Maya did not sleep.
She tried.
She lay in bed, lights off, curtains half-drawn, the glow of the city turning her ceiling into a dim, uneven canvas.
Her mind replayed the elevator ride on a loop.
*Do you think about it?*
*Yes.*
*If anything ever happens, it will be because you decided the risk was worth it.*
It had been one thing to suspect he felt it too—the pull, the edge, the thing that made the air between them heavier than it should have been.
It was another to have him *say* it.
She rolled onto her stomach, face buried in a pillow, and let out a muffled groan.
“Why,” she asked the mattress, “couldn’t you have fallen for a barista?”
Because the barista didn’t run half her waking life through a web of decisions. Because the barista hadn’t stood in front of a hundred people and admitted he didn’t know how to be soft and then tried anyway. Because the barista didn’t look at her like she was both an asset and a variable he couldn’t quantify.
Also, the barista definitely did not say “if anything ever happens” like he was negotiating a clause in a contract.
She groaned louder.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She reached for it blindly, expecting a 2 a.m. work ping, some crisis she could latch onto gratefully.
Instead, it was her best friend, Kai.
Kai: *You alive? Or did the shipping overlord eat you?*
Maya: *Define “alive.”*
Kai: *…oh no. That bad?*
She hesitated. She hadn’t told Kai everything. They knew about the job, the hours, the chaos. They knew Marcus was “intense” and “alarmingly competent” and “wears a suit like it’s custom-printed on his DNA.”
She had not told them about wanting to kiss him in a glass elevator.
Maya: *He came to the office party.*
Kai: *YOU LIE*
Kai: *The man who thinks fun is an SEC filing actually went to a social event?*
Maya: *Yes. I bullied him into it. Jenna helped. It was weirdly adorable.*
Kai: *Was he…nice?*
Maya thought of his speech. The awkward thanks. The “this isn’t a cult.” The way the room had softened around him.
Maya: *As nice as he knows how to be.*
Kai: *Translation: he didn’t bite anyone.*
Maya: *Not in front of witnesses.*
Kai: *And you? Did you have fun? Did you talk to any non-billionaires?*
Maya stared at the screen.
Fun. Non-billionaires. Reality.
Maya: *Yes. It was…good to see other humans.*
Kai: *You sound weird.*
Maya: *I’m tired.*
Kai: *You’re deflecting. Spill, Brooks.*
She chewed her lip.
She’d spent the last hour spiraling alone. Maybe saying some of it out loud—well, in text—would make it feel less like a live wire in her chest.
Maya: *He…asked me a question.*
Kai: *Let me guess: “Are you available to hop on a call with Singapore at 3 a.m.?”*
Maya: *Worse.*
Kai: *👀*
She exhaled and typed.
Maya: *In the elevator he asked if I ever think about…us. Like, not boss/assistant us. Other us.*
The typing dots appeared, disappeared, reappeared.
Kai: *WH*
Kai: *AT*
Kai: *THE*
Kai: *FUCK*
Kai: *Brooks.*
Kai: *Please tell me he did not proposition you in an elevator.*
Maya: *He didn’t. That’s the problem?*
Kai: *…explain before I drive over there and burn his building down.*
Maya: *He was weirdly careful about it. Said he thinks about it too. Said he won’t be the one to make a move. That if anything happens it has to be my choice.*
A longer pause.
Kai: *That’s…frighteningly self-aware for a man with that much power.*
Maya: *Right?*
Kai: *Also hot. I’m sorry. It is.*
Heat crept up Maya’s neck.
Maya: *Don’t help.*
Kai: *Okay. Let’s deconstruct. On one hand: red flag. Workplace imbalance. HR nightmares. Your mom’s medical bills. On the other: hot rich man who actually understands consent and is trying not to be a predator.*
Kai: *That’s…rare.*
Maya: *You’re supposed to talk me down, not build a pro/con list that makes the “pro” column spicy.*
Kai: *I’m not going to tell you what to do. But I am going to ask you this: if he were a coworker at your level making the same offer, what would you do?*
She imagined Marcus without the CEO title. Just…a man. Smart, driven, fucked-up around the edges. A man who looked at her like she intrigued him and said *I want this but I don’t want to hurt you.*
Maya: *If he were my level?*
Maya: *I’d have kissed him in that elevator.*
Her thumb hovered over send. Then she hit it.
