Chapter 3 3. Strategic Negotiation

Thirty minutes later, Hazel stood outside Richardson Group Headquarters, staring up at the glass tower. She adjusted her blazer, took a deep breath and stepped onto the sidewalk leading to the main entrance.

Richardson Group wasn't just another company. It was one of the biggest fashion houses in the country, and she was lucky to even have a job here as a junior analyst. At least, that's what she told herself every morning. But she wasn't feeling particularly lucky today.

"Hazel, you're late," her colleague Nina whispered as Hazel passed through security.

"I know," she muttered, shoving her phone into her bag. 

Late and exhausted and emotionally wrecked. Perfect start to the day.

She was halfway to the elevators when she felt it. A subtle shift in the energy of the lobby, the way conversations seemed to dip and heads turned almost in unison toward the main entrance. It always happened when someone important arrived.

Hazel turned her head and her world stopped.

Walking directly toward the executive elevator, flanked by a small wall of security guards, was him. The man from last night. He moved with the same effortless dominance she remembered from the club.

He was walking toward the executive elevator. The one reserved for C-suite executives and above which meant…

"No. No. No. He works here.”

Panic slammed into Hazel's chest. She ducked her head so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, turning away before he could look in her direction. She didn't dare look back and rushed toward the regular elevator, her fingers trembling as she pressed the call button.

The doors opened immediately. She stepped inside, pressed the button for the twenty-fifth floor. The metal doors slid shut just as she heard the murmur of voices growing closer on the other side. She exhaled a long, shaky breath and fumbled for her phone, her fingers clumsy against the screen as she pulled up Maya's contact.

"Hey, did you make it to work okay?" Maya answered.

"Maya." Hazel's voice came out strangled. "Something happened."

"What? What happened?"

"I…" She pressed her palm against her forehead. "I think I slept with one of my co-workers."

"WHAT?"

"Yes, I just saw him in the lobby. He walked in with security guards, Maya, and he went towards the executive elevator."

"Holy fuck!”

"What do I do now? What if he sees and recognizes me? What if he's someone's husband and I just…" she panicked.

"Okay, okay, breathe." Maya's voice shifted into crisis management mode. "You know he doesn’t work in your department. Richardson Group has thousands of employees. The chances of you running into him again are practically…"

Right then the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Hazel looked up and there he was, standing right in front of the elevator, staring directly at her with those piercing brown eyes. She couldn't notice anything except the way his expression shifted almost imperceptibly to surprise, recognition and something darker that made her stomach flip. Her gaze dropped to the embroidered logo on the wall behind him. Then to the nameplate beside the executive elevator.

Michele Richardson. CEO

Her boss.

The phone slipped from Hazel's hand and she did the only logical thing her panicked brain could come up with. She ran away.

"Hey…" His voice called out behind her, but she was already halfway down the hallway.

"Why is she running?" someone, probably a manager from the floor, asked.

Hazel didn't stop to find out. Her only goal was to disappear, become invisible, reach her desk and bury herself in spreadsheets until the earth opened up and swallowed her whole. 

But the universe had other plans. Because as she turned the corner, her purse slipped off her shoulder and hit the ground, spilling its contents across the floor.

A pair of polished black shoes stepped into her vision.

"Fuck!" she whispered.

Slowly, she looked up. Michele Richardson was standing over her, holding her ID card between his fingers like he'd just discovered something he wasn't supposed to know. 

"Hazel Thomas," he murmured, reading the name aloud.

She dropped to her knees, grabbing her things as fast as her trembling hands allowed and snatched her ID from his grip and bolted before he could say another word.

Michele turned to the senior manager standing beside him. "She works here?" 

Harris, the senior manager, gave a quick nod. "Yes, sir. Hazel Thomas. Marketing department. Junior analyst. She's new, but hardworking, very dedicated."

Michele was quiet for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the hallway where Hazel had vanished. 

"Transfer Hazel Thomas to my office. She'll be my new personal assistant."

Harris blinked. "Sorry, sir?"

"You heard me."

Harris hesitated. "Sir, her skillset isn't exactly aligned with executive administration. If you're looking for a new PA, we have several highly qualified candidates who…"

"Did I ask for your opinion?" Michele's voice was sharp. He straightened his cuff, his expression giving nothing away. "She's being transferred to the executive floor. Effective immediately."

Harris swallowed hard. "Understood, sir. Should we inform her?"

