Ethan POV
"Send her in," I say into the intercom, my voice steady even though my pulse isn't.
A few seconds later, the door opens.
Lina walks in, holding a small notebook against her chest. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
Sir.
God help me, that word does something to me.
She's wearing a pale blouse and black slacks, nothing flashy, nothing inappropriate, but somehow, she still manages to make it impossible to look away. Her hair's pinned up, a few strands falling loose around her face, and for a second I just stare.
Then I remember who I am. Ethan Holt. CEO. In control. Always.
"Yes," I say finally, clearing my throat. "Sit down."
She takes the chair across from my desk, crossing one leg over the other. Her perfume drifts across the space, light, something sweet. And for a moment, my brain goes completely blank.
I focus on the papers in front of me like they matter. "Tomorrow I have a meeting with the Denver branch. Ten a.m. You'll need to organize the files and prepare the quarterly sheets."
She nods, jotting it down. "Got it."
Her voice is calm, soft, too soft.
"And I'll need a follow-up call with our London partners at seven. That's early, I know."
"No problem," she says quickly. "I'll make sure everything's ready."
I glance up again. Big mistake.
She's looking at me, eyes steady, lips slightly parted like she's about to say something else. And my chest tightens in that familiar, dangerous way.
I look away. "Good."
I should stop there. I should tell her she's dismissed, that I have things to do. But instead, I find myself talking just to keep her in the room.
"You're adjusting well," I say.
"I'm trying," she answers, smiling a little. "Still getting used to how fast everything moves here."
"That's Holt Enterprises," I reply, trying to sound amused, not affected. "We don't slow down."
"I've noticed."
Silence stretches for a beat too long. I can hear the clock ticking, the faint sound of traffic from twenty floors below.
She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and my eyes follow the movement without permission.
Stop.
I look down again, pretending to review a document I've already read twice. "You've done well so far. Keep it up."
"Thank you, sir," she says softly.
There it is again...sir.
Something about the way she says it, careful but not cold, makes my jaw tighten. I want her to stop saying it. And I want her to say it again.
"You can go," I say, forcing my tone back to normal.
She stands, gathering her notebook. "Of course."
But she hesitates for half a second before turning to leave, and in that moment I make the mistake of looking at her again.
Her expression is unreadable...some mix of nerves and something else. Curiosity. Heat. The same thing I feel but keep buried under a thousand layers of control.
"Is there anything else you need?" she asks quietly.
God, the question. The way she says it.
I can feel the words fighting their way up my throat... yes, you, always, but I swallow them down.
"No," I say flatly. "That'll be all."
She nods, turns, and walks to the door. Her heels click against the tile, steady and sharp. Each step feels like a test.
When the door closes behind her, I drop my pen and lean back in my chair.
My pulse is still running too fast. I rake a hand through my hair and exhale hard, trying to get my head straight.
This is exactly what I didn't want.
I hired her because she was the best candidate, not because of that night. Hell, I didn't even know it was her until she walked into that interview room. But the universe has a sick sense of humor.
I can still see her in that hotel room, messy hair, soft skin, the sound of her laugh right before everything blurred. That night had no rules, no boundaries, no names that mattered. Just two strangers forgetting the world for a few hours.
And now she's sitting across from me every day, calling me sir.
I shouldn't want her.
But I do.
I've built my entire life on control, running a company, leading people, making decisions that shape futures. But one look at Lina Hayes, and that control feels like glass, thin, fragile, ready to shatter.
I stand up and walk to the window, staring out at the city lights. The skyline stretches for miles, but it doesn't calm me the way it usually does.
Somewhere below, she's probably at her desk, typing up tomorrow's schedule. Professional. Focused. Pretending this is just a job.
And maybe it is...for her.
But for me?
It's turning into a damn problem.
I run a hand over my face and mutter under my breath, "Get it together, Holt."
There's a knock on the door, light, polite.
"Come in," I say.
It's my assistant from HR, dropping off a few papers. "Need your signature, sir."
"Leave them there," I tell him, nodding to the table.
He sets them down and leaves. The door closes again, and I'm alone.
I stare at the papers for a long time but don't touch them. My mind's still in that moment, her sitting across from me, that quiet confidence in her eyes, the sound of her voice when she said yes, sir.
I can't let this happen again. I can't let her do this to me.
She's my employee now.
And I don't sleep with employees.
Not anymore.
I grab my phone, type out a quick message to HR asking for a new Secretary to shadow her next week. Just in case.
Then I delete it before sending.
Because I already know I won't go through with it.
I drop the phone on my desk and let out a long breath, closing my eyes.
Control, Holt. You've always had it. You can have it now.
I open my eyes and glance at the door again.
And for the first time in a long time, I'm not so sure I believe myself.
