Chapter 5

　　Joann's pov

　　I barely got any sleep the night before. My head was everywhere.

　　Steven.

　　Tasha.

　　The man my silly self slept with, the job I was supposed to start next week that suddenly turned into tomorrow. But adrenaline kicked in before the sun could fully rise. I leapt out of bed, dashed into the shower, and got dressed faster than I ever had in my life.

　　This was it. The one good thing in the middle of all this chaos. My dream job.

　　The driver sent by the company was already waiting outside. I got into the car, my nerves bundled up in my stomach. As soon as I arrived at the towering glass building, the receptionist greeted me with a polite smile and told me someone would escort me to my office. I was still adjusting to the idea of having my own desk when I was led to a private office, definitely not a newbie's setup.

　　It was...luxurious. Wide desk, polished floors, tall windows that overlooked the city, and a scent in the air that reminded me of something familiar. Someone.

　　"Here ma'am." The man said.

　　I nodded and he turned to leave, I was alone now.

　　"Is this really where I'll be working?" I whispered under my breath, stepping in.

　　No one else was there, so I sat down awkwardly, my fingers grazing the edge of the desk. I looked through some of the files. They looked like high-level design proposals and marketing strategies. This definitely wasn't for an entry-level designer. Maybe I was in the wrong place?

　　Just as I was about to get up to ask, the door creaked open behind me.

　　I turned, and froze.

　　No. Freaking. Way.

　　He stood in the doorway….the man. The one I slept with. The one with the strong arms and the dangerously tempting voice.

　　He didn't look shocked to see me. In fact, he looked amused. Like he had been expecting this.

　　"You," I said, standing up and narrowing my eyes. "Are you following me? Do you work here too?"

　　He chuckled, deep and smooth. "Work here?" he repeated with a raised brow as he walked into the office, casually removing his suit jacket and throwing it over a chair. "That's adorable."

　　I watched, confused, as he strolled around the desk and sat down behind it like he had done it a thousand times. My heart dropped.

　　"Wait... You're—?"

　　He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. "Zein Sanchez. The CEO of the Sanchez Group."

　　My mouth went dry. I took a step back. "You've got to be kidding me."

　　His eyes scanned me slowly, dangerously. "You look just as beautiful as you did that night." He stood up and walked toward me. I backed up instinctively, until my back hit the wall.

　　His arms moved to cage me in, one hand on each side of my head, locking me between him and the wall. His scent hit me again. Warm, musky, masculine.

　　"You smell nice," he murmured, leaning in close enough for my breath to catch in my throat.

　　"Stop," I whispered, pushing him away. "This is work. I came here to move on from everything, and I'm not dragging that night into this."

　　He didn't flinch, he just chuckled. "Then let's pretend it never happened."

　　"Good," I said quickly.

　　He stepped back, letting me breathe. "You can start by actually reading those files. The one at the top is worth seventy billion dollars."

　　I blinked. "Excuse me?"

　　He smirked, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Let's see if that brilliant brain of yours could handle this.."

　　I was still reeling from the shock that the man I had a drunken one-night stand with was not only the CEO of the company I worked for, but also the man I'd be working under. Literally. Figuratively. Professionally. All the ways that could make life painfully complicated.

　　I tried to focus on the files in front of me, but I could feel his eyes on me—burning holes into my skin.

　　"You say you want to put that night behind you," Zein said, breaking the silence. "But that's going to be hard."

　　"Why?" I asked, without looking up.

　　"Because," he replied smoothly, "you're going to be my personal assistant."

　　"What?" I looked up at him, he was dead serious.

　　"And also," he added, "the new design manager."

　　I stood up abruptly, laughter escaping my lips. "You're joking."

　　He leaned back in his chair, unbothered. "Do I look like someone who jokes?"

　　"Why me?" I asked. "We had one night together, just one night. No strings attached. And that doesn't qualify me for two job titles."

　　"No, it doesn't. But your resume does. And I'm not about to let your talent walk out that door."

　　"Well, I am." I turned to leave.

　　"You walk out that door," he said calmly, "you'll come crawling back. And this time, you'll be the one begging."

　　I stopped mid step and slowly turned. "Excuse me?"

　　"You heard me," Zein said, standing now, his voice low and deliberate. "You may think you can get a job anywhere, but if I make one call, just one, you'll be blacklisted. Not because you're not good, but because I own most of the companies that you'd like to work for. And this isn't a threat, it's just that I'd do anything to keep you around me."

　　I stared at him, stunned. "You'd sabotage me?"

　　"I'd protect my investment," he said, unapologetically. "You're talented. I want that talent here. With me. And I want you too."

　　My chest rose and fell as I tried to process the layers of audacity he wore so comfortably.

　　"Let me go," I said, quieter now.

　　He walked closer but kept his hands in his pockets this time. "Have a seat, Joann."

　　I reluctantly obeyed.

　　"How about," he began, "we talked about what I wanted to tell you yesterday, before you ran off?"

　　He opened a drawer and pulled out a sleek white envelope, handing it to me.

　　I opened it, read the first few lines, and blinked. "This says… if I resign within a year, I have to marry you? This is ridiculous"

　　He tilted his head innocently. "That's the wrong one, dear."

　　I slammed the paper down. "Mr Sanchez!"

　　He laughed and pulled another file, switching them out. "Here. That's the real one. And keep your voice down."

　　I hesitated, then read the top line of the new document.

　　"Exclusive Design Contract – Lead Designer & Brand Face of Sanchez Group."

　　The terms were insane. High pay, full creative freedom, sponsorship deals. And then one very clear goal;

　　"Design a successful custom piece for the President's daughter's 16th birthday."

　　"This is a seventy billion dollar deal," Zein said, watching my reaction. "If we land it, you'll be the face of the department and the company's design genius."

　　I swallowed. "And if I fail?"

　　"You won't," he said, so confidently it startled me.

　　A quiet moment passed. I was still trying to figure out if this was a dream or a nightmare dressed in a power suit.

　　"I can do it," I said finally. "Designing dresses for public figures? That's my specialty."

　　"Good," he said, a slow smile forming on his lips.

　　I was about to stand when he reached for my hair, his fingers brushing a strand of my hair off my shoulder.