Kai: *Okay. So we know what you WANT.*
Kai: *Now: what can you live with?*
What could she live with.
Losing the job? Getting sidelined if it went bad? Watching him shift back into clinical if she became too messy?
Her mother’s face flashed behind her eyes. The lined forehead. The way she clenched her jaw when the bills came.
Maya: *I can’t afford to blow this, Kai. Not just the money. The opportunity. This job could change my whole trajectory.*
Kai: *Then maybe that’s your answer. At least for now.*
Maya: *You’re saying don’t?*
Kai: *I’m saying…don’t decide tonight. You’re wired and tipsy and horny and your lizard brain is doing backflips.*
Maya made a strangled sound.
Kai: *Give it a week. See if he brings it up again. See if he respects his own line. See if you still feel this way when you’re not high on gin and power dynamics.*
It was, annoyingly, the most reasonable thing anyone had said to her all day.
Maya: *You’re wise for someone who once dated a guy because he had a good record collection.*
Kai: *Low blow. He had GREAT vinyl. And a terrible personality.*
Kai: *Text me if he does anything else boundary-adjacent. I have a bat.*
Maya: *I love you.*
Kai: *Love you too. Try to sleep. Dream of something boring. Like taxes.*
She set the phone down.
Sleep didn’t come quickly.
But eventually, somewhere between replaying his *yes and no* and imagining herself unemployed, her brain surrendered.
And when morning came, she woke up with a decision she hadn’t quite articulated, but felt.
She was going to pretend the elevator conversation hadn’t happened.
For now.
She’d show up. Do the job. Set firmer boundaries. Watch him.
If he respected the line he’d drawn, she could work with that.
If he didn’t…she’d walk.
She didn’t know where. She didn’t know how.
But she knew this: if she stepped over that line, she wanted it to be because she was choosing *him*, not because she was cornered by her own circumstances.
And she wasn’t there.
Not yet.
***
The office on Monday morning was almost offensively normal.
Emails. Calendar changes. A broken coffee machine that Facilities swore had been serviced last week.
Marcus was in early, reading something on his screen with that particular frown that meant some analyst had displeased him.
He looked up when she slid into her chair.
“Morning,” he said, like Friday hadn’t happened.
“Morning,” she said, heart kicking. “Singapore moved your Wednesday call. They want Thursday at seven instead.”
“Tell them no,” he said. “I have a board dinner Thursday. They can do Wednesday at nine or wait till next week.”
She blinked. “You’re saying no to a call.”
“I’m prioritizing,” he corrected.
“Tomato, tomahto,” she murmured.
His mouth twitched.
They moved through the first half-hour like that. Easy. Efficient. Almost…comfortable.
If he felt the weight of what he’d said in the elevator, he didn’t show it.
He didn’t look at her too long. Didn’t crowd her space. Didn’t let his voice drop into that lower register that made her toes curl.
He was just…Marcus.
She told herself she was relieved.
She mostly believed it.
Late morning, during a lull between meetings, he came to stand by her desk, coffee in hand.
“I need you to coordinate something for next week,” he said.
“Shoot,” she said.
He hesitated, then said, “My father is coming in.”
She blinked. “Your…father?”
“Yes,” he said, expression carefully blank. “He wants a tour. A meeting with Oliver. A token five minutes looking at our ships on a screen so he can pretend to understand what I do.”
There was more there. A lot more. She could hear it in the way his voice flattened slightly on *father*.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “What does he actually need, beyond the pretend bits?”
“The pretend bits are all he’ll admit to wanting,” he said. “He’s coming because he’s bored and my mother told him to stop complaining about the house renovations.”
“Retired?” she guessed.
“Three years,” Marcus said. “He used to run a manufacturing company. Sold it. Now he plays golf and annoys people.”
“You…don’t like him,” she observed.
He looked at her. “Who said that?”
“Your face,” she said.
