Ethan Cole had never been late for anything in his life. Yet here he was, jogging down the sleek white hallway of Hart Global, tie crooked, breath uneven, rehearsing his answers for the secretary interview he had been preparing for months. The moment he saw the restroom sign, he acted on instinct, pushing the door open without a second thought.
The moment he stepped inside, his stomach dropped.
She was there.
Olivia Hart. CEO. Legendary, untouchable, ice-cold, untamed. Her black heels clicked softly against the marble floor, her skirt clinging to curves that were impossible not to notice. Her blouse, slightly damp at the collar from the sink, revealed just a hint of delicate skin—enough to steal his breath but not so much to embarrass her. She had her back to him at first, adjusting her hair in the mirror, unaware of his intrusion.
And then she turned.
The air around him seemed to compress. She didn't scream. She didn't shout. She simply arched an eyebrow, her piercing dark eyes locking onto his.
"You're in the wrong restroom," she said, her voice calm, cold, commanding.
"I—I'm sorry," Ethan stammered, trying to step back. "I didn't—"
"Close the door," she interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument.
He hesitated. "I—okay."
The click of the lock echoed. Silence fell. The tension was almost tangible, thick like velvet wrapping around them. She crossed the room slowly, her gaze fixed on him as if assessing every detail, every line of his body, every pulse that betrayed his nervousness.
"You're here for the secretary position," she said, voice smooth, deliberate.
"Yes," he managed to whisper, his heart hammering.
Her gaze lingered, dangerous and deliberate. "You walk into a women's restroom before an interview. How do you fix mistakes, Mr…?"
"Ethan."
"Mr. Cole," she said slowly, her lips curving into the faintest smirk. "Do you take responsibility for your mistakes?"
He didn't answer verbally. He stepped closer. His hands rose to her waist, firm, controlled, dominant—but not forceful. He gave her a chance to stop him. She didn't.
The kiss that followed was not gentle. Not experimental. It was electric. Hungry. Precise. Her hands tangled in his hair. His hands pressed against her lower back, pulling her flush against him. Her back met the cold marble counter, heels slipping slightly as he lifted her effortlessly.
"I don't mix business with pleasure," she whispered, breathless.
"You already did," he murmured, brushing his lips against hers again.
And then it was over. She stepped back, perfectly composed, slipping her blouse back into place as if nothing had happened. Her eyes, sharp as knives, fixed him with that trademark CEO glare.
"You're not getting the job," she said, voice ice-cold.
"No?"
"Leave," she instructed, turning on her heel and walking past him.
Ethan stood there, adjusting his tie, heart racing—not with regret—but with longing.
Unbeknownst to him, the woman he had just shared something reckless, intimate, and unforgettable with was Olivia Hart. CEO. Power. Ice. And soon… his fate.
The conference room smelled faintly of polished mahogany and expensive coffee. Ethan walked in, his tie straightened this time, his heart still reeling from the morning's encounter. And there she was, seated at the head of the long table, immaculately dressed, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Olivia Hart looked every bit the part of the untouchable CEO. She was the kind of woman who walked into a room and instantly claimed it, her aura of control radiating off every inch of her posture. Ethan tried to steady his racing heart. This was an interview. A professional setting. Nothing else.
But one look at her, and he knew nothing would remain professional.
"Mr. Cole," said the board member at the end of the table, gesturing toward a chair. "Please, take a seat."
His eyes didn't leave Olivia. Her gaze met his briefly—icy, sharp, unreadable—and then returned to the stack of papers before her, as though their morning encounter had never occurred.
The interview began. Ethan answered every question with practiced confidence, though the tension between them was almost suffocating. Every subtle glance, every careful movement, reminded him of the way she had felt in his arms that morning.
Finally, Olivia spoke. Her voice cut through the room like a blade.
"Your resume is impressive," she said. "But I don't hire men who can't read signs on doors."
The room froze. Her words were polite… but lethal.
"I assure you," Ethan said evenly, forcing himself to meet her gaze, "it was an honest mistake."
Her eyes narrowed, scanning him with precision. "I don't tolerate mistakes."
He swallowed hard. He should feel embarrassed. He should apologize. But instead… something stirred deep inside him. A thrill. A challenge.
The interview ended, and he left, thinking that was it. That she had rejected him. And indeed, the next email confirmed it: Application rejected. Signed, Olivia Hart, CEO.
Yet the very next morning, a new email landed in his inbox.
Welcome to Hart Global. Signed, Chairman Richard Hart.
Confusion and disbelief tangled in his chest. He was employed by the very company whose CEO had refused him. The same CEO whose eyes had burned into his very soul just the day before.
When Olivia stormed into her father's office later, it was with fire in her eyes.
"You hired him?" she demanded, voice icy, sharp.
Chairman Hart leaned back in his chair, unbothered. "He's competent."
"He's reckless."
"He's bold," her father corrected. "And you need someone who isn't afraid of you."
Her jaw tightened. She hated the thought of working with him, hated how he had invaded her thoughts even before officially starting.
"I don't need anyone," she snapped.
"That's your problem," he said softly, a knowing smile on his lips.
Ethan's first day as her personal secretary was nothing short of torture. He was professional. Calm. Respectful. But his presence alone unnerved her. The way he handed her files, leaning just a touch too close. The way his voice dropped when saying her name. The quiet dominance he exuded—even in casual gestures—was maddening.
She hated how her pulse raced when he passed by. Hated how she found herself thinking about the way he had kissed her in the restroom, long after the moment had passed.
And when he lingered just a second longer than necessary while closing the office door behind him, her ice-cold mask cracked just enough.
"You should go home," he said softly, his voice low and controlled.
"I didn't ask for your opinion," she shot back, lips tightening.
He stepped closer anyway, closing the distance between them. "You're pretending there isn't a line," he murmured.
Her hands curled into fists. "I don't mix business with pleasure."
"You already did," he said. And the weight of those words hung between them like a storm.
For the first time, Olivia Hart—untouchable, ice-cold, unshakable—felt her walls tremble. And deep down, she knew this was only the beginning.