CHAPTER 3 #2
And then she had smiled. That heart-melting, genuine smile that seemed to challenge my entire corporate existence without saying a word.
When she told me, "I didn't come here to falter.
I came here to work," I had to physically restrain myself from letting out a real laugh.
She had balls. She had attitude, but it was backed up by an undeniable aptitude.
Later in the afternoon, after I had dismissed her to the outer desk, Ciara had come into my office to drop off the preliminary Tokyo data sheets.
Ciara Wallace had been my right-hand girl, my executive secretary, and my closest confidante for years.
She was one of the few people who had witnessed the scars, the late-night breakdowns, and the bloody battles it took for me to climb my way to the top of this mountain.
"How’s the new recruit?" I had asked, keeping my voice carefully neutral as I flipped through the papers.
Ciara had smiled, leaning against the edge of my desk.
"Miley? Helisa, the girl is a literal sponge. I sat her down with the system infrastructure and the executive scheduling logs, and she didn't look up for four hours. She’s already picking up on your specific preferences without me having to repeat myself. She’s got the brains, but more importantly, she’s got the right attitude for this floor. She isn't scared of the work."
Hearing Ciara praise her had sent a strange, unfamiliar warmth blooming deep within my chest. But as I thought about Ciara, my mind drifted to another complication.
Over the years, as we fought side by side in the corporate trenches, Ciara had tried to cross that line with me more than a few times.
There were late nights in empty office buildings over takeout boxes, business trips to Paris and Hong Kong where the wine flowed a little too easily, and quiet moments where her gaze would linger on my lips just a second too long.
She had hit on me, subtly and not-so-subtly, offering a glimpse of the companionship I so desperately craved.
But I had always firmly, resolutely pulled back. I refused to cross that professional boundary.
Business and pleasure do not mix. It was a golden rule, a survival mechanism I had carved into my heart.
In a world full of sharks, getting romantically involved with an employee was the easiest way to bleed out in public.
Emotions are messy, volatile, and unpredictable; when they interplay with corporate structures, power dynamics, and million-dollar contracts, things get catastrophic real quick.
I couldn't risk my empire, and I couldn't risk the one stable professional relationship I had built with a woman who truly knew my history.
So, I kept Ciara at arm's length, maintaining the wall even when my heart was screaming for someone to touch me.
I tilted my head back, drinking the final drops of the Sauvignon Blanc, the cold glass pressing against my lips.
A sudden, violent tug pulled at my heartstrings, an emotional ache so sharp it made me catch my breath.
I am a billionaire, yes. I am the Ice Empress, yes.
But beneath the emerald silk robe, beneath the midnight-ebony skin, I am just a woman.
A woman who needs love. A woman who wants to feel the breathtaking rush of a real kiss, the tender warmth of a slow caress along my spine, the intoxicating comfort of knowing I am safe with someone.
But who could I actually trust? Who could I trust with a heart that had been broken so many times by loss? Because when I love, I don't do it halfway. I don't know how to play cool. I love heavily. I give my absolute all—my mind, my body, my soul, my secrets.
But who was worthy of that surrender?
Was it Ciara? No, too messy, too much history.
Was it Max, that brilliant, nerdy-fine director from the IT lab who always stumbled over his words whenever I walked into the server room?
No, he was sweet, but he couldn't handle the storm of who I am.
Was it Larry, my towering chief of security who looked like he could shield me from a bomb but couldn't read my mind?
Was it Kissandra, my high-fashion stylist who knew how to dress my body but didn't know a thing about my soul?
Or... was it my new intern?
I froze, my hand stopping mid-air as I was about to lower the empty glass.
Wait. Hold up.
Why the hell did Miley Palmer’s face just pop into my head at the end of that list? Why did her bright smile, her thick, curvy figure, and the defiant fire in her eyes suddenly rush into my thoughts like an uninvited, intoxicating guest?
Do I... actually have a thing for her? For my brand-new, fresh-out-of-college executive intern?
"I’m not gonna lie..." I murmured out loud into the empty night air, the sound of my own smoky voice startling me. A slow, genuine, and completely unprompted smile spread across my face, breaking through the frosty mask I had worn all day. "...she looks pretty damn hot."
The image of the way that black pencil skirt had hugged her hips, the tight, beautiful definition of her midriff, and the lovely, confident way she carried herself made a sudden, wicked heat flare up in my lower stomach.
I caught myself, my eyes widening in absolute shock as I realized my cheeks were actually feeling warm. Was I... blushing? Helisa Smith, blushing over a twenty-something girl from Harlem who had been in my building for less than twelve hours?
"No. Absolutely not," I snapped to myself, the corporate dictator instantly reasserting control. "This is dangerous. This is beyond dangerous. She is an intern. She is a child compared to your experience. You do not do this, Helisa."
I shook my head, turning away from the breathtaking view of Harlem.
I slid the glass door open, stepping off the balcony and back into the pristine, minimalist luxury of my dark living room.
I shut the sliding doors firmly behind me, cutting off the breeze, cutting off the memories, cutting off the music of the streets.
I walked across the hardwood, letting the emerald robe drop casually from my shoulders onto a chair, leaving me in nothing but my skimpy black lace lingerie.
I pulled back the heavy, silk duvet of my king-sized bed and slipped between the sheets, the cool, expensive fabric offering no real comfort to the underlying heat hum-singing in my veins.
I closed my eyes, forcing my brain to pivot away from Miley’s smile and focus on the only thing that was supposed to matter.
Tomorrow morning. The Tokyo deal. Keep your head in the game, Helisa.
But as I finally drifted off to sleep, the darkness behind my eyelids wasn't filled with data sheets or market shares. It was filled with fire, braids, and a smile that had already begun to melt the ice around my heart.