counsel. Portvale will be watching from the shadows, but they’re not invited to this party.”
“I’m sure they’ll crash it anyway,” he said.
“We have Security briefed and on alert,” she said. “No one gets past the lobby without credentials. We’ve also staggered the press call so you have thirty minutes with Kincaid post-signing before the cameras.”
“Good,” he said. “He’s skittish. I want him calm before we parade him.”
“Calm how?” she asked. “Do you…pet him? Feed him treats? Take him for a walk on the roof?”
“Empathy,” he said.
She blinked. “You…do empathy?”
“On occasion,” he said. “In short, controlled bursts.”
She wanted to ask what that looked like. Decided she’d probably see for herself soon enough.
“Here,” he said, sliding a folder toward her. “Printed copies of the final term sheet and talking points. Yours.”
“Mine?” she said, taking it.
“Know what we’re signing,” he said. “If anyone tries to reroute me day-of with some new demand, I want you to be able to flag it. Don’t assume everyone in that room is playing fair.”
Her chest tightened, oddly touched. “That’s…a lot of trust for week two.”
“Don’t make me regret it,” he said.
“I’ll do my best not to,” she said.
***
The Arcturus delegation arrived at nine-fourteen on the dot.
From her station, Maya watched them step off the elevator—a man in his late sixties with wind-roughened skin and the permanent squint of someone who’d spent his life staring at the horizon, and a younger man in his thirties whose crisp suit couldn’t entirely hide the restlessness in his shoulders.
“Kincaid Senior and Junior,” Jenna murmured at her shoulder. “Old guard and new. They’re halfway between selling and running.”
Marcus emerged from his office as if summoned by instinct.
He moved toward them, hand extended, the perfect blend of respectful and in control.
“James,” he said. “Eli. Welcome.”
“Marcus,” the older man grunted, shaking his hand. “Hell of a view you’ve got up here.”
“Helps me remember what’s at stake,” Marcus said.
Kincaid Junior’s gaze flicked around the space, landing briefly on Maya. His eyes did a quick, assessing pass—from her low heels to her blazer to the folder in her hands.
He smiled. Confident. A little too practiced.
“Assistant?” he asked, as though she weren’t there.
Maya smiled brightly. “Sentient,” she said. “I also answer to ‘Maya.’”
Kincaid Jr. blinked.
Marcus’s mouth twitched.
“This is Maya Brooks,” he said. “She keeps my life from collapsing.”
“Nice to meet you,” Eli said quickly. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Long morning.”
“Long week,” she said. “We’re all a little frayed.”
She watched him recalibrate, interest sharpening. She could feel the weight of his gaze lingering a fraction longer than necessary.
She filed that away.
Not because she cared—he was not her type; she could tell from ten paces that he flirted with waitresses—but because this was the kind of dynamic she needed to anticipate. Men in power noticing the woman near her boss and assuming she was available for their amusement.
Marcus saw it too. She could tell by the way his jaw ticked, just once.
“Conference A,” he said smoothly. “Let’s go sign something.”
The signing itself was almost anticlimactic.
They all gathered in the sleek glass room. Lawyers fussed over pages. Pens gleamed. Cameras stayed politely outside for now.
Maya stood at Marcus’s right, slightly behind him, where she could see the table and also the door.
As the papers slid across the table, as signatures were scrawled on lines worth billions, she found her mind looping around a simple, ridiculous fact.
Less than two weeks ago, she’d been sitting on her futon, eating instant noodles and contemplating pawning her laptop for rent.
Now she was in the room where fortunes literally changed hands, her name listed as *attending* on the internal memo, tasked with making sure the man at the head of the table didn’t miss a beat.
It was…a lot.
When the last pen clinked onto the glass, when the lawyers did their final ritual of checking and rechecking, Marcus stood.
“Congratulations,” he said, extending a hand to James Kincaid. “You’ve just made me the envy of every logistics nerd in the Western Hemisphere.”
Kincaid barked a laugh. “Didn’t peg you for a ports guy, Kane.”
“I like systems,” Marcus said. “And leverage. You have both.”
“You’re a cold son of a bitch,” Kincaid said, without heat.
“So I’ve been told,” Marcus said.
They shook, grip firm. Cameras flashed through the glass.
Eli hovered, glancing between them.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked his father, low.
James clapped him on the shoulder. “Too late to back out now, kid. And if this bastard screws us, you can spend the next decade suing him. Good work if you can get it.”
Maya caught Marcus’s eye.
He rolled his shoulder, just slightly. The gesture looked casual to anyone who didn’t know better.
She knew better.
He was winding himself tighter, not looser. Preparing for the second act—the messaging, the optics, the spin.
As Security ushered in the pre-approved press, Jenna moved into position, flanking Marcus like a commander.
“Maya,” she murmured, “time check?”
Maya glanced at her tablet. “You’ve got twenty minutes before CNBC goes live. The local business journal gets five. No one else gets more than two questions.”
“Perfect,” Jenna said. “Remember, no one says ‘synergy.’ Understood?”
“Got it,” Maya said. “Follow-up drinking game later if anyone does.”
“Deal,” Jenna said.
Marcus leaned toward her, voice low. “Remind me to never let you and Jenna write my talking points unsupervised.”
“You’d be more popular,” she said. “And probably funnier.”
“Both of which would be disastrous,” he said.
She smiled. He didn’t.
But something about the way his gaze lingered on her expression made her throat feel suddenly dry.
***
Two hours later, the formalities were done.
Arcturus was theirs. Headlines were up. Stock was ticking.
Marcus retreated to his office like a soldier to a bunker.
Maya followed, closing the door behind them on the last of the congratulatory handshakes.
He exhaled, long and controlled, then yanked at his tie.
The motion shouldn’t have been…anything. Just a man loosening a strip of silk around his neck.
