Page 39 of The Billionaire Alpha's Assistant

“I’m not sure about that,” I rasp, discreetly wiping my tears with the pad of my thumb and carefully folding the note.

“Aren’t those, like, twenty-thousand-dollar handbags?”

“Thirty thousand,” I mutter, clearing my throat and slipping Rafael’s missive into the Birkin. “Did you, uh, happen to see who brought it in?”

Kyle gives me a strange look. “Someone drops a thirty-thousand-dollar handbag on your desk, and you don’t know who left it?”

I sigh and shake my head dismissively. I don’t feel like chatting with copyeditor Kyle — and not because, thanks to me, his job is now secure.

I just wish I could go back in time and do things differently — come clean with Rafael sooner. I’m not sure it would have changed the outcome. Rafael still might have turned his back on me, but at least he wouldn’t see me as a liar.

The local news is playing on the TV mounted over the doorway. I clear my throat to say goodbye to Kyle, but a headline scrolling across the news ticker at the bottom of the screen catches my eye.

I fumble for a remote to unmute the TV, and a female reporter’s voice fills the newsroom.

Match AI CEO Rafael Cabrera Garcia is expected to give a statement this morning regarding the sudden death of a thirty-two-year-old cancer patient who was enrolled in the company’s healthcare app, HealthyU. We’ll be bringing that coverage to you live at eleven eastern.

I suck in a breath and glance at the clock. It’s eight thirty now. Eleven eastern is nine a.m. mountain time, which means that Rafael will be appearing in front of the press in half an hour.

We never got a chance to decide what he was going to say about the woman’s death, but I have a feeling it isn’t good. Rafael may be warm and loving and unbelievably kind, but you’d never know it by listening to the few interviews he’s given during his tenure as CEO.

Somehow, I just know he’s going to get up there and say the wrong thing. He’s going to sabotage everything he’s worked for.

Ignoring all the eyes on me, I slide into my old desk chair and open my laptop. My fingers fly over the keys as I type out everything I know Rafael would say if he could only speak from the heart.

Kyle is watching me with a mixture of confusion and pity, and I know he thinks I’m still working on some story for The Beacon.

It only takes me ten minutes to finish the draft and hit “print.” Grabbing the paper off the printer, I snap up my brand-new Birkin bag and flee the newsroom.

I can hear the murmurs of my co-workers as I fly down the hallway, but I couldn’t care less. I might not ever be able to make things right with Rafael, but I can do this one last thing.

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