POV Mira I glared at my resume like it had insulted me in public. Two pages. Half-empty. "Education... check . Completed courses... check ." I muttered to myself, dragging my finger down the page. "Skills? Oh, fantastic - horseback riding, beach volleyball, golf, piano. Basically, I'm ready to run a country club." I dropped my head into my hands. "God, this is pathetic." It wasn't like I'd never wanted to do more. My dad just... never let me . Every time Mom suggested something normal-Girl Scouts, cheerleading, spelling bee, math Olympiad-he'd shoot it down. And so, by the time high school rolled around, I was stuck at home-homeschooled. I hadn't exactly had much... human interaction growing up. In college, I'd made a few friends-okay, one friend, Amber-but before that? My cousins at family parties, the occasional polite handshake at some investor luncheon. Mostly, it had been me, my books, and my imagination. The elevator's door parted with surgical precision, snatching me out of my thoughts and revealing a world of glass and steel that seemed designed to make visitors feel small. The receptionist looked me over like she'd enjoy slamming my face into the marble counter. "Mira Kensington for Mr. Stern." Her smile could have frozen champagne. "He's expecting you." I trailed her through the maze of glass offices until she stopped at a massive door and opened it without knocking. "Your eight o'clock, Mr. Stern." Leo Stern was on the phone, back to me, voice low and commanding. I sat in the chair opposite his desk, trying not to gape. The way he stood there, one hand in his pocket, jacket pulling across broad shoulders... God, it looked like the opening shot of a porn scene. My mind wandered. I pictured him hanging up, turning, pinning me against his desk, his hand around my throat, my knees hitting the carpet- "Miss Kensington." I blinked hard, heat flooding my face. "Sorry, I was zoning out." His lips curved. "Shall we begin?" He closed a file on his desk and looked at me like I'd just been handed over on a silver platter. "Your resume." He picked up the document I'd submitted online, holding it between two fingers like evidence of a crime. "Remarkably... untouched by experience." Heat crawled up my neck, while he set the pages down slowly. "Tell me, what can you actually do?" "I learn quickly. I follow instructions well-" "Anyone can follow instructions." He crossed his arms, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight. "What I need is someone who understands that success requires complete dedication." "I'm prepared to dedicate myself fully to this position." "Fully?" His eyebrow arched. "That's a significant commitment. Long hours. Intense demands. I don't accept anything less than total... submission to the work." My thighs pressed together involuntarily at the way he drew out the word 'submission.' "I can handle intensity." "Can you?" He moved closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne-something dark and expensive that made my head swim. "Because once you sign that contract, you're mine from eight to eight. Sometimes longer. I'll push you harder than you've ever been pushed." "I want to be pushed." The words tumbled out before I could stop them. His smile was slow, predatory. "Careful what you wish for, Miss Kensington. I have very specific methods. Not everyone can satisfy my standards." "Try me." The challenge hung between us. He studied me for a long moment, then reached for a folder on his desk. "This position requires absolute discretion. What happens in this office stays here. You'll have access to sensitive materials. Private meetings. Situations that require you to be flexible." Every word seemed to carry a double meaning, but nothing explicit enough to call out. "I adapt well to new situations." "We'll see." He slid the contract across the desk. "The terms are non-negotiable. You'll report directly to me. Only to me. Your performance reviews will be conducted privately, one-on-one." I picked up the pen, my hand surprisingly steady despite the electricity coursing through my veins. "Any questions before you commit?" he asked, while his eyes traveled slowly down my body before returning to my face. The pen hovered over the signature line a few seconds before I signed my name with a flourish. He took the contract, his fingers brushing mine deliberately as he pulled it away. "Welcome to Stern Holdings, Miss Kensington." *** "I got the job!" The words exploded from me as I burst through Amber's front door. Amber's champagne flute froze halfway to her lips. The backyard party continued around us-her housewarming gathering in full swing. "At Stern Holdings?" Her voice pitched high enough to crack windows. "With Leo fucking Stern?" "CEO Leo Stern is my boss." Amber launched herself at me, our screams probably alerting security. We squealed like teenagers at a boyband concert. "We're celebrating. Now, bitch!" The backyard transformed into our victory party. String lights cast gold across the pool, champagne appeared from nowhere, and Amber's playlist shifted to something decidedly more celebratory. A dozen of her friends raised glasses to my success, though none of them knew why this mattered so much. The community's gate buzzer cut through the music and black Aston Martin idled outside, engine purring. The window descended. Leo Stern. Here. At Amber's house. "Interesting neighborhood for a celebration," he observed, eyes finding mine instantly despite the crowd. His voice was warm, teasing. Very different from earlier. Amber materialized beside me, bikini top and designer sarong making her look like she'd stepped from a magazine. "Mr. Stern! Don't tell me you're the mysterious buyer who snatched up the corner estate?" She then leaned toward me, whispering, "My dad said Stern bought a few houses here." His smile turned sharper. "Guilty. Just moved in last week." "Then you're joining us." Her tone brooked no argument. "Can't have neighbors who don't know how to party." "Amber-" I started. "What? He's already here. Besides, you're practically drooling over him. I'm helping." "I'm not-" "Sweetheart, the drool's dripping like a bulldog." "Who's a bulldog?" We both jumped. Leo stood behind me-no suit jacket, top button undone, sleeves rolled. Too close. "Just teasing Mira. She needs to loosen up," she grinned. "Amber Easterlin. Welcome to the neighborhood." He shook her hand, but his gaze shifted back to me. "Small world, Mira." "Mira works for you?" Amber's tone turned playful, the way it did when she sensed interesting dynamics. "How fascinating. Come, you need champagne. We're celebrating her escape from her father's fortress." She led us outside, weaving through clusters of guests with practiced ease. Her fingers briefly touched Leo's arm as she guided him-not flirtatious exactly, just Amber's natural way with people, treating everyone like they'd been friends for years. "So, neighbor ," she said, pouring three glasses, "do you play croquet? Or just buy all the houses so no one else can have fun?" He chuckled, still watching me. "I could be persuaded. Depends on my company." Amber pounced. "Mira's free." "Amber-" "What? He's basically undressing you with his eyes." I downed half my champagne in one gulp. "Careful," Leo murmured, stepping closer. "Wouldn't want you impaired for your first full day." "I can handle champagne." "Can you?" The question carried weight that had nothing to do with alcohol. Amber laughed, delighted. "Jesus Christ, the tension. Should I leave you two alone to discuss tomorrow's... orientation?" "We should discuss expectations ," Leo said, not breaking eye contact with me. "Expectations," Amber repeated, her voice dripping with amusement. "Is that what we're calling it?" She topped off our glasses. "You know what? I'm going to check on my other guests. But Leo?" She paused, looking between us. "Try not to devour my best friend before she even starts the job. Professional boundaries and all that." She sauntered away, calling over her shoulder, "Though judging by how you're both looking at each other, those boundaries are already looking pretty flimsy." Oh, I am going to kill this girl.