Page 25 of The Billionaire Alpha's Assistant

I cross my arms and cock my head to the side, fixing him with a disbelieving look.

“I just . . .” Rafael sighs. “I just want the company to be great.”

“So let it be great. You’ve put together a very capable team. You should get out of the way and let them do their jobs.”

“It’s . . . hard for me to let go.”

“Why?”

“Because this company is too important to me,” he snaps.

The way he says it, it sounds as though this isn’t just about MatchAI. I hold my tongue and wait for him to continue.

Rafael gives a reluctant sigh and drags a hand through his hair, making it stick up along the top. “After my dad was killed, my mom was always working. She worked three jobs to support me and my sister, and it was still never enough. When I got a full ride to Stanford, I told myself I’d never let my mother struggle like that ever again. I worked my ass off to start Datalectric, and when that company took off, I sold it.”

I already know the rest of the story. Rafael sold his data-mining startup in an eight-figure deal. After that, he went on to found MatchAI, which made him a billionaire at the age of twenty-seven.

“I’ve tried to make my mother’s life as comfortable as possible,” he croaks. “But she doesn’t want a fancy house, a better car, or nicer clothes . . . None of them do. Elena wouldn’t even let me pay her bills when she was in school.”

Rafael’s voice is laced with frustration, and it cracks my heart in two. Here is a man who’s worked his whole life to make things better for his family, and he can’t stand the fact that they don’t want his money.

“They just want you,” I murmur.

Rafael rolls his eyes.

“It’s true!” I cry. “Your family loves you.”

“Yeah, well . . . they certainly love you, and my mother is a hard one to please.”

“About that . . .” My cheeks flush, and I tear my gaze away from Rafael. Elena’s words are ringing in my ears, and I have to ask the question that’s been playing on repeat ever since I woke up this morning. “Why did you really ask me to come here this weekend? We’ve hardly touched anything work-related, and it’s not as though you want my opinion on how to handle the press, so —”

“What makes you think I don’t want your opinion?” Rafael cuts in.

I shoot him a cut-the-crap kind of look, and Rafael’s expression turns thoughtful.

“Answer my question first. Why did you really apply for this job? And don’t tell me it’s because you thought it would be interesting.” Another eye roll. “It’s no secret you don’t really believe in what we do.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out.

This is it — my chance to come clean with Rafael and tell him what I do for a living. Sure, he’ll be hurt and angry, but at least I won’t have to look his mother in the eye tomorrow and lie right to her face.

As much as I don’t want to, I know I need to tell him. This thing with Rafael has gone way beyond any assignment, and he’s going to think that I played along in his office merely for the sake of the story.

That’s the last thing I want.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in what you do,” I murmur. “I just think . . .” I take a deep breath, searching for the right words. “There is a cost.”

“Such as?” He looks genuinely curious.

“The human cost.”

“Ah.” Rafael nods and looks up at the ceiling. “You’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

“One of the AI-is-taking-human-jobs-and-now-the-sky-is-falling people.”

“AI does take human jobs,” I shoot back, an edge of irritation in my voice. “My dad used to be a sports reporter, and when MatchAI rolled out its generative-AI journalism tool, the paper he worked for decided it would be cheaper to just pay an editor to go over AI-generated copy than to employ him any more.”

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