2. Stormy Confessions
Chapter two
Stormy Confessions
X ander
It’s early. Almost 6 a.m., and the office is dead quiet, just the way I like it. Of course, Lena’s here, like always. She’s never late. I barely step through the door before I hear her heels clicking toward me.
“Morning, sir,” Lena says, handing me my usual coffee without missing a beat.
“Morning,” I reply, taking the cup and nodding as she hands me the stack of documents I asked for. Staff reviews, proposals—everything I need to dive into today’s workload.
I sit down behind my desk, but my mind’s not on the work in front of me. Ever since last night, all I can think about is her . Ellie Sanders. Reed’s assistant.
I sip my coffee, flipping through the resumes Lena handed me, but my attention drifts back to that moment in the powder room. Her big doe-like brown eyes, the nervous stammering, the way her hands shook as she tried to apologize. She’d looked so frazzled, spilling champagne on me like that. Most people wouldn’t have dared show their face again, but she stood there, eyes wide, blubbering some apology. And something about it stuck with me.
“Here are the staff documents you asked for, sir,” Lena says, interrupting my thoughts as she sets another file on my desk.
“Thanks, Lena,” I say absently, flipping open the file. “Can you also tell Miss Sanders to come see me as soon as she gets in?”
Lena arches an eyebrow, but she doesn’t say anything. She never does. Just a quick nod before she leaves the office, heels clicking in that efficient way of hers.
I glance down at the resume in front of me. Ellie Sanders . Twenty-six. Graduated with a marketing degree from some decent college. Worked part-time at a luxury resort while she was in school. Interesting. I wonder why she ended up as Jameson’s assistant.
I could use that. Someone with experience in luxury hospitality could be valuable, especially with the European expansion we’ve got lined up. I file that thought away for later.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my jaw as I scan through the rest of her details. Her employment history is... limited, but she’s got potential. And potential is useful to me.
Still, there’s something else about her, something I can’t quite put my finger on. I liked having her close, despite the mess. The vanilla perfume she wore, the nervous energy crackling off her in waves... I shake my head. Not where my mind should be.
I force my focus back to the business at hand. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is. I’m working on expanding Blackwood Enterprises into the European luxury hotel market, and we’re making strides. Since I took over from my father, I’ve grown this company beyond anything he ever imagined. We were always big in real estate and hospitality, but the tech division—that’s where I made my mark. AI-driven infrastructure, smart home systems, data security for high-net-worth individuals—that’s the future. And the profits? Well, let’s just say the board’s no longer worried about having a “tech bro” at the helm. Not after I’ve increased margins by nearly a billion.
I glance at the proposals sitting on my desk. The next big deal is the European market—luxury resorts in the French Riviera, Italy, Spain. It’s ambitious, but Blackwood Enterprises was built on ambition.
My phone buzzes, interrupting my thoughts. I glance at the screen and see Vanessa’s name pop up. I groan, immediately swiping to ignore the call. Last thing I need is her drama right now.
Vanessa Chase. She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. But I’m done with her. Hell, I’ve been done with her for a long time. We had our time, but she wants more than I’m willing to give. She’s elegant, sophisticated—everything a man’s supposed to want, but... she’s also exhausting. I have no interest in going down that road again.
Lena’s voice crackles through the intercom. “Miss Sanders is here to see you, sir.”
I exhale, bracing myself. The last time I saw her, she was spilling champagne all over me. I shouldn’t be this curious about her, but I am.
“Send her in,” I say, straightening my tie and smoothing my lapels. No need to dwell on last night. I’m a professional, and I have business to handle.
The door opens, and Ellie steps in, looking hesitant but determined. She’s dressed simply—a pencil skirt and blouse—but there’s something about the way she carries herself today. More confident, maybe? But still... cautious.
I can’t help but notice the way her red lipstick pops against her skin. And those lips... Damn, my mind’s going places it shouldn’t.
She’s trying to stay composed, but I can see it. She’s nervous. And a little pissed, too, judging by the way she’s holding her chin up.
Before I can even say anything, she blurts out, “Look, if you’re going to fire me over last night, I just want to say that’s unfair. I’ve worked hard since I started here. Serving drinks wasn’t even part of my job description, and I’m not about to lose my career over some spilled champagne.”
