Chapter 3 3

WHERE ARE WE GOING?! Jane’s inner voice shrieked. IS THERE A DUNGEON IN THE BASEMENT?! IS HE TRASHING MY RESUME?!

She stood up on shaky legs, smoothing down her plain trousers, and followed him into his glass-walled office. The moment she stepped over the threshold, William reached back and clicked the door shut, locking it with a heavy, ominous thud. 

He then pressed a button on the wall, and the smart-glass windows instantly frosted over, blinding the outside world from everything happening inside.

Jane swallowed a lump the size of a golf ball. Okay, cool. This is how I die. Murdered by a gorgeous billionaire because my coffee temperature was off by one degree.

"Sit," William commanded softly, gesturing to the leather sofa against the wall rather than the cold chairs in front of his desk.

Jane stiffly walked over and hovered at the absolute edge of the cushion, sitting as upright as a wooden plank.

William strolled over, every movement oozing predator-like confidence. He reached into his inner suit pocket, his fingers brushing against the red box tucked safely near his chest. 

He wasn't going to pull it out just yet. No, he was going to make her confess first. He wanted to hear her say it.

He lowered himself onto the sofa, sliding intentionally close to her—so close that his broad shoulder brushed against hers. Jane flinched, staring straight ahead at a painting on the wall like it held the secret to life.

"You seem tense, Jane," William murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerously intimate murmur. 

He raised a hand, his long fingers hovering just an inch from her face as if contemplating pulling the pins out of her tight hair. "There's no need to hide anymore. The cat is out of the bag."

The cat?! Jane’s eyes darted sideways, her brain racing at a million miles an hour. Which cat?! The typo I made on the Q2 reports?! The time I called him a 'miserable ice cube' under my breath in the breakroom?!

"I... I don't know what you mean, Mr. Reynold," Jane squeaked out, her voice cracking slightly.

William let out a low, rich chuckle that vibrated straight through Jane's spine.

"Still playing innocent?" he asked, tilting his head, his blue eyes glittering with unbearable satisfaction. "You can drop the act. You’ve been keeping this inside for two years, haven't you? Bottling it up... watching me from across the room... waiting for the right moment to slip past my defenses."

Jane froze, her jaw slightly unhinging. WAIT. DOES HE KNOW I’VE BEEN STEALING THE EMBOSSED REYNOLD INC. NOTEPADS FOR MY COLLEGE STUDY NOTES?! TWO YEARS OF STATIONERY THEFT?! IS THAT WHAT THIS IS?!

"Sir, I can explain!" Jane blurted out, turning her head to face him, her face flushing bright red from absolute embarrassment. "I only took them because they were high quality, and I needed them, but I swear I can pay for them!"

William blinked, momentarily thrown off by her strange choice of words—took them? Pay for them?—before his ego instantly smoothed over the confusion.

Ah, he thought, a dark smirk returning. She's speaking metaphorically. 'Taking' my heart. 'Paying' for her boldness. She's so overwhelmed by her own confession she's speaking in riddles.

"Oh, you'll pay," William whispered, leaning in until his lips were practically touching her ear, sending an absolute shudder down her spine. "But not with money, Miss Pascual. You're going to tell me exactly what you plan to do with that... confession."

His voice echoed softly, blue eyes burning with an intense, heated gaze that Jane had never seen directed at her before.

Holy shit, what the hell? Not the stationery then…

Jane’s brain short-circuited. What confession?! What is he talking about?!

Instead of playing a dangerous guessing game with a billionaire who clearly had a wire crossed, she decided to default to absolute self-preservation. 

A horrific memory instantly flashed in her mind: three weeks ago, she had accidentally spilled ink on one of his bespoke, two-thousand-dollar Italian silk shirts two years ago. 

In a state of pure panic, she had secretly taken it, sacrificed her third month salary, bought an exact duplicate, and put it back in his private executive closet before he noticed.

Did he find out?! Is he calling my dry-cleaning swap a criminal confession?!

"Mr. Reynold, I sincerely apologize!" Jane blurted out, ducking her head in deep remorse. "If this is about the silk, I was going to tell you! I took full responsibility and replaced it out of my own pocket, I swear!"

William froze for a fraction of a second, his brain processing her words through a thick filter of supreme vanity.

Silk, he thought, his ego beaming to absolute capacity. She's talking about the red silk lace. She bought it out of her own pocket just for me, and she’s already apologizing for being so bold.

A victorious, self-satisfied smile spread across his handsome face. He pulled back slightly, smoothing down his lapels, practically vibrating with pride. The shy little mouse was so overwhelmed by her own passionate mistake that she was practically trembling.

"Apology accepted, Jane," William said, his voice dripping with triumphant velvet. "In fact, I think such a brave effort deserves a reward." He stood up, buttoning his jacket with smooth, leisurely grace. "We are having lunch. Right now."

Twenty minutes later, Jane found herself sitting across from him in the most exclusive, hyper-expensive Michelin-star restaurant in Manhattan. The atmosphere was absurdly opulent, bathed in soft golden light, with classical violin music floating through the air.

Before her sat a plate of melt-in-your-mouth A5 Wagyu beef and a mountain of handmade truffle pasta that probably cost more than her blazer.

Jane held her fork with rigid precision, staring down at the multi-thousand-dollar meal with absolute dread.

Is this how a cow feels right before it gets butchered? She panicked internally, her stomach tying itself into tight knots despite how incredible the food smelled. 

He’s fattening me up so I don't sue the company when he fires me! Or worse... is he dying?! Is this his last meal wish, to torture his secretary with kindness?!

However, Jane was a seasoned professional. She had two full years of experience reading this man's moods, and she wasn't about to lose her cool now. She wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin, sitting up straight, and forced her face back into her signature, unbothered, frigid mask.

"Sir," Jane began in her flattest, most analytical voice. "Is everything alright with the Japan merger? Because I am having a difficult time understanding... whatever this is."

She eyed him cautiously, her mind genuinely racing through practical solutions. 

Should I discreetly contact human resources? Book him an urgent appointment with a top-tier psychiatric specialist? The man is clearly suffering from extreme executive burnout and severe psychological stress.

William, meanwhile, took a slow, elegant sip of his vintage red wine, watching her icy composure with utter fascination. 

He loved the little game she was playing, acting like the stiff, professional secretary while sitting across from him at a romantic lunch, her heart no doubt doing backflips behind her plain white blouse.

"There is nothing wrong with the merger, Jane," William murmured, leaning over the table, his eyes locked onto hers with unbearable intensity. "This lunch is entirely about us. You don't have to keep up the icy act anymore. You've already laid all your cards on the table."