Chapter 1: The Ugly Secretary

Oceans in palms. Yeah, it’s possible—because I have them now. I stood right in front of the department manager, Thessaloniki—or Miss T, as she insisted.

The moment I stepped into Miles Shipping Corporation's building, I felt like an alien who accidentally beamed down to a parallel universe. Everyone was dressed like they were auditioning for a black-and-white movie, and me? Well, Tamara clearly forgot to warn me about the corporate dress code when she shoved me here.

I glanced around, making sure no one was staring, then discreetly yanked the lining of my bikini panties. They’d been staging a mutiny against my butt for the past hour.

“What’s your name again?” Miss T asked, biting into her “type-two-diabetes-on-a-plate” breakfast. Her penciled-in eyebrows were arched so high they could’ve reached the ceiling. Her sharp, judgmental eyes bore into me like I’d just informed her how struggling her heels are too carry her weight.

What did I even do to her?

She inspected my ID like she was a customs officer, squinting at it as if my name weren’t written in bold, screaming font. She probably got a bad eye sight.

“I’m Cassidy—”

“Oh, right! The ugly secretary,” she interrupted, laughing with a wheeze that made my lips jitter in insecurity. Her words hit harder than a slap. “Late on your first day, huh?” she added, as though she wasn’t the one blocking me like a two-meter-wide barricade.

Miss T flicked her frizzy red hair with her sausage fingers, batting her fake lashes at me in her most disrespectful way possible.

I fought the urge to mention the buttons on her blouse that looked seconds away from surrendering to her belly. Instead, I gave her a polite smile.

“I know, I am, Miss T. I—”

“Then why are you still standing there? Keep moving! Or do you want your first day to be your last?” she barked, giving me a head-to-toe once-over like I’d committed a crime by wearing a pink shirt and a long leopard-print pencil skirt.

Define "rough start".

With zero dignity, I squeezed past her, awkwardly choosing which side of her to aim for.

And just as I escaped, my heels betrayed me. I stumbled forward, flailing my arms like a drunk ballerina, but somehow managed to stay upright.

“Fuck you, Johnny! You’re a fucking bastard!” a woman’s voice roared down the hallway, vibrating the walls with pure rage.

Then she appeared—a woman wearing what could barely qualify as a silver dress, stomping in my direction like a hurricane in stilettos.

“What the hell are you staring at, freak?” she snarled, her breath misting my face with unintentional attitude perfume.

“That wasn’t nice,” I muttered, swiping at the invisible insult lingering on my cheek.

Pushing the encounter aside, I followed instructions and found Johnny’s—well, Sir Johnny’s—office at the end of the hallway. Still shrugging off what just happened, I raised my fist to knock.

Before I could, the door burst open with a force that nearly knocked me over.

“I knew you’d come crawling back—wait. Who are you?” a deep baritone demanded, his flirty opening derailed into a tone that was suspicious and, dare I say, mildly annoyed.

I looked up, my thick-rimmed glasses doing nothing to shield me from the shock.

Oh. My. God.

He was exactly how I’d described him: A total A-hole.

"Uhm..." I stammered, adjusting my glasses, which had slid down the bridge of my nose. "Auntie Tamara put me here. She said Mr. and Mrs. Miles were looking for someone to fill the Executive Assistant position," I croaked, trying not to get swallowed by his overbearing aura.

He looked like he’d been sparring with the devil. His hair was a bird’s nest, smudges of lipstick decorated his lips and cheeks, and his shirt buttons were hanging on for dear life—half undone.

But somehow, no matter how wrecked he appeared, he still managed to carry it all like a high-class, ridiculously handsome gigolo in a ten-thousand-dollar suit.

"Ah! Yes, of course, I remember. Cassandra, right?" he said, leaning lazily on the doorframe and pointing at me with his finger like a cocked pistol, thumb raised. His smirk widened as he let his eyes rake over my body in the least subtle way.

"It's Cassidy, sir," I corrected, clutching my shoulder bag like a shield to hide from his gaze. "I assumed that—"

"Cassidy..." he repeated my name like it was a spell, his voice low and deliberate. His large hand scratched at the stubble on his jaw as he stared at me, and my heart started hammering in my chest.

Oh no. Does he remember me? Please don’t remember me.

"I swear it was Cassandra," he muttered, rubbing his knuckles against the corner of his lips as if he were deep in thought. "Anyway, if you’re the best choice for the... 'position,' then let me lead you on... this way," he he spoke like a true pervert

Before I could respond, his hands landed firmly on my shoulders, spinning me around like a doll. I nearly toppled over again, but his hand shot down to grab my waist—tight, too tight.

Am I being molested?

"This is going to be your office," he announced, gesturing dramatically to the empty desk I’d passed earlier. He snatched my bag from me like it was trash and tossed it carelessly onto the swivel chair. "You’re going to park your round ass there for as long as you’re employed in my company. But before the paperwork, you’ve got another job... in my office."

"In... your office?" I echoed, my brain trying to process while my feet struggled to keep up as he shoved me inside. "Wait, Mr. Miles—"

"It’s Johnny," he corrected, letting go of me as I stumbled to a stop and adjusted my glasses.