His jaw ticked. “I have a good relationship with my parents.”
“That’s not the same as liking them,” she said gently.
He gave her a look like he wanted to argue and couldn’t quite find the angle.
“Schedule him for next Tuesday,” he said. “Two hours. No more.”
“Does he know that?” she asked.
“He’ll know when you tell him,” Marcus said.
“You want me to call your dad and give him a time limit?” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Any other suicide missions you’d like to assign me today?” she asked.
“He responds better to boundaries than to vague invitations,” Marcus said. “He likes rules. Time is a rule.”
“Okay,” she said. “What’s he like?”
“Opinionated,” Marcus said. “Loud. Charming to people he wants something from, dismissive of people he doesn’t.”
“Sounds…familiar,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes. “Careful.”
“You’re a quieter version,” she said. “Slightly less loud. More…controlled.”
“He’ll try to test you,” Marcus said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “See how much you’ll let him push. Don’t.”
“I won’t,” she said. “I’ve dealt with worse. I coordinated a fundraiser once with a guy who thought ‘please don’t touch me’ was flirtation.”
His jaw flexed. “If he crosses a line—”
“I’ll handle it,” she said. “You don’t need to superhero in to save me. I’ll just kick him in the ego.”
“I’d like to be informed,” he said, tone cooler.
She exhaled. “Okay. I’ll tell you if your dad’s a dick.”
“Don’t call him that to his face,” Marcus said. “He’ll enjoy it.”
She smiled. “Noted.”
As he walked back into his office, she couldn’t help thinking that if she wanted to understand him better, meeting the man who’d raised him might be…illuminating.
Dangerous, but illuminating.
***
She called his father that afternoon.
The number he gave her rang twice before a voice barked, “Kane.”
“Hi, Mr. Kane,” she said. “This is Maya Brooks, Marcus’s assistant.”
Silence. Then, “Assistant?”
“Yes,” she said. “He mentioned you’d like to come in for a visit next week. I’m calling to schedule that.”
“Huh,” his father said. “He actually told someone I was coming. Progress.”
His voice was rougher than Marcus’s, thicker around the edges. Where Marcus’s words were knives, his father’s felt like blunt instruments.
“Does Tuesday work?” she asked. “We can do ten to noon.”
“Ten,” he said. “Noon I have lunch.”
“We’ll make sure you’re out by then,” she said. “Security will have your name at the lobby. Any mobility requirements we should be aware of?”
She could almost hear him sit up straighter. “I’m not in a wheelchair yet, girl.”
“I didn’t say you were,” she said evenly. “Some of our guests prefer to avoid stairs.”
“I can handle stairs,” he said. “Can your boss handle his old man?”
The jab flicked off her. “He handles worse every day,” she said.
He barked a laugh. “You talk back. Good. I was worried he’d hired another one of those…quiet ones.”
“You mean people who know how to listen?” she said.
“People who kiss his ass,” he said. “Anyway. Tuesday. Ten. Tell my son I expect a decent cup of coffee and at least one reason not to regret selling when I did.”
“I’ll pass it along,” she said.
“Tell him yourself,” he said. “You’ll see me first, won’t you?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then you can give him my review after,” he said, and hung up.
She sat back, absorbing that.
He’d be a lot.
But part of her—some stubborn, curious part—looked forward to the collision.
***
On Tuesday, she dressed like she was going to court.
Navy suit. Simple blouse. Low heels. Minimal jewelry.
Marcus noticed.
“You look like you’re about to cross-examine someone,” he said.
“I’m about to meet the man who raised you,” she said. “I figured I should come armed.”
“You’re not on trial,” he said.
“No,” she said. “But if you’re anything like my mother, your father is going to weigh, measure, and judge me in under thirty seconds. I’d like to tilt the scale.”
He stared at her, something sharp and unreadable in his expression.
“What?” she said.
“You understand more than you should,” he said softly.
“Hazard of being raised by a nurse,” she said. “I grew up watching triage. Behavioral and medical.”
He looked like he wanted to ask more. Then his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen. “He’s here.”
She smoothed her jacket and headed for the elevator bay.
His father was impossible to miss.
