Alice's POV
"Alice, what's wrong?" Antonio asked again, his hand still on my arm, his voice urgent as he leaned closer to see my face.
"Who was that on the phone?"
I looked at the screen and realized it was a spam call and probably just one of those pranksters trying to sell me car insurance. I let out a shaky breath and almost laughed at myself for being so paranoid. They really got me there. I thought it was from the Sterling Corp.
"It's nothing," I said, putting my phone away.
"Just spam. I'm sorry, I'm just on edge today."
Antonio didn't look convinced, but he nodded slowly. "First-day jitters?"
"Something like that," I said.
"Well, if you need anything, you have my number," he said as he checked his watch. "I should get going, though. Early meeting tomorrow."
"Thank you for the coffee. It helped."
He smiled. "Anytime."
I watched him walk away before heading to the bus stop.
When I got home, I made myself dinner and tried to watch TV, but I couldn't focus. Finally, I went to bed early, hoping tomorrow would be easier.
The next day at work was even more awkward than the first. People kept staring at me in meetings, whispering when they thought I couldn't hear, and Bryan was just being a cruel boss. He could fit in as one of those really overworked ones.
He called me into his office at least six times throughout the day for the smallest things.
"Alice, I need these files organized differently." "Alice, reschedule my two o'clock." "Alice, get me coffee." "Alice, come take notes of this call."
And by three in the afternoon, I was ready to scream.
When he called me in for the seventh time, I walked in and closed the door harder than I meant to.
"Is there a problem, Miss Reynolds?" he asked without looking up from his computer.
"Are you doing this on purpose?" I asked.
He finally looked at me, his expression blank. "Doing what?"
"Calling me in here every five minutes for things that aren't urgent. Things that Margaret could handle, things that anyone could handle."
"You're my executive assistant," he said calmly. "This is your job."
"My job is to assist you with important executive matters," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Not to be your personal servant."
He leaned back in his chair, studying me.
"You think I'm treating you like a servant?"
"I think you're testing me to see how far you can push before I break."
A small smile played at the corner of his mouth. "And are you going to break, Miss Reynolds?"
"No," I said firmly. "But I'm also not going to let you walk all over me just because you're the CEO."
He stood up and walked around his desk, stopping a few feet away from me.
We stared at each other for a long moment, neither of us backing down. Finally, Bryan moved back to his desk.
"Tomorrow night," he said, sitting down and opening his laptop again as if nothing had happened. "I need you to come to dinner with me."
I frowned. "What dinner?"
"A business dinner," he said, not looking up. "With potential investors, I need my executive assistant there."
"Can't Margaret do that?" I asked.
"No," he said softly. "I need you."
"Why?" I pushed.
He finally looked at me again, his expression unreadable. "Because I said so. That's all the explanation you're getting."
I wanted to argue, to tell him to go to hell, but I was too tired. "Fine. What time?"
"I'll pick you up at seven," he said. "Wear something nice. These people care about appearances."
"I don't even know where you live," I said.
"I have your address from your employee file," he said casually, like that wasn't weird at all.
I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. "That's all, Miss Reynolds. You can go."
I left his office fuming. Who did he think he was? Acting like he owned me just because I worked for him.
The next day went slightly better, mostly because I avoided Bryan as much as possible. At exactly seven o'clock, he texted that he was downstairs. I was still in my apartment trying to figure out what to wear.
"I'm downstairs," his text read.
"You're early," I texted back.
"Are you ready?" I saw his text.
"Almost. Give me five minutes." I ran to my closet, pulling out the only dress I owned that could count as nice. It was dark blue, fitted at the top and flowing at the bottom, with sleeves that went to my elbows. I'd bought it for a work party at Sterling & Cross two years ago and never wore it again.
I threw it on, added some light makeup, and grabbed my bag. When I got downstairs, Bryan was leaning against his car, looking at his phone. He glanced up when he heard me, and his eyes moved over me quickly before he straightened up.
"You look nice," he said, opening the passenger door.
"Thank you," I said stiffly as I got in.
He got in the driver's seat and started the car. We drove in silence for a while.
"You're nervous," Bryan said suddenly.
"I'm not," I lied.
"Your hands are shaking," he said.
I looked down and realized he was right. I put my hands in my lap. "I don't like meeting new people in high-pressure situations."
"They're just investors," he said.
"Rich people with too much money and not enough sense. Be polite, smile, and let me do most of the talking."
"Then why do I need to be there?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away. Finally, he said, "Because I need someone there who isn't trying to kiss my ass the entire time. Someone who will tell me if I'm making a mistake."
I turned to look at him, but his eyes were on the road. "You trust me to do that?"
"No," he said bluntly. "But I trust you more than anyone else who works for me."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I stayed quiet.
When we pulled up to the restaurant, I realized immediately that something felt off. This wasn't the kind of place where you had business dinners. It was intimate and expensive, with soft lighting and quiet music playing.
"Bryan," I said slowly as I turned to look at him. "Where are we?"
"La Maison," he said, getting out of the car. "It's the best French restaurant in the city."
"That's not what I asked," I said, staying in my seat. "Where are the investors?"
He came around to my door and opened it. "There are no investors."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"Get out of the car, Alice," he said calmly.
"You lied to me." Anger rose in my chest.
"I didn't lie," he said. "I said I needed you at a dinner. I never said it was a business dinner."
"That's the same as lying," I snapped.
"Maybe," he admitted. "But if I'd told you the truth, would you have come?" He asked, and I swear at that point I felt like tearing him apart.