Stranded on an Island with Mr. CEO

　　Ariana's POV

　　Today was Tuesday. It was also the three-hundredth day I had spent at Coop Enterprises. I was currently engaged in a very serious task which was the stapling of reports. If you had told the teenage version of me that I would eventually land a position at a multi-billion-dollar global empire, I probably would have laughed in your face.

　　Coop Enterprises was the kind of company people sold their souls to join. The lobby was all glass and expensive looking, the air smelled like expensive cologne. We didn't just make tech here, we made the tech that made the tech. And at the top of it all sat Nathaniel Coop.

　　He was the city's most eligible bachelor, though "eligible" was a strong word for a man who seemed to have been carved out of a block of ice. I had seen him a few times in the lobby. He was always followed by a wall of security guards and a secretary who looked like she had never eaten junk food in her life. Mr. Coop never looked left or right. He never smiled. He just focused on where he was going like the rest of us were inconsequential beings.

　　"Stapler job again?"

　　I looked up to see Maya leaning over the partition of the cubicle next to mine. Maya was a marketing intern and the only person in this building who didn't make me want to fake my own death to get out of a meeting.

　　"The stapler is a formidable opponent," I said, finally clicking a row of metal into place.

　　Maya laughed. "At least you have a desk. I spent all morning organizing Mr. Henderson's digital filing system. He has a folder named 'Stuff' with four thousand documents in it."

　　"At least 'Stuff' is descriptive," I countered, leaning back in my chair. "I'm currently filing 'Project X-24 Alpha.' It sounds like a secret weapon, but it's actually just a logistics report on office furniture shipments to the Tokyo branch."

　　"Living the dream, Ariana," Maya teased. She glanced toward the elevators. "Did you see him today? The Ice King?"

　　"Mr. Coop? Yeah, I saw the top of his head as he went into the private elevator this morning. He looked very... executive. I think his suit costs more than my college tuition."

　　"He's handsome, though," Maya mused, popping a raisin into her mouth. "In a 'I might fire you for breathing too loudly' kind of way."

　　"He doesn't even know we exist, Maya. We're just the background noise in his very expensive life."

　　My phone buzzed on the desk, vibrating against the wood. I glanced at the screen, and my stomach did a slow, unpleasant roll. The screen read: Dad calling.

　　"I have to take this," I said, my voice losing its sarcastic edge.

　　"Go ahead. I'll keep an eye out for the supervisor," Maya said, her expression softening. She knew my relationship with my family wasn't exactly perfect.

　　I stepped into the stairwell, the heavy door muffling the sounds of the office. I waited for the third ring before answering.

　　"Hello?"

　　"You took your time," my father's voice came through, thick and demanding as always. He didn't say hello. He never did.

　　"I'm at work, Dad. I'm an intern, not the boss. I can't always jump when the phone rings."

　　"Don't give me that smart-mouthed attitude," he snapped. I could hear the clink of glass in the background. It was only 11:00 AM. "I got another notice from the bank. That loan we talked about? I haven't seen the transfer."

　　I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cold concrete wall. "I sent you half of my paycheck on Friday. I need the rest for rent and groceries. I'm living in a studio the size of a closet, Dad."

　　"You're working for the richest man in the country. You're telling me you can't find a way to get a little extra? A bonus? Something?"

　　The fear I had carried since I was sixteen flickered in my chest, a reminder of why I never argued too loudly. My father wasn't just a man who made bad choices. He was a man who knew exactly how to make me feel small and powerless.

　　"I'll see what I can do next week," I whispered. "I have to go. My supervisor is looking for me."

　　"Don't forget who looked after you when nobody else would, Ariana. Send the money."

　　He hung up without a goodbye. I stood in the quiet stairwell for a minute, taking deep breaths. I hated that he still had this much power over my mood. I hated that I was working myself to the bone just to fund his habits. But mostly, I hated that I was too scared to tell him no.

