Alina Cruz was barely through her second sip of lukewarm coffee when her office phone buzzed.
"Ms. Cruz, in my office. Now."
Nathaniel Langston's voice came through crisp and emotionless, as always. Alina sighed and set her mug down with unnecessary force, startling the intern sitting two desks away. She stood, straightened her blouse, and marched toward the glass box known as The Devil's Lair.
She didn't knock. She never knocked anymore. He never cared.
Nathaniel didn't look up as she entered. He was seated behind his sleek black desk, fingers tapping across a keyboard, face calm in that infuriating way of his.
"Clear my 7 p.m. and book a reservation at Bellagio's. Private table."
Alina blinked. "For business?"
He finally looked up, fixing those cold, silver eyes on her. "No. I have a dinner date."
She scoffed. "You want me to schedule your romantic dinner? I'm your secretary, not your concierge."
He returned to his screen. "Your job is to manage my schedule. This is part of it."
Alina folded her arms. "Am I expected to drive the car, pull the chair out for her, too? Or maybe massage her feet after dessert?"
Nathaniel didn't flinch. "I'll be picking her up myself. But you'll need to be there."
She stared. "Excuse me?"
He finally looked up again, completely serious. "You'll join us. Take notes on her father's investment background. The girl is secondary."
Alina nearly exploded. "So I'm the third wheel in your little seduction plan?!"
He smiled barely. "If that helps you process it."
She stormed out furiously.
By noon, Clara had three missed calls and twelve furious texts from Alina.
"I can't believe him." "He's treating me like his assistant- slash-sidepiece." "Why do all beautiful men come with personality disorders?"
Clara finally picked up her phone. "Breathe, Lina. It's just a dinner."
"It's not just a dinner! He wants me to sit across from him and whatever designer-clad Barbie he's parading around, all while I take notes on her father's company. Who even does that?!"
"Okay, first, that's hot. Second,he's probably just using you for efficiency. Third, you care way too much."
"I do not care. I'm just appalled."
"Right. Appalled. So appalled you've texted me fifteen times."
Alina threw her phone onto the couch with anger.
By 6:45 p.m., she was dressed in a navy sheath dress, makeup barely passable, and mood ruined. She arrived at Bellagio's before Nathaniel did. A private booth had already been reserved.
She sat alone, ignoring the stares of waiters. When Nathaniel finally walked in at 7:05, she looked up and felt her heart do something stupid.
He wore a dark grey suit, no tie, top buttons loose. A woman clung to his arm tall, willowy, the kind of stunning that made other women hate her on sight.
Alina stood reluctantly as they approached.
"This is Alina," Nathaniel said simply. "My secretary."
The woman blinked slowly, clearly unimpressed. "She's sitting with us?"
"She's very efficient," Nathaniel said, sliding into the booth.
Alina sat across from them, fire boiling in her chest.
The dinner began awkwardly. The woman Clarisse? No, Charlotte? spoke about fashion week and some villa in Italy. Nathaniel responded with polite disinterest.
But every so often, he turned to Alina. "What's the current price on Jin Holdings?"
Or, "Did you finalize the PR memo I sent this morning?"
And then the kicker.
"You look tired, Ms. Cruz. Did you sleep at all last night?"
She glared. "No, sir. I was too busy preparing for your romantic business meeting."
Charlotte sniffed. "Is she always this sharp-tongued?"
Nathaniel's smirk was immediate. "Every day."
Alina wanted to throw her wine glass.
She got home at 9:30 p.m., kicked off her heels, and collapsed onto the couch. Clara was already there, waiting with wine.
"So? How bad was it?"
"He used me. Sat me across from his bimbo of the week and interrogated me about stock prices like it was a boardroom meeting."
Clara poured. "You do realize most bosses just text their assistants. Yours takes you to five-star restaurants."
"Don't romanticize this. He doesn't even like her. He just wanted to make me uncomfortable."
"Or maybe he wanted you there."
Alina stared into her wine. "Clara. He's incapable of caring."
"Or you're incapable of admitting you're starting to care."
Alina didn't respond.
Because deep down, Clara might be right.
The next morning was unusually quiet. Alina sat at her desk, trying to focus on emails, but her mind kept replaying fragments of last night.
Nathaniel's lingering glances. The smirk when she'd snapped at him. The way he'd ignored Charlotte Caroline? like she didn't matter.