I blink, surprised. That’s not what I expected.
She keeps going, her voice rising just a bit. “I mean, yeah, it was a screw-up, but I’ve been busting my ass here, doing whatever Reed’s thrown at me, and I’m not going to just—”
“Are you done?” I cut in, raising an eyebrow.
She stops, her breath coming in quick bursts, and I can see her cheeks flush red. She’s pissed. And she’s cute when she’s pissed, too. My eyes flick to her lips again, and for a second, I wonder what it would be like to taste that red lipstick off her.
I push the thought away, leaning back in my chair. “Sit.”
She exhales, clearly trying to calm herself, and sits down, folding her hands in her lap. Her eyes flick up to meet mine, then dart away.
I lean back, watching her carefully. “Miss Sanders, you’ve been here for three months, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” she says, her voice quieter now. Controlled.
“And how have you found your time at Blackwood Enterprises?”
She hesitates, clearly unsure how to answer. “It’s... it’s been good. Busy, but good.”
I nod, letting the silence hang between us. She’s nervous, but there’s something else there, too. Determination. She’s not afraid to push back, and I respect that.
“I see you studied marketing,” I say, flipping open her resume. “And you worked at a luxury resort during college. Why are you working as an assistant for Jameson Reed?”
She shifts in her seat, her eyes darting toward the door before settling back on me. “I... I wanted to get my foot in the door. Blackwood Enterprises is one of the best companies in the world. I figured if I worked hard enough, I’d have a chance to move up.”
I study her, letting the silence stretch. She’s not wrong. Blackwood is the best. But I can’t help but wonder why someone with her qualifications is stuck running errands for a man like Reed.
“Interesting,” I murmur, leaning forward slightly. “And do you think working for Mr. Reed is getting you where you want to be?”
Her eyes widen a bit, and she looks like she’s trying to find the right words. “I... I’m learning a lot,” she says carefully. “But I hope to eventually transition into something more... aligned with my degree.”
I smirk. She’s trying hard to be polite, but I can see the frustration. And honestly, I like that she’s not pretending everything’s perfect.
“I’ve reviewed your resume,” I say, leaning back. “You’ve got experience in hospitality, marketing, and you’ve managed to keep yourself afloat in one of the most demanding companies in the world. That’s impressive.”
Her eyes snap up to meet mine, surprised. “Thank you, sir.”
I nod, tapping my fingers lightly on the desk. “I’m considering expanding our European luxury hotel division. You have experience in that area. I might have use for you.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything at first. She looks shocked, like she wasn’t expecting this. Hell, I wasn’t expecting to say it either. But there’s something about her—her determination, her background—that makes me think she could be an asset.
“Thank you,” she says finally, her voice quiet but steady. “I—I’d love the opportunity.”
I nod again, letting the conversation settle. There’s more to her than just her resume. Maybe it’s the way she looks at me, like she’s trying to figure me out. Or maybe it’s that subtle vanilla scent she’s wearing. Either way, I’m intrigued. And that doesn’t happen often.
“Well,” I say, straightening the papers on my desk. “I expect to see more from you, Miss Sanders. Don’t disappoint me.”
“I won’t, sir,” she says quickly, standing up. Her hands are shaking a little as she smooths down her skirt.
I watch as she walks out of my office, her posture a little straighter than when she came in. The door clicks shut behind her, and I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck.
Last night, she caught me off guard with those wide eyes and that shaky apology. But there’s more to her than that. And I intend to find out exactly what it is.
Turning back to the proposals, I force myself to focus. The European expansion won’t happen on its own.
But before I can dive in, my phone buzzes again. Vanessa’s name pops up on the screen.
I groan, swiping to ignore the call. Again.
There’s work to be done. And now, more than ever, I need to keep my focus sharp.
* * *
It’s been a week since I pulled Ellie Sanders into this project, and every day, I’m more intrigued by her. I’ve had her desk moved next to Lena’s. Officially, it’s for convenience, but if I’m being honest with myself, I like having her close.
Right now, she’s sitting at that desk, head bent over a pile of documents, pen tapping against her lip. That damn red lipstick she always wears—it’s distracting as hell.