　　I wiped my face, straightened my blazer, and headed back to my desk. I needed to focus. I needed to be an efficient intern so I could keep this job and eventually move far enough away that he couldn't find me.

　　When I got back to my station, Maya was buried in her computer, but there was a shadow hovering over my desk. It was Mr. Miller, my direct supervisor. He was a man who loved spreadsheets and generally ignored me unless I made a mistake.

　　Right now, he looked like he had seen a ghost.

　　"Ariana," he said, his voice sounding a little strangled.

　　"Yes, Mr. Miller? Is something wrong with the Tokyo report? I can redo the formatting if—"

　　"Forget the report," he interrupted, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "Pack your things. Or don't pack them. Just... come with me."

　　I blinked, my heart starting to race. "Am I fired? Did I staple something I wasn't supposed to?"

　　"Fired?" Miller let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh. "No. I just got a call from the executive suite. They need a translator for the 2:00 PM flight to Fiji. Apparently, the lead consultant's father had a heart attack, and the backup is stuck in London. HR went through the files and saw you're fluent in the Southern Dialect."

　　I stared at him. "The Southern Dialect? I mean, yes, my grandmother taught me, but I've never used it for business."

　　"It doesn't matter," Miller said, ushering me out of my cubicle. Maya's head popped up, her eyes wide with shock. "They need someone now. The helicopter leaves from the roof in twenty minutes."

　　"The roof?" I tripped over my own feet. "Mr. Miller, I'm wearing a cheap blazer and I have a half-eaten bagel in my bag. I can't go to a high-level meeting."

　　"You aren't going to a meeting, Tokes. You're going to the 21st floor."

　　I froze. The 21st floor was a myth to people like me. It was Nathaniel Coop's personal domain. It had its own security detail, its own air filtration, and, according to office rumors, floors made of literal gold. Only the board of directors and his hand-picked inner circle ever set foot up there.

　　"The 21st floor?" I repeated, my mouth dropping open. "Why?"

　　"Because Mr. Coop is already by the helicopter," Miller said, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper. "And he doesn't like to be kept waiting. If you aren't up there in five minutes, it's both our heads. Move!"

　　He practically pushed me toward the elevator. It wasn't the regular ones that stopped at every floor to let out tired employees. He swiped a special black keycard against a hidden sensor, and the doors opened to a space lined with dark wood and plush carpeting.

　　"Wait, Mr. Miller!" I said as the doors began to slide shut. "I don't even have a suitcase! How long is this trip?"

　　"Three days," he called out as he vanished behind the closing doors. "Buy what you need on the company card! Good luck, Tokes. Dial down on the sarcasm and try not to say anything stupid!"

　　The elevator lurched into movement. I watched the digital display skip the numbers. 10... 15... 20...

　　When the bell dinged for 21, my stomach stayed on the 10th floor. The doors slid open to reveal a hallway lined with various posh artworks. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the distant, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades spinning on the roof above.

　　Mr. Coop's secretary was waiting for me, wearing a sharp grey suit. She didn't smile. Not shocking.

　　"Ariana Tokes?" she asked.

　　"Yes?" My voice came out as a squeak. I cleared my throat. "Yes. I'm here for the... translation?"

　　"Follow me," she said, turning on her heel. "Mr. Coop is ahead of schedule. We're leaving now."

　　I followed her, my mind spinning. Ten minutes ago, I was worried about a stapler. Now, I was being led toward a private helicopter to fly across the ocean with a man who didn't even know my name.

　　We reached a glass door that led to a staircase. As we climbed, the wind began to rage, and the roar of the engines grew louder, vibrating through the soles of my simple flats.

　　We stepped out onto the helipad. The sun was blinding, and the wind whipped my hair across my face. There, standing by the open door of a sleek, black helicopter, was Nathaniel Coop.

　　He was looking at his watch, his brows furrowed in a look of pure impatience. He looked up, his dark eyes landing on me like I was an ant beneath his shoes. He didn't look happy. I wasn't late, was I?