He stood in the lobby like he owned the building, hands clasped behind his back, gaze traveling up the glass atrium.
He was taller than Marcus by an inch or two, broader through the shoulders, with white hair that had once been as dark as his son’s. His face was lined, his nose slightly crooked as if it had been broken and never quite set right.
He wore a suit a half-step less expensive than Marcus’s, but well-tailored. His tie was a little too loud—a deep burgundy with tiny anchors.
He saw her coming and assessed her in one swift, unapologetic sweep.
“You’re the mouthy one,” he said.
“Depends on who you ask,” she said. “Mr. Kane. Nice to meet you.”
He took her offered hand, grip firm. “Call me David,” he said. “If you call me ‘sir’ I’ll think I’m back in the army.”
“David,” she said. “I’m Maya.”
“I know,” he said. “You made him call Rachel. She runs a support group for you people now.”
She blinked. “For…?”
“Former assistants,” he said. “Ex-wives. The occasional therapist. The Marcus Recovery Program.”
She huffed a surprised laugh. “I’ll make sure to get a brochure on my way out.”
He eyed her, amused. “You’ll last longer than the others.”
“Everyone keeps saying that,” she said. “Should I be afraid?”
“Yes,” he said cheerfully. “Come on. Show me what my son’s built so I can decide whether to be proud or irritated.”
She led him through security, up the elevator. He commented on everything. The art. The marble. The staff.
“Too shiny,” he said. “When I ran Kanetech, we had linoleum and coffee that tasted like engine oil. Men respected a place like that.”
“This place runs half the Pacific’s freight,” she said. “I think it’ll survive the lack of linoleum.”
He shot her a look. “You weren’t hired to be agreeable, were you?”
“No,” she said. “Apparently that’s not my core competency.”
He laughed. “Good.”
When they stepped onto sixty-two, Marcus was waiting.
For a second, Maya saw it—the boy in the man. The brief, unconscious straightening of his spine. The tightening around his eyes.
“Dad,” he said.
“Marcus,” David said. “You look like someone ironed you.”
“You’re ten minutes late,” Marcus said.
“Traffic,” David said. “You’ve heard of it?”
“Your driver should have planned for it,” Marcus said. “Maya.”
She blinked. “Yes?”
“Coffee,” he said. “For him.”
She looked at David. “How do you take it?”
“Black,” David said. “Like my mood.”
“Two blacks coming up,” she said. “One for you, one for your son.”
“I don’t drink coffee in front of him,” David said. “Doctor’s orders. Blood pressure.”
“Then one decaf,” she said. “He’ll never know.”
David barked a laugh. “I like you.”
She fled to the kitchen, heart racing weirdly. It wasn’t fear. More like the adrenaline of watching two tectonic plates shift in the same room.
She brought the coffees back, handing the real one to Marcus and the decaf to David with a perfectly straight face.
“Traitor,” Marcus murmured under his breath.
“He’ll live,” she whispered back.
They moved into his office. Maya took her station outside, ostensibly to catch calls but really because she wanted—needed—to hear at least snippets.
Voices drifted through the door.
“You’ve done well,” David said. “Bigger than what I built. Shinier, too.”
“It’s not about size,” Marcus said. “It’s about efficiency.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” David said. “To sleep at night?”
“I sleep fine,” Marcus said.
“Liar,” David said, without heat.
Maya busied herself with email, ears pricked.
They talked numbers. Dividends. Board seats. Then, predictably, the conversation turned.
“What about your life?” David asked. “Outside all this.”
“This is my life,” Marcus said.
“That’s what you used to say about the plant,” David said. “Then your mother told me she was thinking of leaving because she was tired of talking to a man who only knew how to speak in quarterly earnings.”
There was a pause.
“You never told me that,” Marcus said, quieter.
“You were busy,” David said. “School. Girls. Breaking things.”
“What made her stay?” Marcus asked.
“I stopped being an idiot,” David said. “Some days, at least.”
Silence stretched.
“And you?” David asked. “You going to be smarter than I was?”
Maya’s fingers stilled over her keyboard.
“About what?” Marcus asked.