Lena walks into my office with her usual efficiency, dropping the administrative reports on my desk. She barely looks at me before turning to leave. Typical. Always so stiff, always by the book. But Ellie… she’s different.
I clear my throat. “Lena, before you go, I want you to handle everything administrative for the French Riviera project.”
She pauses, turns slowly, eyebrow raised just slightly. “And Miss Sanders?” she asks, her tone cold but professional, like always.
“She’ll be working hand-in-hand with you,” I say, keeping my tone even, though my gaze flicks to Ellie’s desk. “But she’ll be focused on the creative and strategic side of things. You’ll handle the logistics.”
Lena gives a short nod, though I can tell she’s not thrilled. Doesn’t matter. This project is too important, and I need Ellie’s mind on it, not buried in paperwork.
I step out of my office and approach Ellie’s desk. She looks up, blinking, clearly surprised that I’m standing over her.
“Miss Sanders,” I say, “I need you to sign this.” I hold out the NDA. “You’re going to be working closely on the French Riviera project, and it’s confidential.”
She takes the document, her eyes widening as she skims it. “Wait, you mean… I’m working on the actual project? Like, hands-on?”
I nod, watching her reaction closely. “Yes. You’ve got experience in hospitality, and I think your input will be valuable here.”
Her cheeks flush, and she tries to hide her smile by biting her lip. That same lip I’ve been thinking about far too often lately. She scribbles her signature at the bottom and hands the NDA back to me.
“Great,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. Starting tonight. Stay late.”
Her eyes widen, but she nods quickly. “Of course, Mr. Blackwood.”
I head back to my office, glancing over my shoulder just in time to catch the way she watches me leave. Interesting.
The first night she stays late, we dive straight into the project. I pull up the designs and proposals for the new luxury resort we’re planning in the French Riviera, and Ellie sits across from me, taking notes like it’s second nature.
“This location is all about exclusivity,” I explain, leaning back in my chair, fingers tapping against the sleek surface of my desk. “It’s going to be the kind of place where privacy is the number one priority. Think about the clientele. High-profile, wealthy, people who want luxury without the paparazzi.”
She nods, but then she surprises me. “But what about the local culture? I mean, if it’s all about exclusivity, sure, but part of the allure of the French Riviera is that it’s more than just luxury. It’s also about the experience—the art, the food, the history. You can’t forget that.”
I raise an eyebrow, impressed. She’s right. “Exactly,” I say, leaning forward. “That’s why I brought you on. You’ve got the kind of insight I need for this. We can’t just build another five-star resort. It has to feel authentic.”
She blinks, clearly not expecting the compliment. “Thank you, sir.”
“Alexander,” I correct her. “You’re working directly with me now. No need for the formalities.”
“Right. Alexander,” she says, a little uncertain, but I see the corners of her mouth tugging upward.
We work for hours, and the more she talks, the more I realize how sharp she is. She’s not just good—she’s really good. Her ideas, her way of thinking… it’s refreshing. I like the way her mind works. And as much as I hate to admit it, I like spending time with her.
By the second night, it’s clear this is becoming a routine.
“Staying late again, Miss Sanders?” Lena asks, her tone clipped as she passes by Ellie’s desk.
Ellie doesn’t even look up from the mock-up she’s studying. “Yep,” she mutters, eyes scanning the page. “Mr. Blackwood has me working on the creative side of things.”
Lena makes a face, but I catch the smirk on Ellie’s lips. There’s that fire again. I like it.
That evening, it’s just the two of us in the office again, the city lights twinkling outside as we pour over blueprints and project specs. Ellie’s in full work mode, flipping through papers, her focus intense.
But halfway through reviewing a budget proposal, she slams the folder shut. “This budget is ridiculous,” she says, her eyes flashing. “We’re overspending on things that won’t even matter to the guests.”
I stare at her, taken aback by her bluntness. “Explain.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Look, I get that luxury is the goal, but we don’t need to throw money at pointless decor or amenities just because it sounds impressive on paper. People coming to the Riviera want an experience, not just a fancy room. If we reinvest in things that enhance the cultural and personal aspects of the stay—local chefs, unique experiences—they’ll remember that. Not the thread count on the sheets.”
