Page 45 of Assistant to the Billionaire CEO

After Ace dropped me off, I watched him fly away to his next appointment. Back in the office, I took the elevator down, rushed past Willette who was busy on the phone, and headed to the small boutique I’d noticed from Jay’s cab only one block away. They still had the cute sunflower dress. They also had cute bras. As soon as the friendly sales lady handed me my size for each, I swiped my card. Less than fifteen minutes later, I was back on the 8th floor, wearing dry clothes and feeling happy.

I returned Ace’s coat to his hanger and updated his schedule to what we’d discussed sitting in Le Legendary Coq.

Seriously, I had never seen a schedule like his. Compared to his tight timeline, the timeline of my former boss during my internship had been a vacation on a tropical island where everyone was rottenly lazy, never worried about a damn thing, chillaxing at the pool, guzzling caipirinha all day like it was nobody’s business. Ace never did any of that. He was the type who got up at 4 a.m. and went home after midnight to an empty apartment only to catch a few hours of sleep, just to get back up at 4 a.m.

Once I was finished, I took the elevator down to the reception desk again, this time to ask Willette if she needed any help. I was still slightly wobbly (not from the wine), but I tried to play it cool. As I helped Willette open a new ream of printer paper, I realized that I liked working at Windsor Architects more than I’d thought I would, but I couldn’t help but wonder whether I liked it because it represented an incredible career opportunity, or just because I found it madly exciting to be around my new boss. We could never be together, I reminded myself, but that didn’t have to mean I wasn’t allowed to enjoy being around him.

“Excuse me,” a raspy voice said from the other side of the reception desk. Willette and I jumped—neither of us had seen or heard them come in. I spun around, the ream of paper still clasped in my hands.

“Apologies, we didn’t hear you—” I started.

The person on the other side of the desk was the delivery man who had gotten me to my interview on his scooter on time.

My mouth hung open. “It’syou.”

“Hey! You got the job.”

“I got the job.”

“I knew you would,” the delivery guy said. One corner of his mouth pulled up into an almost menacing smile. “A smart girl like you probably gets everything she wants.”

“Well, not quite.” I tried a friendly laugh.

“Do you two know each other?” Willette interjected, arching one of her grayish eyebrows at me.

“Yeah, we do,” the delivery man replied before I could.

“This man helped me out of a pickle once, and didn’t even ask for payment,” I clarified.

The delivery man nodded proudly but didn’t say anything.

“So,” I said, trying to break the tense silence, “are you here to deliver something?”

“Nope,” the delivery man answered.

“Then why are you here, sir?” Willette demanded. I loved her.

“To see my damsel in distress,of course.” He grinned. “I think she owes me a date after all that effort I went through for her.”

“Oh.” I gulped. “No, I think you got the wrong impression.”

“Awww. Come on,” the delivery man insisted. He pushed away from the reception desk and started walking toward me. “Don’t be such a tease! I felt how you held onto me when you were on the back of my scooter.”

“What? No, really,” I replied, growing even more uncomfortable. “I’m so sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, I didn’t mean to. I must kindly ask you to leave.”

“You heard the lady,” Willette said without hesitation. “Sir, please leave the premises immediately,” she addressed him, pointing at the door. “Before I call security.”

“Hmm,” the delivery man hummed, drawing ever nearer. “I don’t think I will. Not before I get a little sugar.” He chuckled and moved closer, his hand reaching out to me. Somehow, I was frozen, clutching the ream of paper.

“Excuse me.” A voice boomed from behind him just before he touched me. The voice didn’t sound apologetic in the slightest, and it was so deep that it almost caused the pen holders on the reception desk to rattle. “You’ve got one chance to tell me what’s going on.” Ace positioned himself between me and the scooter man. His shoulders appeared broader than ever, and he seemed to have grown since I last saw him—which of course was impossible unless you were Bruce Banner a.k.a. the Hulk.

“And who the fuck are you? Some wannabe hot shot? Yeah, I don’t think so.” He raised his fist and propelled it forward.

Ace evaded the punch, so instead, it hit me.

It wasn’t hard. It was more my own reflex that caused me to stumble back, trip over a plant, let go of the paper, fall to the floor, and land directly on my butt. “Ow!” I yelped. Loose papers were flying all around me.

“Willette, call security.” Ace spoke calmly as he bent down to me, asking, “Are you okay?”

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