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I spent the rest of that day sorting through my wardrobe. Preston’s office was unlikely to be anything like ExecuSpace, and I knew I’d have to exhibit a certain amount of decorum. I couldn’t use the check to afford new clothes—not until Monday, anyway—so I chose the only dress I had that could be considered anything close to “high fashion” and paired it with some nude heels I hadn’t worn since I’d got them.

I would have preferred not to wear heels at all. They weren’t my thing. They made my feet hurt, my knees ache, and I’d read all the studies warning me about the long-term damage I was inflicting upon myself by wearing them. Unfortunately, the men who ran these kinds of companies hadn’t gotten the memo—or otherwise didn’t care—which meant that heels were still considered “professional attire” for women, and that meant I had to either put up with them or settle for an equally-unsupportive pair of flats.

In the end, I chose the heels. Flats might have saved my calves, sure, but I could never find a pair that fit right. I’d spend the whole day feeling the backs of them scraping off the skin from my ankles and heels, and I’d come home either bleeding or blistered. Until I got a feel for what Preston would and wouldn’t allow, heels it was.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I was too nervous, too excited, too terrified to doze off. I kept wondering what Preston the boss, rather than Preston the brother, would be like. I wondered if I wasn’t in over my head. Maybe personal assistants to men like him did a lot more than what I’d learned in my ten years of experience working in the field. I didn’t want to screw up and find myself out on my ass yet again for the second time in less than a week.

Preston didn’t strike me as the type, though. Despite everything I’d ever thought about family, he treated me with respect and kindness, if our outing on Friday was any indication. He seemed genuinely to like my company, which hopefully meant that we’d get along. I just hoped he wasn’t expecting perfection and that he would help me correct my mistakes instead of jumping down my throat about them.

Calm down, I told myself when midnight rolled around. Not everyone in the world is your mother, or Tyler, or Miguel, for that matter.

It was still nerve-wracking, though, and when my alarm went off at six a.m., I’d barely slept a wink.

“What a great way to start my first day,” I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as the first amber rays of sunlight tickled my face through the blinds. I needed a hot shower and an even hotter cup of coffee if I was going to be able to count this day as salvageable.

I’d made plans for what bus would take me to Preston’s office and when, but when I hurried downstairs, I found a car waiting for me. This one looked more like what I would have expected from the Harveys: a black town car with a white-gloved driver standing outside, looking up at me and shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Miss Hearst?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I said, carefully taking the next few steps down to where he was parked. I felt like I was going to snap my ankle. I knew I should have gone with a kitten heel. “I take it Preston sent you?”

“Yes, miss,” he replied, opening the back door for me. “I’ll be taking you to his office today. But first, I’m to ensure you’ve had a good breakfast. Let me know where to stop, miss. Anywhere you’d like.”

I slid into the backseat, buckling my seatbelt as the driver closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. As he sat down and shifted into drive, I told him, “Honestly, I’m not really a breakfast person…”

The driver frowned. “Mr. Harvey asked me not to bring you to the office until eight-thirty, miss. I think he has some sort of meeting to attend to before then, and he doesn’t want you waiting around.”

“I’m fine with waiting,” I assured him. I met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry—we haven’t really been introduced.”

“I’m Gordon, miss. Or Mr. Fletcher. Whichever you’d prefer.” He was an older man, white-haired and rugged, but when he spoke it was like listening to pure velvet. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, if Mr. Harvey offered me a free breakfast, I wouldn’t waste the opportunity. There’s a place downtown called Nero’s that does a fantastic omelet, or if you’d prefer, we could stop at one of the chains…”

I smiled at him. “Really, it’s not necessary. I’ll let Preston… er, Mr. Harvey know that he can treat me to lunch, instead. Besides, if I get in a little early, I can get the lay of the land before he gets out of his meeting. I’d count that as an advantage, wouldn’t you?”

Mr. Fletcher shrugged. “I suppose so. If you insist, Miss Hearst…”

I leaned back and relaxed as Mr. Fletcher pulled away from the curb and turned out of my apartment complex. It calmed me to know that I might have some time to myself in the office before Preston knew I was there. His previous assistant might have left some notes I could go over while I was waiting, something that could give me a head start on performing my new job duties. I always liked having a leg up, and for the first time since Preston had offered me the position, I felt confident.

