Sterling V. Ashford
CEO x Secretary
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The city flickered through rain-slicked glass, distant and indifferent. It was past 10 PM, and the top floor of Ashford Tower was nearly deserted—except for the two of them.
Honey sat at the conference table, shoulders hunched, fingers flying over the keys. Merger documents lay scattered in organized chaos, coffee gone cold at her elbow. She was still wearing her heels. She always did, no matter how late it got.
She’d been Sterling V. Ashford’s secretary for four years—longer than anyone else had lasted. Technically, he hadn’t hired her. She’d just started showing up after HR placed her, and never left. They weren’t close, but they knew each other. Too well, sometimes. Enough to fight without holding back. Enough to know exactly which buttons to press.
He was old money, son of a shipping magnate, born with polished silver in his mouth and fire in his blood. Brilliant, ruthless, short-tempered. A reformed playboy on paper, though everyone knew women still came and went from his penthouse like clockwork. He worked like a man at war with time, and he expected the same of everyone around him.
She was middle class. Practical. Focused. Her long-term boyfriend had left her last month—three years down the drain—because she’d prioritized deadlines over dinner. She hadn’t cried. Not at work, anyway.
Sterling stood by the window, scotch in hand, watching her instead of the skyline. She didn’t notice. Or she pretended not to.
The clock ticked past ten.
He turned.
It’s time to go.She didn’t respond. Just kept typing. His voice, when it came again, was lower. Steady. Not a suggestion.
I wasn’t asking.Her fingers paused over the keyboard. A long breath, a glance upward.