She’s talking fast, passionate, and all I can think about is how good she looks when she’s worked up like this.
“Hmm,” I say, leaning back and crossing my arms. “Good point.”
She blinks, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. “Wait, really?”
I nod. “You’re right. The budget’s bloated. We’ll make adjustments.”
She stares at me, then breaks into a grin. “Thank you! I was half-expecting you to tell me I was out of line.”
I smirk. “You’re out of line often enough, Miss Sanders. But I don’t mind it.”
She blushes, and I can’t help but notice how those red lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something but stops herself. Instead, she looks back at the papers, trying to focus. I can’t.
By the third night, I’m almost looking forward to these late hours with her.
The office is quiet, Lena’s gone for the day, and it’s just Ellie and me in the conference room. She’s leaning over the table, going over one of the marketing strategies, and I’m trying not to get distracted by the way her blouse fits just a little too perfectly.
“Okay,” she says, pushing a sheet of paper toward me. “Here’s what I’ve been thinking for the launch campaign. We need something that doesn’t just scream ‘luxury,’ but also whispers ‘experience.’ Something that makes people feel like they’re getting more than just a vacation—they’re getting a story.”
I lean back, watching her as she talks. The passion in her voice, the way she gestures with her hands, the way she’s fully immersed in this project—it’s captivating.
“Go on,” I say, my tone more relaxed than usual.
“We highlight local artists, get partnerships with Michelin-star chefs from the area, create exclusive, one-of-a-kind events that make guests feel like insiders,” she continues, her voice picking up speed. “It’s about creating something they can’t get anywhere else. It’s about making them feel something.”
I watch her, nodding slowly. She’s not just smart. She’s driven. And she’s got ideas that could take this project to a whole new level.
“You’re good at this,” I say, surprising myself with the compliment.
She stops, mid-sentence, her cheeks flushing again. “Thanks,” she says quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve worked hard.”
I smirk. “I can tell.”
There’s a pause. The air between us feels charged, and for a second, I almost forget we’re in a conference room. I clear my throat, pushing the thought aside. This is work. Just work.
But the more time I spend with her, the more I realize I’m enjoying her company. Not just her ideas, but her . And that’s dangerous.
Later that evening, as we’re packing up, I glance at her again. “You’re doing good work, Ellie.”
She looks up, surprised. “Thanks, Mr. Blackwood.”
“Call me Alexander.”
Her eyes widen before she whispers. “Alexander.”
I nod, but something in her voice makes me pause. It’s the way she says my name. Like it means something more. Like she’s letting herself get comfortable with me.
I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.
As she heads out of the office, I watch her go, my mind already drifting back to the meetings, the proposals, the deadlines. But somewhere, in the back of my head, I’m thinking about those late nights. About the way she challenges me, pushes me.
And the more time I spend with her, the more I’m starting to realize... I like it.
* * *
The rain’s coming down hard outside, pounding against the windows like it’s got a personal vendetta. Typical New York storm—loud, messy, and inconvenient. We’ve been at it for hours now, going over the project again, making adjustments to the marketing strategy, the budget, the launch timeline. It’s late, and we’re the only ones left in the office. I glance at the clock on my laptop screen. Past midnight.
And of course, right on cue, the lights flicker once, twice, then go out.
“Great,” I mutter under my breath. The storm must’ve knocked out the power.
Ellie’s across the table, sitting with a file open in front of her, and in the dim emergency lighting, I can barely make out her face. “Well, this is cozy,” she says, trying to make a joke out of it, but there’s a nervous edge to her voice.
I pull out my phone, but there’s no service. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”
She shifts in her seat. “I thought the building had a backup generator?”
“Apparently, it doesn’t kick in for a while,” I say, leaning back in my chair. I’m more annoyed than anything, but there’s something about the quiet of the office, the way the storm outside has drowned out all the usual noise, that makes the air feel... charged.
Ellie tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers moving in that unconscious way she always does when she’s thinking. It’s dark enough that I can’t see her clearly, but I can feel her presence. There’s something about the way she’s sitting there, like she’s waiting for something to happen.
“So,” she says after a pause, “I was wondering... why this project? I mean, you’re known for tech, right? You’ve built an empire around AI and smart infrastructure, but this—this luxury resort thing—it’s different. Why go after the French Riviera?”
