Mia
The office clock ticked past 9 p.m. when Owen’s voice cut through the silence.
"Mia, you done yet?"
I jumped. My desk, a mess of coffee cups and papers, felt suffocating. He wanted the quarterly report before morning, no mistakes allowed.
“Almost, Mr. Carter!” I called, my fingers scrambling across the keys.
“Bring it in when you’re ready. I’m not here for fun.”
His voice sent a familiar jolt through me. Owen Carter— CEO, perfectionist and the reason I couldn't think straight. He was a walking fantasy— dark hair with green eyes that enchanted you, and a smile that could melt or destroy you.
I’d been his assistant for six months, and every day was a battle to keep my head straight. It started with small things— his hand brushing mine when I handed him coffee, lingering stares,
