Owned By My Ex’s Father

Leah's POV

Five of us.

That's how many people made it to the final round for the Personal Assistant position at Harrington Group.

That means I have a one-in-five chance of my life changing today.

No pressure.

I've been sitting in this waiting area for twenty minutes, watching the others get called in one by one, and my leg hasn't stopped fidgeting since I arrived.

I need this job.

Harrington Group isn't just any company—it's the dream company. It's one of the biggest real estate companies in New York. Getting this position would change everything for me. The salary alone could wipe out two years of debt.

"Leah Elliot."

I rise to my feet before the receptionist even finishes saying my name.

The walk to the CEO's office feels like slow motion. My palms are slightly sweaty. I smooth down my blazer and inhale.

You've prepared for this.

You can do this.

I knock.

"Come in." His deep voice answers from inside the office.

I open the door and immediately take in the view. The office is massive. It has floor-to-ceiling windows, a skyline view and exquisite furniture.

My eyes fall on him next.

Nathan Harrington, CEO of Harrington Group.

He is standing by the filing cabinet along the side wall, pulling drawers open with clear frustration, his jaw tight and brow furrowed.

I'd Googled him, of course. Everyone does. But pictures did absolutely nothing to prepare me for the real thing.

He's in his mid-forties, dressed in a dark tailored suit that you can tell hides muscle underneath. His jaw is sharply defined, lined with a light stubble, complemented by a straight Greek nose and piercing green eyes.

God.

He's perfect.

"Sit down," he says without looking up, flipping through a folder. "I just need to grab something, then we'll start."

I sit in the chair across from the desk, exactly where I was told, and clasp my hands in my lap.

I watch as he continues with his ransacking.

He flips past the same section twice, and something catches my eye. The file he keeps returning to, the one he's clearly trying to cross-reference, the text on the open page isn't English.

It's Mandarin.

Maybe he can't read it. That's why he looks lost. He doesn't even know what he's searching for within it.

I could help.

The thought arrives before I can stop it. I could walk over there right now and find what he needs in under a minute. It would be the simplest thing in the world.

But then, would that be too forward? I haven't even been interviewed yet. He might find it presumptuous.

He glances back at me once he catches me staring.

A short, quiet chuckle escapes him. "Sorry about this." He lifts the open folder slightly. "I'm looking for the Zheng acquisition summary. It should be filed in here somewhere. I'll get to it as soon as I can get past this Mandarin..."

I smile. Guess I was right.

"Mr. Harrington." I rise to my feet. "May I?"

He pauses, surprised. Then he steps aside.

I move to the cabinet. We're both standing now, close enough for me to catch the faint scent of his cologne—expensive, with a hint of cedar. I push the thought away and focus on the files.

A quick scan through the tabs reveals the system is slightly disorganised, but the logic is still clear if you know how to read it.

I find the Zheng file in under a minute, tucked behind a misfiled London report.

"Here you go." I pull the file free and turn to hand it to him.

He reaches for it at the same moment, and his fingers close over mine before I've let go.

Our eyes accidentally meet in that instant and heat flushes my face.

The moment lingers a second too long, long enough for the awareness of how close we're standing to settle between us, and an awkward tension flickers in the air before we both look away almost at the same time.

He clears his throat and takes the folder while I smile and walk back to my seat.

"Impressive," he says as he walks back to his desk. "So you understand Mandarin."

He pulls out his chair and sits, his gaze settling on me. "But stepping in like that before the interview even began... you may have just failed your first test."

I almost choke in disbelief. "Test?"

"Yes." He nods calmly. "Surely you didn't think I'd let you look through actual confidential files before you're even hired."

Shoot. I knew I should have just stayed put.

Right after, he pulls my résumé toward him and gives it a quick scan, and I watch as his eyes light up when something catches his attention.

"You were previously PA to Gerald Osei at Osei Capital?"

"Yes. For three years."

"Gerald's a good friend of mine." He leans back. "Small world."

