Chapter 4 The business appearance

Clara stood in front of the full-length mirror in her new room, tugging at the navy-blue cocktail dress laid out for her.

It was simple, elegant, and clearly expensive-far too fancy for someone who used to fold clothes at a retail shop and count coins to buy hospital gloves. But tonight, she wasn't Clara Evans the sister or the employee.

She was the CEO's assistant. His visible assistant.

The door opened without a knock.

"I should start locking this thing," Clara muttered, turning sharply.

Nathan stood at the threshold, wearing a charcoal suit that looked like it was stitched straight onto his body. No tie, just the open collar and that predatory stillness he always carried.

His eyes trailed slowly down her frame.

"It fits," he said simply.

Her skin prickled. "You could've waited for me to be ready."

"I like seeing the transition," he replied, stepping into the room. "From ordinary to... interesting."

Clara swallowed. "Where are we going?"

"A fundraiser. My name's on the list, and I need a date who won't ask too many questions."

She crossed her arms. "So I'm not just your assistant now. I'm your... what, trophy?"

"No. My shield." He looked her straight in the eye. "There are people at that event who ask more questions than I like answering. Having you there makes it easier to say nothing."

She almost laughed. "And I just have to stand there and smile?"

"No," he said, walking past her toward the door. "You have to stand there, smile... and pretend you belong to me."

The venue was glass and gold, filled with soft jazz and sharper stares. Wealth floated through the air like perfume. Clara felt wildly out of place-until Nathan touched her lower back.

It wasn't a friendly gesture. It was a claim.

They mingled for a while, Clara smiling when prompted, nodding at names she'd forget. But when a red-lipped socialite leaned in too close to Nathan, Clara felt something twist in her gut.

The woman smiled at her, too sweet. "And who's this? Your newest charity project, Nathan?"

Clara stiffened, but Nathan's expression didn't change.

"She's my assistant," he said flatly. "And she doesn't like being spoken about like a handbag."

Clara blinked. Did he just defend me?

The woman huffed and walked off. Nathan leaned down, his voice low in Clara's ear.

"You're doing fine. Just stop glaring at everyone like you want to run."

"I'm not glaring," she muttered.

"You are. And it's kind of hot."

Her face burned. "You're unbelievable."

"I warned you, Clara." His hand brushed hers. "I don't play fair. I play to own."

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