Her voice is soft, curious. She’s not asking because it’s part of her job; she’s asking because she actually wants to know.
I take a deep breath, the question hitting harder than I expected. Normally, I wouldn’t bother answering. I’d give some corporate line about diversification or expansion, but something about the dark, about being trapped in here with her, makes me... want to tell her more.
“It’s complicated,” I start, running a hand through my hair. “My father... he built this company, but he was all about the tangible—real estate, physical businesses. When I took over, I wanted to shift things toward tech. Something more future-facing, you know? Something innovative .” I pause, staring out the window at the storm. “But lately... I don’t know. It’s like I need to prove I can do both. That I can take what he built and make it something bigger. Something more.”
She’s quiet, listening. I can feel her watching me, and it’s making me say more than I usually would.
“My father and I—we didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things,” I admit, my voice lower. “He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, and when I didn’t, it created... distance.” I let out a bitter laugh. “A lot of distance. He’s not exactly the kind of guy who’s good with emotions. Or... people.”
“I get that,” Ellie says softly, surprising me. “My mom—she passed away when I was a teenager. Car accident. She was... everything to me. Losing her just... changed everything. I’ve been on my own ever since.”
I glance over at her, the raw emotion in her voice catching me off guard. Her eyes are downcast, her fingers tracing the edge of the file in front of her, but I can see it—how much she’s holding back, how much it’s still affecting her, even all these years later.
“I didn’t know,” I say, my voice quiet.
She shrugs, but it’s forced. “Not exactly something I bring up at work.”
The room feels smaller, like the walls are closing in, the storm outside only making the silence between us louder. I’m not sure what to say. I’m used to dealing with people who keep things at arm’s length—never letting anything personal in. But here we are, sitting in the dark, sharing things we don’t tell anyone else.
I reach out before I realize what I’m doing, my hand finding her cheek. Her skin is soft under my palm, and she freezes, her breath hitching just a little. I don’t know why I did it, but I don’t pull away.
Her eyes flick up to meet mine, wide and searching, and suddenly, the air between us is thick, electric. I can see her chest rising and falling, can hear the way her breath catches every time she exhales. Her lips—red and plump, the kind you think about for no damn reason—are right there, and for a second, I forget where we are. I forget who I am. All I can think about is how much I want to kiss her.
I lean in, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume, vanilla and something else that’s been driving me crazy all week.
And then, just as I’m about to close the distance, the door swings open.
“I got a call from maintenance and hurried back. Mr. Blackwood, the generator’s back on—” Lena’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, and we both jerk back, like we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t.
Ellie jumps to her feet, her face flushed, and I drop my hand, clearing my throat.
“Thank you, Lena,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “That’ll be all.”
Lena stands there for a second, her eyes flicking between us, suspicion in her gaze. She nods curtly and leaves without another word, closing the door behind her.
The moment she’s gone, Ellie lets out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she gathers her things. “I should—uh, I should probably head out,” she says quickly, not meeting my eyes.
I watch her for a moment, my heart still pounding in my chest. Damn it. I was this close.
“Ellie—” I start, but she’s already halfway to the door.
“Goodnight, Mr. Blackwood,” she says over her shoulder before slipping out into the hallway, leaving me standing there, frustrated as hell and more confused than I’ve ever been.
I sit back down, running a hand through my hair, trying to make sense of what just happened. I was about to kiss her. Why was I about to kiss her?
I’m the CEO of Blackwood Enterprises. I don’t get distracted by employees. I don’t let myself get wrapped up in whatever this is. But with Ellie... it’s different. She’s different.
I stare at the papers scattered across the table, the project suddenly feeling far less important than it did an hour ago. I can still feel the warmth of her skin against my palm, the way she looked at me when I touched her cheek. Vulnerable. Open.
And now I’m sitting here, alone in the dark, thinking about her.
I exhale sharply, pushing myself away from the table. I need to clear my head. Focus. There’s work to be done, and this thing with Ellie—it can’t go anywhere. It’s a distraction. Nothing more.
But as I leave the office and head toward the elevator, I can’t help but wonder... what would’ve happened if Lena hadn’t walked in?