Page 72 of Assistant to the Billionaire CEO

“Love you too,” I said, just before we ended the call.

A reel of memories of my last “meeting” with Ace ran through my head as I slipped into my chosen outfit, discarding the old white T-shirt I’d slept in. I slid on the modest pair of flat leather pumps I’d taken out of my wardrobe and walked over to my full-length mirror to examine my appearance. Neither the slacks I was wearing, nor the blouse I’d donned were particularly flattering. More the opposite, really. But that was okay. I wanted to respect our agreement. I could never provoke Ace with a sexy outfit, it wouldn’t be fair. Not after what had happened.

The bright-yellow cab was waiting for me at the curb in front of my apartment building by the time I walked through my front door. The morning sun beat down on me like a fiery downpour as I made my way over. I immediately regretted including a blazer with my outfit. I’d likely end up taking it off during the first hour of the day. A pair of larks loudly sang at me from a large tree growing in my landlord’s garden, spurred on by the surprising early-morning heat.

Jay waved at me through his window as I drew nearer. Excitement to see him flooded me, more so than usual. I needed his advice.

“Good morning, Jay,” I greeted after I slid onto the back seat. “Can I ask your advice about something…weird?”

“Oh? Well, you know you canalwaysask for my advice, love,” he replied, turning the cab’s steering wheel to join the line of traffic. “The weirder the better.” He grinned at me through the rearview mirror.

“What does it mean when a man winks at a girl?” I asked. “Do men wink at girls they just want to be friends with, I mean?”

“Yep, you’re right—thatisa weird question.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Can’t speak for every bloke, of course—but I do know I’ve never winked at a guy who I only thought of as a friend. Does that help?”

“Yeah. Kind of,” I replied solemnly. “And kind of not. But thank you nonetheless.”

“My pleasure—and if it helps, I’m sure he likes you back.”

“It does, Jay. It does.” I gave him a sad smile, not really believing him.

Once we arrived, I slid out of the cab’s back passenger seat, smiled at him one last time, and slung my handbag’s strap over my shoulder. Taking two steps at a time without breaking a sweat, I quickly made my way up and pushed open the double doors leading into the foyer.

“Don’t do that,” Glenda chastised me from behind the reception desk as soon as I stepped in.

“What did I do?”

“You don’t need to open both doors to come in. Just open one, like anormalperson.”

“I guess I’m not a normal person,” I said as cheerfully as my mood would allow, and walked toward her. “Any messages for me today?”

“Mr. Windsor won’t be in until later this afternoon. He’s meeting with investors at the country club. Mrs. Mills told me to tell you that she left paperwork for you to complete and file. She already had it brought down for you to the archive room. Satisfied?”

“Yes, thanks,” I said. “Have a nice day, Glenda.”

“Hmm,” she grunted.

The archive room was unpleasantly cold—cold enough that I felt increasingly thankful for my blazer, despite my earlier regrets. A tall stack of paper was waiting in the middle of the desk, exactly where Glenda had said it would be. For the last few days, I’d been helping to get the contents of the twenty boxes unpacked and sorted. They really were just boxes of client paperwork (no body parts). None of the papers were about Ecclestone. Winifred hadn’t been kidding when she’d said that the former assistant’s archiving method had beenflawed. It almost seemed as if someone had made it a point to dishevel the papers. It had taken Mrs. Mills, Winifred, and me, plus four interns, three full days to get an initial order into things, but now we were finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. One of the interns had started to digitalize the now-sorted papers.

I sat down on the new, much-more comfortable office chair behind the archive room’s desk (Mr. Windsor’s interior decorator had surprised everyone with new chairs) and started working through the almost unimaginably large pile of documents. I’d gotten so good at filing that I almost instinctively knew which filing cabinet I’d find the right folders in.

Every now and then while I was slotting a document into a hanging file in a filing cabinet’s drawer, I’d catch myself daydreaming about Ace. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. I imagined him barging through the door, pinning me against the wall behind me, and having his way with me.Or perhaps, I thought,he’ll call me up to his office and “punish” me for not doing this paperwork fast enough. Maybe I should slow down. Maybe I should work at a punishingly slow speed. The thought had me giggling and giddy and caused the familiar tingle to return.

Naturally, all my recent fantasies ended with him declaring his eternal love for me. But that was just a pipe dream. Sigh.

Finally, I reached the last pages of the stack that was clipped together. I turned it around. It was a contract of sale for some property in the Cayman Islands. I’d never heard of it before. There was a note in Mrs. Mills’ handwriting stuck to it.

It read:

Hey, Stella, dear.

Please make three color copies of these for me (my scattered brain forgot). You’d save me and my old legs a trip.

Thank you! M.

The copy room with a color copy machine was located on the 4th floor. With the papers that needed copying clasped in my hand, I got up from behind the desk and ventured out into the hallway. It was quiet as usual down here. There were no interns running around looking for offices they’d never been to or businessmen making hushed phone calls.

The elevator arrived quickly. It stopped on the ground floor, and Terry stepped in. “Oh, hey there,” she greeted. “Long time no see!”

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