He glances down again, but something makes him pause mid-page. He looks back up at me, slower this time.

"Actually... I think he mentioned you once."

My stomach drops.

"You're the assistant who left his children unattended at a charity gala, correct?"

I stare at him in shock. "Well, that's not entirely what happened."

He sets the resume flat on the desk and folds his hands. "Then tell me what did."

"I had a fever that morning, but I still came in so Gerald wouldn't be short for the event. I managed the gala for four hours before I nearly passed out." I keep my voice steady. "Before I left, I confirmed with his head of security that he was with the children. They weren't unattended."

He's quiet. His expression doesn't shift. "You should have told Gerald you were ill."

"I know that now. At the time I thought showing up was the right call."

"And the security lead was with them when you left? You're certain?"

"Completely certain." I hold his gaze, agitation creeping into my voice. "I wouldn't have left them like that. I'm not that kind of person, Nathan, I—"

I stop.

My mouth stays open for a second, the rest of the sentence evaporating completely.

His brow lifts in surprise.

I curse at myself internally.

This is what I get. After reading seventeen articles about the man, somewhere between his Forbes profile and his company bio, my brain apparently decided we were on a first name basis.

"I mean... er, Mr. Harrington." I close my mouth and start again, my voice quieter. "I'm sorry. That was—I apologise."

A slow "Mm" escapes his mouth and he drops his eyes back to the resume without a word.

The silence is uncomfortable.

He turns another page, pauses, then closes the resume. "Your resume is impressive, Ms. Elliot." He clasps his hands on the desk. "But everyone has an impressive resume. And so far, you're not exactly winning me over."

I exhale slowly, pressing my lips together to keep the frustration from slipping out.

I can't afford to fail this interview. I just can't.

"I'm going to ask you three questions now," he begins. "Your answers will determine whether I consider you for this position at all. Understood?"

"Understood."

This is it.

He leans forward, elbows resting on the desk. "Do you follow instructions, or question them?"

It's a strange first question. I think before I answer. "I follow instructions. But if my experience tells me there's a better approach, one that genuinely benefits my employer, I'll say so respectfully."

He gives no reaction. "Second question. I'm not only a CEO, I'm also a public figure with a big name. If someone offered you money for information about me, would you take it?"

"No."

He tilts his head slightly. "No hesitation?"

"None." I keep my voice even. "My discretion isn't for sale, regardless of the amount."

He leans back in his chair, studying me for a moment, then, "Last question. Since you've just said your discretion is priceless... I still want you to tell me, after working for Gerald for three years, what would you say is the worst mistake he ever made."

I go still. I know things about Gerald. Real things. But the question isn't really about Gerald, and we both know it.

Nathan watches me, patient. "This answer may determine whether you leave this office employed or unemployed."

"No one is without mistakes, including Gerald. But discussing a former employer's errors in a job interview is a betrayal of professional trust I'm not willing to make." I hold his gaze. "If I won't do it to Gerald, Mr. Harrington, I won't do it to you."

He looks at me for a long moment.

Then the corner of his mouth lifts, barely there, gone almost as soon as it appears and he rises to his feet.

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Elliot."

His tone is unreadable. I stand, shake his hand firmly, and turn toward the door.

My hand is on the handle when something makes me pause. I don't even know why. Instinct, maybe. I glance back over my shoulder.

He's watching me. Almost like he's checking me out with curiosity.

The moment he realizes I've caught him, his gaze drops back to the folder on his desk, expression perfectly composed.

Like nothing happened.

I turn back to the door and walk out, and it's only in the elevator that I let myself breathe.

I run through everything in my head: the filing test, the Gerald story, calling him Nathan. I'm almost certain I've failed this interview.

This might be the last time I get to look at his handsome face.

I sigh and push the thought away, stepping out into the afternoon.

Two days later, my phone rings at 9:32 a.m.

It's a call from HR. "Congratulations, Ms. Elliot. We'd like to offer you the position."