Page 5 of Controlled By the Virgo

"See that you do," he replies, his eyes never leaving mine. "I expect perfection in my presentations."

I ball my hands into fists and fight the urge to claw his eyes out. If he wanted perfection from a personal assistant, he shouldn't have hired me — a simple waitress from a diner. I didn't sign up for this, and I have to resist the urge to snap that at him.

As the meeting progresses, I can't shake off the feeling that Van is watching my every move, asserting his authority and ensuring I know my place. It's infuriating, but at the same time, I can't deny the thrill that surges through me when his gaze lingers just a little too long.

"Mr. Carter, do you really need me to go through all the expense reports from the past six months?" I ask, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice. "It seems like an unnecessary task, especially since we have an accounting department."

"Valerie, I don't pay you to question my decisions. I trust your attention to detail more than anyone else's here," he says firmly, his jaw clenched. "Get it done."

I bite back a retort and return to the tedious task of sifting through endless spreadsheets. The power dynamic between us is unmistakable, and as much as it grates on me, I can't help but feel drawn to his domineering nature.

"Fine, Mr. Carter," I finally concede, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll get it done."

"Good," he replies, his gaze never wavering from mine. "I expect nothing less."

* * *

Days pass, and the tension between Van and me grows thicker. It's a palpable force that seems to hover in the air around us, like a storm cloud ready to burst. I find myself stealing glances at him more often than I should, my eyes drawn to the way his tailored suit hugs his broad shoulders and the curve of his biceps as he rolls up his sleeves.

"Valerie, I need those documents on my desk in ten minutes," Van says without looking up from his computer screen. The sound of his deep voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I struggle to focus on the task at hand.

"Sure thing, Mr. Carter," I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

I gather the necessary papers and walk over to his office, trying to ignore the heat that spreads through my cheeks when our eyes meet for a brief moment. The attraction between us feels impossible to ignore—like a spark threatening to ignite into a full-blown fire.

"Here are the documents you requested," I say, placing them on his desk while avoiding eye contact. My fingers tremble ever so slightly, betraying my inner turmoil.

"Thank you, Valerie," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on me a beat too long before returning to his work.

I retreat to my desk, desperately trying to shake off the magnetic pull I feel toward him. It's wrong—he's my boss, and there's an age gap between us that shouldn't be ignored. But the more I try to fight it, the stronger the pull becomes.

I bury myself in my work, attempting to distract myself from the thoughts swirling in my head. Every time I look up from my computer, though, my eyes seem to find their way back to him. It's futile—I can't escape the magnetic force that's drawing us together.

I'm at my desk—ineffectively trying not to think of my infuriatingly handsome boss—when the man himself calls me into his office. The moment I walk in, I sense his frustration simmering just below the surface.

"Valerie, I need you to focus," he snaps, raking a hand through his dark hair. "These mistakes you've been making...they're starting to affect the company's performance. I demand perfection in all aspects of life."

I tilt my head to the side and cross my arms. "You must be a Virgo."

His brow furrows. "A what?"

I roll my eyes. Of course he knows nothing about astrology. "It's your astrological sign. Your zodiac. Virgos are oftentimes overbearing perfectionists. They think they're always right, they're judgy." I continue ticking off all the traits of Virgos, spinning them all in a bad light. "Stubborn, critical, picky."

Van raises an eyebrow.

"Skeptical," I recite smugly.

He scowls. "I'm not paying you to recite off this mumbo jumbo. And what's wrong with wanting things to be done right? All the traits you mentioned lead to success."

He cocks his head to the side now before he asks, "What's the sign for pickpockets?"

I clench my fists, trying to ignore the hurt his words cause. "I'm doing my best, Mr. Carter. I'm sorry if it's not enough."

"Your best? Is that really all you can give?" He leans forward, his eyes narrowing. "Or are you simply not taking your job seriously?"

Anger flares within me, and I fight the urge to yell at him. Instead, I take a deep breath and say, "I'm giving everything I have to this job, Mr. Carter. But I'm only human, and I make mistakes."

"Perhaps I should find someone more competent, then," he retorts, his gaze cold.

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