Why did that bother her more than anything?
Her thoughts were interrupted when a shadow loomed over her desk.
"Ms. Cruz."
Alina looked up to find Nathaniel standing there, one brow raised. "In my office."
She followed him, heels clicking over the polished floor, heartbeat louder than usual. When he shut the glass door behind them, she braced herself.
"You seemed unusually quiet last night," he said, turning to face her.
"I was working. Like you told me to."
He tilted his head. "Are you upset, Ms. Cruz?"
She gave a humorless laugh. "Oh, I'm thrilled. Nothing excites me more than being dragged to a romantic dinner I didn't ask for so I can watch you flirt with women you don't care about."
Nathaniel didn't flinch. "It wasn't a romantic dinner."
"You kissed her hand."
"I do that to investors, too."
"Then maybe you should kiss my hand, considering how much work I do for you."
Something flickered in his eyes. "Would you like me to?"
Alina's mouth went dry. She blinked, thrown off completely. "What? No. Of course not."
"Then stop acting like you're jealous."
"I'm not jealous!" she snapped. "I'm offended. There's a difference."
He walked to his desk, poured himself coffee with calm indifference. "Fine. Then you won't mind assisting me at a second dinner tonight."
Her jaw dropped. "Are you....are you serious?"
He took a slow sip. "It's with an associate from Rosenthal Banking. His daughter will be joining. Same setup. You'll take notes."
"I'm not a dating chaperone!"
"You're an employee. You're being paid very well to show up and observe."
Alina's fists clenched. "You're using me."
"You're letting me."
She stormed out without another word.
That evening, Clara wasn't home. Probably out with her co-workers, Alina figured, not that she could focus. Her heart was pounding. She sat in the back of the taxi in a maroon dress Nathaniel's secretary,his other secretary had recommended for the occasion.
Bellagio's again. Apparently, that was his default dating battlefield.
When she arrived, Nathaniel was already there this time. The woman sitting across from him was younger brunette, maybe twenty-two. Dressed like she'd just stepped out of an Instagram reel.
He stood when Alina arrived, motioning for her to sit.
"Ms. Cruz. Right on time."
The woman looked confused. "Who's she?"
"My secretary."
"Are you always with your secretary?" she asked, half-laughing.
"Efficiency," Nathaniel said smoothly. "And Ms. Cruz is invaluable."
Alina tried not to choke on her water.
Dinner was excruciating. The girl giggled at everything Nathaniel said. He mostly ignored her. Occasionally, he asked Alina questions about company investments, her feedback on acquisition plans.
It felt less like a date, and more like she was his business partner.
Which was even more confusing.
When the girl excused herself to take a call, Nathaniel finally looked at Alina fully.
"You hate this, don't you?"
"More than I hate wasps. And I really hate wasps."
He smiled slightly. "Then why did you come?"
"Because I still need this job."
"That's not the only reason."
She blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He leaned forward, voice low. "You could have refused. You could have quit. But you didn't."
She crossed her arms. "You're playing games with me."
"I'm testing limits."
"And what happens when I reach mine?"
Nathaniel sat back, gaze steady. "Then I'll stop."
His words unsettled her more than they should have.
At home later, Alina found Clara in the kitchen, slicing strawberries.
"You're back early," Clara said, not looking up.
Alina tossed her heels aside. "It was strange."
Clara paused. "Strange how?"
"He brings me to these dinners, right? But he barely pays attention to the girl. It's like I'm the one being interviewed. Or like he wants me there, not her."
Clara raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he does want you there."
"He's my boss. He's arrogant. Cold. Emotionless."
"And yet, here you are. Obsessing over what he meant with every sentence."
"I'm not obsessing!"
"You're spiraling. That's worse."
Alina groaned and collapsed onto the couch. "I hate him."
"No, you don't."
"I really do."
Clara sat beside her, handing her a strawberry. "You know what I think? He likes having you around because you're the only person who doesn't kiss his ass. And maybe just maybe... he likes being hated. By you."
Alina took the strawberry, biting into it slowly. "That makes zero sense."
"Exactly. Like everything else with him."
She didn't sleep that night.
Not because of the wine. Not because of Clara's words.
But because when she closed her eyes, she saw him leaning toward her, voice soft and smug.
"You could have quit but you didn't."
And she couldn't stop wondering why she hadn't.