Chapter 2 The First Clash

Adrian's POV

I don't hire assistants to challenge me. I hire them to get the job done, no questions asked.

So why is Nora Sinclair already questioning me on her first day?

I stare at the schedule she's put together, noting the two-hour gap she left open. "This isn't what I asked for."

She stands in front of my desk, arms stiff at her sides. "You have meetings back-to-back all day. I figured you'd want a break before your dinner appointment."

I set the tablet down, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I don't need you to figure anything, Ms. Sinclair. I need you to do what I ask."

Her jaw tightens. "Right. But if you collapse from exhaustion, I doubt that'll be very productive either."

I lift my eyes to hers, expecting the usual nervous backtracking. But she doesn't backtrack. She holds my gaze, steady and stubborn. Interesting.

For a moment, I don't say anything. She's not entirely wrong.

"Make it a one-hour break," I finally say. "Move the Calloway briefing up."

Her lips part slightly like she wasn't expecting me to listen. "Okay," she says after a beat. "I'll adjust the schedule."

She turns to leave, and I find myself watching her go, admiring every inch of her.

Strange.

The day drags on, filled with reports, negotiations, and too many voices demanding my attention. Still, I notice every time Nora moves around the office.

By afternoon, I find her frowning at her screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. I recognize the spreadsheet she's struggling with before I even get close.

I shouldn't bother. But somehow, I do.

I walk over, leaning down beside her, getting a whiff of her curly hair. "Your formula is wrong."

She stiffens but doesn't look at me. "I know. I'm fixing it."

I could let her figure it out. I don't. Instead, I reach over and adjust the formula myself, fingers brushing hers in the process. I freeze and she does the same. The contact is brief, barely noticeable, but she sucks in a breath.

"There," I say, voice quieter than before. "Next time, check the formatting."

She stays still, eyes locked on the screen. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer. "Got it."

I nod and walk away before I think too much about it.

By the time night falls, I'm buried in work when my phone rings. I don't have to look to know who it is.

I answer. "Father."

"Adrian." His tone is calm, collected. "I trust everything is running smoothly?"

"As always."

"Good. We can't afford any distractions." A pause. Then, "Including your new assistant."

"You think I care? She won't last a month."

I exhale slowly. "She's nothing. Just another hire.I don't have time to entertain some charity case."

His chuckle is low and knowing. "Let's hope she's more competent than your last... mistake."

I grip the phone tighter. "Don't."

"You're still letting the past affect you," he continues, as if I haven't heard this speech a hundred times before. "I trust you won't make the same error twice."

I say nothing.

Then, just as I think the conversation is over, he delivers the final blow.

"Vivienne is back in town."

My entire body goes rigid.

"She'll be at the Sterling Gala next week," he adds, voice laced with satisfaction. "I expect you to be there."

The call ends, but I don't move.

Vivienne.

The name alone makes my stomach twist.

I push the thought away and rub a hand over my face, exhaling slowly.

Then, from the hallway, I hear a small shift in movement.

I turn toward the door.

It's cracked open. Just slightly.

A strange feeling creeps in. Did someone hear that conversation?

I step closer, but when I look outside, the hall is empty.

Still, unease lingers.

I shut the door and lean against it for a second, staring at the ceiling.

Vivienne is back.

And if history has taught me anything, that can only mean trouble.