The CEO's Secret

Amara Bennett hated being late.

Not because she believed punctuality was some sacred measure of a person's character, but because being late gave other people an opportunity to assume they had the upper hand.

And Amara Bennett had spent too much of her life making sure nobody had the upper hand.

She glanced at the time on her phone.

8:47 a.m.

“Perfect.”

She slipped the phone into her handbag and stepped out of the taxi.

The glass façade of Kingsley Group rose above her, impossibly tall against the pale London sky. Twenty-eight floors of steel, glass and money.

The kind of building that seemed designed to remind everyone walking through its doors exactly how much they had to lose.

Amara adjusted the strap of her bag and looked up.

She had been here once before.

She had no intention of making a habit of it.

“Ms Bennett?”

She turned.

A woman in a navy suit stood by the entrance, holding a tablet against her chest.

“Yes?”

“I'm Sophie. Mr Kingsley's executive assistant.”

Of course he had an executive assistant.

Probably several.

Sophie smiled politely. “He's expecting you.”

Amara resisted the urge to look behind her.

“That's reassuring.”

Sophie blinked.

Amara smiled.

“Sorry. Long morning.”

The woman laughed softly. “I know the feeling.”

They walked inside.

The lobby was exactly what Amara had expected.

Expensive.

Quiet.

Intimidating.

There were polished marble floors beneath their feet, enormous arrangements of white flowers positioned like carefully calculated pieces of art, and a reception desk so sleek that Amara was fairly certain it cost more than her first car.

Employees moved through the space with the hurried confidence of people who knew exactly where they were going.

Amara followed Sophie towards the lifts.

“Twenty-eighth floor,” Sophie said.

“Of course.”

The lift doors opened.

Amara stepped inside.

As they began to rise, she caught her reflection in the mirrored wall.

Black trousers. Cream blouse. Black heels. Hair pulled into a neat low bun.

Professional.

Composed.

Completely unaffected by the fact that she was about to meet one of the most powerful men in the country.

At least, that was what she wanted the reflection to believe.

“Have you worked with Mr Kingsley long?” she asked.

“Three years.”

Amara raised an eyebrow.

“And you're still smiling?”

Sophie laughed.

“He's not as terrifying as people make him sound.”

“That's usually what people say about terrifying people.”

“He's demanding.”

“That's a nicer word.”

“He expects excellence.”

“That's an even nicer word.”

Sophie looked at her.

Amara smiled innocently.

“I'm just saying.”

The lift doors opened.

The twenty-eighth floor was quieter than the lobby.

Much quieter.

There was no reception desk in sight. Just a wide corridor, dark wood, glass walls and an uninterrupted view of London stretching beyond the windows.

Sophie led her towards a set of double doors.

“Before we go in,” she said, “there's something you should know.”

Amara stopped.

“That sounds ominous.”

“He's had a difficult morning.”

“Does he have difficult mornings often?”

“Usually.”

“Wonderful.”

Sophie smiled.

Then she knocked.

A deep voice came from inside.

“Come in.”

Sophie opened the door.

Amara stepped inside.

And met Damian Kingsley.

Her first thought was that he was younger than she expected.

Her second was that the photographs had done him no justice.

He stood behind a massive walnut desk, dressed in a charcoal suit that looked as though it had been tailored specifically for him. His tie was loosened slightly, the top button of his white shirt undone.

He wasn't smiling.

His attention was fixed on the document in his hand.

He didn't look up immediately.

Amara waited.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Fifteen.

She glanced at Sophie.

Sophie gave her an apologetic look before quietly leaving the room.

The door closed.

Amara looked back at the man behind the desk.

Still nothing.

She cleared her throat.

“Mr Kingsley?”

His eyes lifted.

And suddenly, Amara understood why people found him intimidating.

It wasn't because he was loud.

He wasn't.

It wasn't because he looked angry.

He didn't.

It was the stillness.

Damian Kingsley had the kind of presence that made a room feel smaller without him having to do anything.

His eyes moved over her face, then briefly to the folder beneath her arm.

“Ms Bennett.”

His voice was calm.

Low.

Controlled.

“Yes.”

“You're early.”

Amara almost laughed.

She glanced at the clock.

“I thought I was late.”

“You're three minutes early.”

“Then I suppose we have different definitions of late.”

