The following morning, Lucian arrived at work in a pair of jogger pants.
He had jogged from a long distance, miles actually but he wasn't even out of breath or sweaty. His stamina had always been one of his strongest assets, built from years of running away from problems, running toward trouble, and occasionally just running because it felt good.
He walked into the lobby of the company, earning curious glances from early-arriving employees who were dressed in their crisp business attire.
Lucian didn't care. He had more pressing concerns; like the fact that his bank account was laughably empty and public transport wasn't exactly free.
Following Riley's instructions from the previous day, Lucian made his way to Rowan's office to report his arrival. Riley hadn't arrived yet since it was still very early.
Lucian pushed open the door to Rowan's office without knocking.
The CEO was already there, working on his laptop with his back turned toward the door.
And Lucian shook his head believing that the man probably slept in his office or didn't sleep at all.
Before he could even get the words "good morning" out of his mouth, Rowan spoke.
"You're ten minutes late."
His voice was cold, clipped, and didn't require him to turn around to deliver its cutting edge.
Lucian blinked wondering how he even know it was him?
Rowan continued without waiting for a response, his fingers still typing away at his keyboard;
"Didn't Riley inform you of the time you're expected to resume work as my personal assistant?"
Lucian shifted his backpack on his shoulder and cleared his throat. "I jogged down to the office. That's why I'm late."
With that response, the typing stopped and for a moment, there was only silence.
Then Rowan's brows furrowed in confusion, Lucian couldn't see it, but he could definitely sense the shift in the air. Slowly and deliberately, Rowan turned his chair around to look at him.
Those ocean-blue eyes landed on Lucian, and immediately, they narrowed.
Rowan's gaze swept over him, starting from his messy blonde hair tied loosely at the back, down to his tight jogger pants that clung to his legs, and the casual round-neck top that definitely didn't belong in a corporate office.
Rowan couldn't believe what he was seeing.
This man, his supposed new personal assistant had shown up to his company, dressed like he was about to hit the gym, not report to one of the most powerful men in the city.
As if Lucian could read the disbelief radiating from Rowan's cold expression, he quickly gestured to the backpack on his shoulder and mumbled casually;
"I kept my official wear in my bag. I'll change."
Rowan stared at him for a beat longer, his sharp mind trying to process what he was hearing.
"Why," Rowan finally asked, his voice dangerously calm, "would you need to do that?"
"I don't have money for transport fare." Lucian replied with a shrug, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.
The words hung in the air between them for a few seconds.
Rowan's expression didn't waver; it remained cold, controlled, perfectly composed. But inside, the information had rendered him momentarily speechless.
No money for transport fare?
He stared at Lucian like the man had just told him he didn't have access to oxygen.
After a long moment, Rowan leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. "How is it possible," he asked slowly, each word carefully measured, "for you not to have transport fare?"
It was Lucian's turn to be taken aback.
His eyes widened slightly as he stared at this impossibly privileged man sitting behind a desk that probably cost more than Lucian had earned in the past year.
Of course Rowan Donovan wouldn't understand. The man probably thought money grew on trees in everyone's backyard just because it did in his.
Lucian almost scoffed at that thought.
However, he stopped himself from scoffing and instead let out a short, incredulous laugh and shrugged nonchalantly.
"It is what it is." He said.
Rowan's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Instead of sympathy, or even basic human empathy, Rowan asked simply, his tone colder than before, "Would you rather quit the job, then? Since you don't even have transport fare."
Lucian's mouth fell open.
He stared at Rowan in disbelief, unable to comprehend the sheer lack of empathy radiating from this man.
"Is he serious right now?"
"No," Lucian said quickly, shaking his head. "That won't be necessary. I'll sort out my financial troubles."
Rowan's eyes narrowed, studying him for a moment longer as if trying to determine whether Lucian was worth the headache he was clearly going to cause.
Then, sharply, Rowan said, "You're smelling of sweat. Go fix yourself."
Lucian blinked, then nodded. "Of course."
He turned on his heel and headed toward the door, already mentally mapping out where the nearest restroom was so he could change into his actual work clothes.
But as he walked away, Rowan's eyes, unwanted, caught on Lucian's toned legs in those tight joggers.
The fabric clung to every curve, every muscle, leaving very little to the imagination.
Rowan's throat tightened.
He felt something stir inside him, something unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and entirely unwelcome.
He swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the armrest of his chair as he forcibly tore his gaze away.
"What the hell?"
Rowan shook his head sharply, as if that would clear whatever nonsense had just momentarily clouded his judgment.
"This indecent, chaotic man will get fired soon," Rowan muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible in the quiet of his office. "Surely."
But even as he said it, even as he tried to convince himself of it, a small, traitorous part of him wondered why his heart had skipped a beat when he saw those legs.
And that thought annoyed him more than anything else.