"No need." Michele slipped his hands into his pockets. "I'll inform her myself."

Hazel didn't stop running until she reached her desk. She collapsed into her chair, chest heaving. Her hands were still shaking and face was flushed. She dropped her head into her palms.

Vanessa, the woman at the desk beside hers, raised her eyebrow. "You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Worse," Hazel mumbled into her hands. "Much worse."

Vanessa leaned closer. "I can see that. You're very clearly not fine. What happened?”

She wasn't okay. How could she be? She couldn't exactly explain that she'd slept with the CEO last night, had a mind-blowing one-night stand with the most powerful man in the building and he had just found that out.

She dropped her head onto her desk with a dull thud. "I need to move to another country. Somewhere very far."

Vanessa snorted. "That bad?"

"You have no idea."

Before Vanessa could answer, her office phone rang. She stared at it for a moment, then picked it up. "Hazel Thomas speaking. How may I help you?"

A deep, authoritative voice came through the receiver which she recognized immediately. "Ms. Thomas. My office. Now."

Her stomach dropped to the floor.

Michele Richardson.

She gripped the phone tighter. "I have a very busy schedule today, Mr. Richardson. I'm in the middle of handling several important client accounts and…"

"I'm the boss, Ms. Thomas."

Then the line went dead. Hazel stared at the receiver in horror.

Vanessa whistled from her desk. "That didn't sound like a good call."

"It really, really wasn't," Hazel groaned, slowly pushing herself up from her chair. Her legs felt like they were made of jelly. 

She made her way to the executive floor, each step heavier than the last. Her mind raced through every possible scenario. Maybe he just wanted to make sure she wasn't going to cause trouble and tell her to pretend it never happened. Or maybe he was going to fire her. Somehow, that last one felt like the best option.

Hazel knocked once before pushing the heavy door open. Michele sat behind his desk, looking every bit of the powerful executive he was. He didn't look up when she entered.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You wanted to see me?"

"Sit," he said.

"I'd rather stand."

His lips curved slightly, like he found her defiance amusing. He finally looked up, those dark eyes pinning her in place. "Suit yourself."

She took a deep breath and decided to take control of the conversation before she lost her nerve entirely. "If this is about last night…"

"Last night?" He cut in smoothly. "Oh, it's definitely about last night."

She stiffened. "It was a mistake. A one-time thing. It shouldn't have happened and it won't happen again."

His gaze didn't waver. "Will it not?"

"I don't mix business with personal. I have rules."

Michele leaned back in his chair. "Then you shouldn't have left so quietly this morning.”

Her face flushed. "I didn't know you were my boss."

"And now that you do?"

She swallowed hard. "That doesn't change anything."

His gaze swept over her. "I think it changes quite a bit, actually."

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. 

Then Michele spoke again. "I need a new personal assistant."

Hazel blinked. That wasn't what she had expected. "Okay. Well, I hope you find someone qualified."

His smirk deepened. "You start today."

She stared at him. "What?"

"You heard me, Ms. Thomas."

She shook her head firmly. "Absolutely no."

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "You're refusing?"

"Yes, Mr. Richardson. I work in the marketing department. I'm an analyst. That's what I was hired to do."

Michele exhaled slowly. "It's a promotion. Better pay, better office, better opportunities and direct access to executive leadership."

"It's not a promotion. It's…" She stopped herself before she said something she'd regret.

"It's what?"

She met his gaze. "It's a punishment for last night and we both know it."

"Are you scared?"

"I'm not scared of anything."

"Then take the job."

"No."

Michele studied her for a long moment. Then he spoke again lazily. "Your department is being restructured."

Hazel's blood ran cold. "Excuse me?"

"The marketing department," he said, flipping a page on his desk like he was discussing the weather. "There have been discussions about downsizing. Layoffs by the end of the quarter. Very unfortunate."

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "You wouldn't."

He leaned forward. "I would."

"Is this how you always get what you want?"

"I prefer to think of it as strategic negotiation. Now are you going to take the job, Ms. Thomas?"

She stared at him, her jaw clenched so tight it ached. Every part of her wanted to turn around and walk out. But she couldn't afford to.

"Fine, I'll be your assistant."

His smirk deepened. "I knew you'd see it my way."

She spun on her heel and walked out before she said something that would get her fired. She had no idea what she'd just gotten herself into. But one thing was certain.

Working for Michele Richardson was going to be absolute hell.