But her stupid, traitorous brain flashed back to her dream. The one where that tie had been in her hands. On her floor.
Heat seared her cheeks. She busied herself with stacking the leftover folders from the signing.
“You okay?” she asked, striving for normalcy. “You looked like you wanted to strangle at least two reporters out there.”
“Just one,” he said. “The one who called this ‘Kane Global’s attempt to rehabilitate its image after the Westwood layoffs.’”
“Well, that was a dick move,” she said. “And not even accurate. Those layoffs were three years ago. If you were rehabbing, you’re late.”
“That’s what I told him,” he said.
Her head snapped up. “You did *not*.”
“I said, ‘If this was a PR stunt, I’d have fired my head of communications for her timing,’” he said. “He stopped asking that question.”
Jenna’s muffled voice drifted in from down the hall. “I heard that!”
Marcus’s lips curved. “Good. You deserved the implied praise.”
“It was the ‘fired’ part I objected to,” Jenna called back.
Maya laughed, tension easing.
He watched her, something unreadable in his gaze.
“What?” she asked.
“You look…pleased,” he said.
“I am,” she said. “You closed a massive deal. You didn’t get crucified in the press. No one fainted. That’s a good day in my book.”
“It could still go sideways,” he said reflexively.
“Of course,” she said. “Life is chaos. But you’re allowed to be happy for five minutes before you go back to catastrophizing.”
“I don’t catastrophize,” he said.
“You literally just said—”
“I plan for contingencies,” he corrected.
“Tomato, tomahto,” she said.
He stepped closer, hands sliding into his pockets. The move did things to his suit that should have been illegal.
“How does it feel?” he asked suddenly.
She blinked. “How does what feel?”
“To be here,” he said. “In this. Two weeks ago, you were wrangling freelance invoices. Now you’re standing in the middle of a multibillion-dollar acquisition.”
She swallowed. It hit her then, in a way it hadn’t had time to all morning.
Overwhelming. Gratifying. Surreal.
“A little like playing dress-up,” she admitted. “Like I snuck into someone else’s life and they haven’t noticed yet.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “You don’t belong here by accident, Maya.”
“My résumé says otherwise,” she said.
“I’ve read your résumé,” he said. “That’s precisely why you’re here. You know how to manage chaos without falling apart. That’s more useful to me than ten years at Morgan Stanley.”
Her throat tightened.
“That’s…nice of you to say,” she said, hating how small her voice sounded.
“I don’t do ‘nice,’” he said. “You know that by now. I do…accurate.”
She met his eyes. The air between them felt…different. Denser.
“Accurate, then,” she said.
They stood there, just inside the closed door of his office, while an entire building hummed around them, and for one long, dangerous moment, it felt like the rest of it was…far away.
His gaze dropped, briefly, to her mouth.
It was quick. A flicker. A half-second.
But she saw it.
Heat shot through her so fast she almost stepped back on instinct.
He caught himself just as fast. The tiniest tightening at the corners of his eyes. A millisecond of self-reprimand.
“This…suit,” she blurted, desperate to break the tension. “It’s very…intimidating. You should wear it less.”
That, at least, startled him. “Less?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Save it for, like, Senate hearings. Otherwise you’re going to give the interns heart palpitations.”
“I don’t interact with interns,” he said.
“All the more reason,” she said. “You’re like a cryptid. If they see you in the wild like this too often, there’ll be sightings on TikTok.”
He blinked. Then laughed. Properly. A low, rough sound that did not help her equilibrium.
“Christ,” he said. “TikTok.”
“Careful,” she said. “Say it three times and a gen Z social media consultant appears in your office and makes you dance.”
“Over my dead body,” he said.
“We’ve already established I’m not allowed to joke about your death,” she said.
He shook his head. “Take the afternoon,” he said abruptly. “Go home.”
She blinked. “It’s two.”
“And we’ve closed the biggest deal on the table,” he said. “There will be follow-up, but not today. Consider it a victory lap. You’ve earned it.”
Emotion pinched her chest. “You’re giving me a half-day?”
“Don’t tell HR,” he said. “They’ll try to turn it into a policy.”
“Do you ever…take your own advice?” she asked. “Victory laps. Breaks. Defragging.”
His jaw flexed. “Occasionally.”
“Today?” she asked.
“Unlikely,” he said.
“Of course,” she said softly.
She hesitated, then stepped toward him, hand extended.
“Congratulations,” she said.
He looked at her hand like it was a foreign object, then took it.
His grip was warm. Firm. Familiar.
She’d shaken his hand twice before. Once in the interview. Once on her first official day.
This time, the contact felt…charged.
“Thank you,” he said.
The words slid over her skin along with the press of his palm, like a second, intangible touch.
She let go.
If she held on too long, she’d give both of them too much to think about.
“Enjoy your victory,” she said. “Even if you have to spreadsheet it.”
“Go home, Maya,” he said.
She did.
But that night, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t help replaying that half-second where his eyes had dropped to her mouth.
And for the first time since stepping into Kane Global, she admitted something to herself she’d been avoiding.
She wanted him.
Not in an abstract, “objectively attractive man in my vicinity” way.
In a specific, unsettling, *him* way.
His mind. His drive. The way he saw systems and levers and moved through rooms like he was playing chess while everyone else played checkers.
She wanted to know what it would feel like if that focus ever turned completely on her.
Then she remembered Jenna’s warning. Veronica’s caution. The bodies buried in HR’s files.
She rolled onto her side and forced her thoughts toward something safer.
Spreadsheets. Rent. Her mother’s next appointment.
She fell asleep telling herself that desire and action were two very different things.
She could handle wanting him.
She had to.
Because the alternative—stepping over that line—was unthinkable.
And terrifyingly, dangerously tempting.
***