“About not ending up alone in a glass tower,” David said. “About not scaring off everyone who might give a damn about you.”
“It’s a bit late for parenting advice,” Marcus said.
“It’s never too late to tell your son he’s acting like a damned fool,” David said. “You think I don’t read the papers? See the trail of pretty girls and broken engagements behind you?”
Heat crawled up Maya’s neck. She didn’t want to hear this. She did.
“That was years ago,” Marcus said.
“You stopped sleeping with your assistants,” David said. “I noticed. Proud of you for that much.”
Maya’s stomach dropped. Then clenched.
He had.
He *had*.
She forced herself to breathe.
“People change,” Marcus said stiffly.
“Not that much,” David said. “Not without help.”
There was a rustle. A chair creaked.
“And who’s helping you now?” David asked. “The mouthy one?”
Maya’s heart lurched into her throat.
“She’s my assistant,” Marcus said. The words were sharp and immediate.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” David said.
“She is very good at her job,” Marcus said tightly. “That’s all that matters.”
“You say that like you believe it,” David said.
Maya forced herself to look away from the door. Focus on her screen. On anything but the fact that the man inside had a history of sleeping with the women who sat where she sat.
People could change.
He’d said it.
So had his father.
She had to believe it. Otherwise, she needed to leave.
The door clicked open.
Marcus stood there, expression unreadable.
“Tour,” he said to Maya. “Then the operations deck. Then we’re done.”
“Yes, sir,” she said automatically, her voice coming out thinner than she liked.
His gaze flicked to her face, sharpened.
“You okay?” he asked, low enough that his father wouldn’t hear.
“Fine,” she lied.
His jaw flexed. He knew. Of course he did.
“We’ll finish this later,” he said.
She swallowed. “We don’t need to—”
“Later,” he repeated, and turned back to his father.
She led David through the floor. Showed him the war room, the analyst pods, the glass box conference rooms.
He asked pointed questions. Made backhanded compliments.
At the end, as she was guiding him back to the elevators, he said, “You like him.”
It wasn’t a question.
She closed her eyes for half a second and opened them again.
“As a boss,” she said. “He’s challenging. Fair. Smart.”
“And as a man?” David pressed.
She looked him dead in the eye.
“That’s irrelevant,” she said.
He studied her.
“This place will take as much as you give it,” he said. “He will too, if you let him. Don’t.”
Her breath caught.
“Thanks for the tip,” she said. “I’ll add it to my survival guide.”
He snorted. “You’ll need one,” he said, and stepped into the elevator.
She watched the doors slide shut, her reflection briefly superimposed over his.
He’d said it like a warning and a compliment.
And she didn’t know which one scared her more.
***
Marcus was waiting in his office when she got back.
Door closed. Tie loosened. Eyes on the window.
She stepped inside, shut the door behind her, and leaned against it.
“You slept with your assistants,” she said. No preamble. No soft landing.
He turned slowly.
The muscle in his jaw ticked.
“Yes,” he said. “Years ago.”
“How many?” she asked.
“Maya,” he said in warning.
“How many,” she repeated.
He exhaled through his nose. “Two.”
“Two,” she said. “And how did those end?”
“Badly,” he said. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” she echoed.
He moved around the desk, stopping a few feet from her.
“I was thirty,” he said. “New in this seat. Too much power, not enough restraint. I didn’t understand boundaries. Or I did and I didn’t care.”
“And now?” she asked, bitterness creeping into her tone despite her best efforts. “Now you understand them and *do* care, but you still ask your assistant if she thinks about kissing you in an elevator.”
His eyes flashed. “I had a right to know if I was the only one feeling it.”
“You did *not,*” she said. “You had a right to keep your mouth shut and go home and take a cold shower.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing,” he said tightly. “For weeks.”
Silence pulsed between them.
She laughed once, short and humorless. “We are really bad at this.”
“At what?” he asked.
“Compartmentalizing,” she said. “You made me think there was…something noble about your self-control. Some grand gesture of consent. And then I hear your father say ‘you stopped sleeping with your assistants’ like it’s a minor miracle and suddenly I’m—”
She broke off, swallowing hard.