"What is it?"

"Uh..." I stammered, unable to find an excuse as his piercing blue eyes stared down at me, practically daring me to come up with something.

Pocketing his hands, he laughed, low and seductive. "Why so tense?" he teased. "Relax, Cassandra. I just need help cleaning up a... storm that hit my office before you got here."

He pushed the door open wide, revealing an office that looked like it had been struck by ten storms. Papers were scattered everywhere, a chair was toppled over, and there was a faint smell of expensive cologne and something... sweaty.

"What happened in here? Did someone break in? Should I call security?" I panicked, my eyes scanning over the mess.

Johnny leaned casually against his desk, pouring himself a drink from a crystal decanter. "Just got a little... wild," he said enigmatically, taking a long sip before pointing at the mess. "That would be your first job, Cassandra."

"My name is Cassidy, sir," I corrected again, though he ignored me. "Where should I start?" I asked hesitantly, already overwhelmed.

He hummed, swirling his drink. "Good question. Why don’t you start by taking my clothes off?" he said, spreading his arms like he was modeling for a lingerie catalog.

I froze, choking on my own spit, my face flushing hotter than an open stove.

He burst into laughter, the kind of luxurious laugh that was equallu charming and annoying. "Kidding! You’re so gullible," he teased, downing the rest of his drink in one chug.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure.

"See those papers?" he asked, gesturing lazily to the piles of paper carpeting the floor. "Each one has a label for a department. Sort them out, divide it to thirteen, and deliver them before lunch. Got it, or should I... 'choke' you with instructions?" I can literally hear that naughty, sly grin from his tone.

I winced at his attempt to dirty my mind. "Got it, sir," I muttered, kneeling to gather the scattered papers as quickly as I could.

"Sir..." he repeated, chuckling to himself as he dig through his wardrobe. "Cute," he mumbled under his breath.

I kept my eyes firmly on the floor, stacking the papers with trembling hands. When I finally dared to glance up, my heart nearly stopped—our eyes locked.

"Want a free taste, Ms. Secretary?" he smirked, his shirt off, abs on full display.

Tamara always said men were raised to act like gentlemen, but Johnny Miles? What am I even expecting? The guy probably flirts with every woman he sees, even nuns and librarians.

"I'm going to work on this, sir," I said, clearing my throat like I had something stuck in it.

Shivering already, I clutched the folders tightly—my last line of defense—and bolted out of his office while his laughter thundered through the entire building like some villain in a cheesy action movie.

He’s going to kill me! I just know it. This was a terrible idea, and yet, here I am. Whose bright idea was this? Oh, right. Mine. Because I don't know how to refuse to anyone at all.

.

The rest of my first day, thankfully, was as quiet and uneventful as it started. Johnny had vanished for hours, probably off charming his next victim, which gave me enough peace to focus on my job.

I remembered Tamara’s advice, though: If I could, I should "influence" Johnny to be more responsible and reliable at work. How on earth am I going to do that? It's like teaching lions to be vegans.

"Nice ass."

I froze. My throat dried up, but somehow I managed to croak like a dying frog. I was too engrossed fumbling for my keys inside my unorganized bag, and some gnome suddenly popped out of nowhere.

His honeyed, baritone voice spoke again from behind me. "Leaving already, Cassandra?"

Why couldn’t he just get my name right?

Turning around, I found him leaning against the black marble wall, one hand casually spinning his phone while the other stuffed in his pocket. His eyes? They were glued on me, undressing me layer by layer.

"Yes, sir. It's five already," I muttered, clutching my bag as a shield.

He hummed, pushing himself off the wall and strolling toward me. "Alright. Watch out for hungry wolves out there, sweetheart. They might have a kink for curls," he added, plucking a strand of my hair and giving it a playful tug before brushing past me to take the elevators.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until my lungs screamed for air. "Oh, shit," I hissed, but not because of him.

No, it was because I remembered—brilliant me had left my keys in my desk drawer.

"You're such a senile, Cassidy," I muttered to myself, heading back up.

The floor was nearly dark when I returned, with only a few dim lights. It was dead silent, the kind of quiet that made every creak of your shoes sound like thunder.

Horror movies suddenly flashed terrifying scenes in my head.

Jogging to my desk, I grabbed my keys and was just about to leave when a scream—high-pitched and raw—made me shrink on the floor.

I froze, my stomach did a backflip.

The door to Johnny’s office was slightly open. My curiosity got the better of me, so I tiptoed closer and peeked inside.

Right then I knew, I'll forever regret doing so.

A woman was bent over the desk, her clothes doing absolutely nothing to cover her. Behind her stood glorious Johnny, bare-ass naked, delivering the kind of thrusts that could probably crack a walnut.

“Oh, Johnny, you fill me so good. Please, faster,” she whimpered, her voice low but desperate.

Johnny chuckled, gripping her hair and yanking her head back until her spine arched like a bow. "Better than your husband, right?" he murmured before obliging her request. The desk creaked under their "enthusiasm", just as loud as her whimpers.

I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp and ran out of the building, my face red and hot, and my palms sweating.

The woman… she was…

"Auntie Tamara?!"