Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Nick
ONE WEEK LATER
The board meeting wrapped fifteen minutes ago, leaving behind the stench of burnt coffee, overstretched cologne, and the unmistakable sweat of men who mistake volume for authority.
Half the room spent an hour dismantling my acquisition proposal with the kind of shallow analysis that makes me question the recruitment standards I signed off on.
The rest sat in passive agreement, nodding with the mechanical rhythm of people more concerned with protecting their inbox than saying anything useful.
I’ve had three coffees strong enough to etch glass, no lunch unless half a protein bar qualifies, and my patience is thinning by the second, unspooling under the weight of incompetence I no longer find surprising.
And yet, none of it holds my attention.
Not the half-billion-dollar acquisition stalled in legal, not the brewing turf war between my CFO and R I can see it behind her eyes.
Good.
“So,” I begin, letting the silence stretch, “Sara Brooks.”
“That’s me.”
“You’re here for the junior marketing assistant role.”
“Technically, yes. Though this is starting to feel more like a hostile merger.”
I almost smile. Almost.
“Walk me through your experience.”
“You mean what’s on my résumé,” she replies, dry, “or the parts where I kept a dying campaign alive with caffeine and duct tape?”
“Surprise me.”
“I managed three major brand accounts at my last firm. Tripled their engagement in under six months. Rewrote their pitch deck after my boss tried to use Comic Sans in a client presentation.”
“Tragic.”
“Criminal.”
She’s sharp. Quick. No pandering, no fluff. Just brutal, irreverent honesty wrapped in a blouse that doesn’t apologize for the day she’s had.
“You left that job four months ago. Why?”
Her mouth flattens. “Let’s just say ‘collaborative environment’ was code for ‘do twice the work and take half the credit.’”
“And since then?”
“Freelance. Copywriting. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep.”
“And now Ashford Holdings.”
She shrugs. “I need a job. You need an employee. I didn’t expect this to involve eye contact with my… previous mistake.”
“Is that what I am?” I ask quietly.
“A catastrophic idea,” she mutters.
Her cheeks flush, color blooming high on her cheekbones. She’s embarrassed, but holding her ground. Admirable.
I let the silence stretch until it hums in the space between us.
“You’re smart,” I say finally.
“Usually.”
“Ambitious.”
“When necessary.”
“Fearless.”
“That’s just the coffee.”
She twists a ring on her finger, then goes still, eyes locked on mine. I make my decision.
“You’re hired.”
She blinks. “Excuse me?”
“You’re hired.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I don’t make decisions lightly.”
Her brows knit. “Why?”
“Because you’re the only person I’ve seen in weeks who doesn’t look at me and see a salary or a stepping stone. You’re good. Better than good. And I don’t let talent walk out of this building.”
She watches me, searching for the angle. I let her look. There’s no angle. Just the truth.
Finally, she straightens her spine. “I want a real title. Not junior assistant. And I want a seat at the table for strategy meetings.”
Bold.
“Noted.”
“Oh, and I’m not getting your coffee.”
“I wouldn’t dare ask.”
She inhales, shallow and quick. “Then fine. I accept.”
I stand, extending my hand across the desk. She hesitates, then takes it. Her grip is small but strong, electric against my skin.
This isn’t over. We both know it.
“Welcome to Ashford Holdings, Ms. Brooks.”
She withdraws, her expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, I see uncertainty there, fear even, before it’s masked behind irritation.
She turns and walks out without looking back.
And I do the one thing I shouldn’t.
I watch her go.
The sway of her hips. That skirt, hugging every curve with the quiet confidence of someone who knows the effect she has. Legs toned and long, moving with careless grace, each step a reminder that I’ve just made the worst mistake of my career.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling a breath that edges into a groan.
This isn’t just attraction.
This is a calculated risk with no upside.
And I just hired it.