Something flickered in his expression.

Not quite a smile.

Interesting.

He closed the document.

“Sit.”

Amara took the chair opposite his desk.

She placed her folder on her lap.

Damian remained standing for another moment before walking around the desk and taking the seat opposite her.

Up close, he was even more intimidating.

But Amara had learned something early in life.

Power only worked when you allowed yourself to be impressed by it.

So she wasn't going to be impressed.

At least, she wasn't going to let him know if she was.

“I've read your proposal,” he said.

“And?”

“I have questions.”

“Good.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Good?”

“If you didn't have questions, I'd assume you weren't interested.”

He studied her.

“You're confident.”

“I know my work.”

“There's a difference.”

“There is.”

Silence.

Amara held his gaze.

He didn't look away.

Neither did she.

Finally, Damian leaned back.

“The Kingsley Foundation is launching a new initiative next quarter. We need someone to oversee the brand strategy and external communications.”

Amara nodded.

“I understand.”

“I don't think you do.”

She frowned slightly.

“What don't I understand?”

“This isn't a normal contract.”

She waited.

“The project involves several of our subsidiaries, international partners and a significant public-facing campaign. There will be considerable pressure.”

“I can handle pressure.”

“I didn't say you couldn't.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That everyone who has worked on this project so far has underestimated the amount of work involved.”

Amara smiled.

“Then they hired the wrong people.”

For the first time, Damian smiled.

Barely.

But she saw it.

It changed his face.

And annoyingly, it made him more attractive.

Amara immediately looked down at her folder.

She had not come here to notice his smile.

She had come here to secure a contract.

Damian noticed.

Of course he did.

“You've worked with organisations of this size before?”

“Not this size.”

“Then why should I hire you?”

There it was.

The question she'd been expecting.

Amara opened her folder and pulled out a presentation.

“Because you don't need someone who has worked with Kingsley Group before.”

She placed the first page on the desk.

“You need someone who can identify what isn't working and fix it.”

Another page.

“You need someone who understands that your audience isn't interested in how successful your company is. They're interested in what your company means to them.”

Another.

“And you need someone willing to tell you when you're wrong.”

Damian looked at the pages.

Then at her.

“Are you willing to tell me when I'm wrong?”

“If you are.”

His mouth curved.

“I am.”

“Then yes.”

He leaned back in his chair.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then he said, “You're hired.”

Amara blinked.

She had prepared for negotiation.

She had prepared for questions.

She had prepared to defend every figure in her proposal.

She had not prepared for that.

“Excuse me?”

“You're hired.”

“That was fast.”

“I don't like wasting time.”

“Neither do I.”

“Good.”

He stood and walked towards the windows.

Amara watched him.

London stretched behind him, grey and magnificent.

“You'll start Monday.”

She closed her folder.

“Actually, I can't.”

Damian turned.

“No?”

“I have another commitment.”

“What commitment?”

“My life.”

He stared at her.

Amara held his gaze.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

A genuine laugh this time.

Low and brief.

It caught her completely off guard.

“I see,” he said.

“I assume you don't usually hear that.”

“Not from people who want to work for me.”

“I'm not desperate for the job.”

“I know.”

Something about the way he said it made her pause.

He returned to his desk and picked up a card.

“You'll receive the contract this afternoon.”

He held it out.

Amara stood and took it.

Their fingers brushed.

It was nothing.

Barely a second.

Yet something strange passed through her.

She pulled her hand back first.

“Thank you.”

“Ms Bennett.”

She stopped at the door.

“Yes?”

Damian looked at her for a moment.

“You're going to be difficult.”

Amara smiled.

“I've been called worse.”

She opened the door.

“And Mr Kingsley?”

“Yes?”

“I expect to be paid well for it.”

His smile returned.

“I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Amara walked out.

The door closed behind her.

She exhaled.

Only then did she realise she had been holding her breath.

She looked down at the card in her hand.

DAMIAN KINGSLEY

CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER

KINGSLEY GROUP

She slipped it into her handbag.

It was just a job.

A very well-paid job.

With a powerful client.

Nothing more.

And she intended to keep it that way.

What Amara didn't know was that Damian Kingsley had already made one decision she hadn't been told about.

And it had nothing to do with the contract.

It had to do with her.