“Suddenly you’re what?” he asked.
“Wondering if I’m just another category,” she said. “Another test case in your evolution. ‘Can Marcus fuck this one without ruining her career?’”
“I would never—” He cut himself off, hands flexing at his sides. “That is not what this is.”
“Then what *is* it?” she demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s a man in power telling a woman who works for him that he wants her and that if something happens, it’ll be *her* decision. Like he’s…being generous.”
His face tightened. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant,” she said, voice shaking now. “You meant you don’t want to be a predator. That you understand the optics. That you understand the risk. I get it. I appreciate it, actually. But you put this in my lap like a bomb and then walked away.”
“I didn’t walk away,” he said, low. “I’ve been right here. Trying not to push. Trying not to let it bleed into everything.”
“It’s already bled,” she said. “You think I can un-hear what you said? Un-feel this?” She gestured between them, helpless.
He stepped closer. Then closer again.
“Can you?” he asked.
She backed up until her shoulders hit the door.
He stopped a foot away.
Too close.
His eyes were dark, pupils blown slightly. His breathing was slow but deeper than usual.
“No,” she said. “I can’t.”
“Neither can I,” he said.
The air crackled.
For a long, fraught second, they just *stood* there. Breathing the same air. Looking at each other like the other was both salvation and threat.
“You’re my boss,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said.
“You sign my checks,” she said. “You can make or break my future with a few words.”
“I know,” he repeated.
“I can’t,” she said. “Not like this. Not while I’m beholden to you. I want—”
She bit off the rest. Too exposed. Too much.
He didn’t push. Didn’t ask.
“I told you,” he said, voice low. “I won’t be the one to cross it.”
“I’m telling you,” she said, “I’m not crossing it *either.* Not while I work for you.”
His jaw flexed. Something like pain flickered behind his eyes.
“You’re drawing a line,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Call it my terms and conditions.”
“You think I can’t handle that,” he said. Not a question. An assessment.
“I think you’re used to getting what you want,” she said. “And I think I’m used to bending to make things easier for people like you. I can’t do that here. Not with this.”
Silence.
“I don’t want you to bend,” he said quietly. “I want you exactly the way you are.”
It should have been a balm.
It felt like sandpaper.
“Then prove it,” she said. “By not asking again. By not…hinting. By not looking at me like…”
“Like what?” he asked, hoarse.
“Like you’re undressing me and rewriting your five-year plan at the same time,” she said.
A broken laugh escaped him. “You’re very bad for my ego, you know that?”
“I’m good for your humanity,” she said. “Or I’d like to be. If we can keep this…in check.”
He exhaled slowly.
“All right,” he said.
Her heart stuttered. “All right…what?”
“I hear you,” he said. “Line drawn. We don’t cross it while you work for me.”
“You’re agreeing,” she said cautiously.
“I don’t like it,” he said. “But yes. I’m agreeing.”
A dizzy mix of relief and something like loss washed through her.
“Thank you,” she said, voice low.
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “You’re asking me to carve out space for something that’s already bigger than it should be.”
“I’m asking you to not wreck me,” she said.
His gaze softened. “I don’t want to wreck you.”
“Good,” she said. “Because if you did, I’d haunt your ass forever.”
He huffed a laugh. The tension in the room loosened a notch.
“Can you work like this?” he asked. “With…this…contained but present.”
She thought about it.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I’d like to try.”
He nodded once. “Then we’ll try.”
He stepped back.
She inhaled properly for the first time in minutes.
He moved behind his desk again, putting wood and leather and distance between them.
“Send Oliver in,” he said. “We’re late for the audit review.”
“Right,” she said, hand on the doorknob. “Marcus?”
He looked up.
“This isn’t me saying no to you,” she said quietly. “It’s me saying not like this. That’s…different.”
His throat worked. “I understand.”
She opened the door.
Outside, the floor hummed with the mundane rhythms of corporate life—emails, calls, copy machines.
Inside, something fragile and newly defined settled between them.
A line.
A promise.
Terms and conditions.
She had no idea if they’d be able to keep them.
But for the first time since the elevator, she felt like she could breathe.
***