It was a deceptively long ride to his office. Maybe it just felt that way because he wasn’t in the car to have a conversation with to pass the time, although Mr. Fletcher did a good enough job of keeping me entertained. He was a really kind man, and I felt a little guilty that he had to come all the way out to my apartment so early in the morning to ensure I made it to work. I’d have to look into getting a car sometime soon—a used one. I didn’t want to blow my signing bonus all in one place.

Mr. Fletcher pulled up to a building that didn’t look at all like an office. In fact, it reminded me of a small Tuscan villa more than anything else. It had those terracotta roof tiles I’d always seen in pictures and columns out front that seemed way too majestic for a mere base of operations. With the gate out front and the fountain gushing beyond it, it was definitely not what I was expecting.

Hell, I could fit my apartment in there five times over, I thought as I looked up at it. And I owned a two-bedroom.

Mr. Fletcher waited at the gate as it opened, prompted by the transponder attached to the visor of his car. “Mr. Harvey likes to keep things… homey,” he explained, driving through. “He spends a lot of time here. He’s even got a small bedroom set up for those nights when he just can’t get away. There’s a kitchen, too. Do you cook?”

“Yes,” I answered. “But only for myself…” I thought my skills were adequate, but what if Preston didn’t? Was that something he expected out of a PA? It wasn’t even something I had considered.

A new level of apprehension washed over me as Mr. Fletcher made his way up the circular drive to the front of the office. He parked, looking over his shoulder at me as he said, “You’ll be fine, miss. Mr. Harvey’s not a bad guy, and you seem like a smart girl. You’ll do well.”

“Thanks,” I said, though I was sure my lips were trembling. I let him open the door for me before stepping out of the car and mounting the stone steps leading up to Preston’s office-cum-villa.

Two beautiful wooden double doors towered above me at the entryway. As I neared, I saw they were marked by an intricate set of carvings, filigree mostly, but with a touch of vines and grapes here and there. They were beautiful yet imposing, just like the office itself was, and I found myself turning over my shoulder to look down at Mr. Fletcher and his car once again.

Mr. Fletcher nodded reassuringly. I could see confidence in his eyes, a confidence I myself no longer had. But it was enough to spur me forward, and I took a deep breath before pulling on one of the great handles and letting myself in to Preston Harvey’s inner sanctum.

The inside was just as impressive as the outside, a gleaming chamber of earth-tone walls and rustic stone tile. It felt so warm, so inviting, not at all like I’d expected his office to be. Not that Preston wasn’t a warm and inviting man, perhaps in more ways than I wanted to admit right then, but I’d always figured a billionaire’s office for something cold and harsh, a testament to his power and authority. Mr.

Fletcher was right. This felt like a home.

“Hello?” I called out, unsure of where I ought to turn to next. I was a little overwhelmed by the size of it all. Should I have ascended the stairs up to the second floor, or stay on the first and poke my head into all the rooms in search of what I was looking for? Someone else had to be working there other than me, surely. I walked in a bit farther after not receiving an answer.

I froze as I heard a door slamming, followed immediately by the unmistakable sounds of a woman crying. Then the door in front of me burst open, and I saw the source of all the sobbing.

“You bastard!” she screamed, her voice already hoarse from what must have been a prolonged outburst. “You unimaginable bastard! I can’t fucking believe you! You can’t do this. You need me!”

I wanted to duck around the corner and hide, but there was no use. My knees were jelly and my high heels would give me away besides. I stayed still, hoping that somehow the red-haired woman screaming at who I could only imagine to be Preston wouldn’t see me.

“Fuck you!” she added as black rivers of mascara poured down her face. “You fucking used me. I swear to God, Preston, I’ll make you sorry if it’s the last thing I do!”

And with that she turned, barreling straight toward me. I thought she might crash into me, but as I backed up a pace, she seemed to realize where she was and stopped.

Her big brown eyes widened even further, though her brow furrowed first in shock, then in rage. I could see her clutching the strap of her very expensive purse so tightly that her nails were digging into her palms.