🖤 OWNED

KIMBERLY

The glass doors hissed shut behind her, sealing her inside the world of DeWitt Enterprises — high ceilings, chrome fixtures, and money in the air.

Kimberly Monroe had walked into her fair share of boardrooms. Hell, she’d funded half the startups in this building. But this? This was the first time she’d ever stepped inside pretending to be someone else.

Just an applicant.

Just a potential assistant.

Just a girl in heels, looking for a job.

The irony tickled her.

She adjusted the silk blouse that skimmed her curves, the high-waisted trousers that hugged her hips like a second skin, and the thin gold necklace that dipped between her cleavage. Every inch of her was composed, tailored — soft power. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and approached the reception desk.

“Kimberly Monroe, here for the eleven o’clock,” she said, smiling politely.

The receptionist nodded, eyes dipping to Kimberly’s chest — not judgmental, just… human.

“Take a seat. Mr. DeWitt will see you shortly.”

Kim sat, crossing her legs at the ankle. Calm. Still. Her heart was steady, but her blood felt electric. This wasn’t nerves.

This was lust, barely caged.

She had no business being here. Not really. Her real assistant — Gloria, loyal and terrified of wrinkles — had nearly choked when Kim told her she was applying for a job.

But Kimberly had smiled, slow and secretive.

“I want a break,” she’d said.

“What kind of break?”

“The kind where someone tells me what to do.”

And just like that, she’d found her target.

Michael DeWitt.

CEO. Billionaire. Grump in a suit. The man moved like power made flesh. He didn’t do press. He didn’t date publicly. He didn’t smile. But he ruled this city’s skyline from the top of a tower he’d built — metaphorically, maybe, but Kimberly didn’t care.

She’d seen him once before. From across a gala. A dark suit. A darker scowl. Eyes that watched people like chess pieces he was too bored to move.

She’d wanted him since then.

But she wasn’t the type to chase.

She was the type to position herself. And today, that position was: his personal assistant.

“Mr. DeWitt will see you now,” the receptionist called.

Kim stood.

And walked into the fire.

MIKE

He didn’t look up when the door opened.

He never did — not anymore. Applicants were all the same: nervous, underprepared, forgettable. He didn’t need a babysitter; he needed a wall. Someone to absorb the chaos of his world without flinching. Someone who wouldn’t try to get under his skin.

Then he heard her voice.

“Good morning, Mr. DeWitt.”

Smooth. Low. Controlled.

Different.

He looked up.

And his entire body responded like he’d been struck.

She was… stunning. Tall, rich brown skin glowing against the black of her blouse, full lips glossed to perfection, and curves that made his hands twitch. Her eyes were warm and intelligent — but guarded. Like she was letting him see just enough.

“Sit,” he said. His voice came out rougher than usual.

She sat. Legs crossed. Back straight. Not stiff — composed. Regal. Like she wasn’t here to beg for the job. She was interviewing him right back.

He flipped open her file — though he’d already read it.

“Columbia graduate. Fluent in French, Mandarin, and Arabic. Eight years in project ops, three in strategic development, two in venture support.”

He looked up.

“And now you want to fetch coffee and answer phones?”

Her lips curved slightly.

“I want to keep your world in order so you can do what you do best.”

“And what’s that?”

She tilted her head.

“Dominate.”

Mike’s cock twitched.

Fuck.

She wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t impressed. She was playing. And he couldn’t tell what the hell her angle was.

“You don’t look like an assistant,” he muttered.

“And you don’t look like someone who needs help,” she replied sweetly.

Silence. Sharp. Electric.

She didn’t fidget. Didn’t blink too much. Just held his gaze like a dare.

He liked her.

No — he wanted her.

And that was going to make this very fucking complicated.

KIMBERLY

He was even hotter up close.

Mike DeWitt looked like he’d been carved from sin. Tall. Broad. A clean-shaven jaw wrapped in a thick, perfectly groomed beard. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing powerful forearms dusted with dark hair — and ink.

A bold black line curled from beneath his right sleeve.

Tattooed. Powerful. Controlled.

Kim squeezed her thighs together.

She knew how to play these games. She knew how to stay cool. But sitting three feet away from a man who looked like a storm in a tailored shirt and stared at her like he was two seconds from dragging her across the desk?

Yeah. That was new.

“Why this job?” he asked again. Flat tone. Curious eyes.

She gave him a version of the truth.

“I’ve run teams. I’ve managed projects. I’ve led departments. I’m tired of pretending I enjoy being the boss.”

She smiled.

“I want to support someone else’s mission. Yours.”

He stared.

She held her breath.

One second. Two.

Then he reached into a drawer and pulled out a folder.

“You start Monday.”

She blinked.

That was it?

She stood. Smoothed her pants. Reached for the folder — letting her fingers brush his. His eyes dropped. Just for a second. To the dip of her blouse.

When their eyes met again, her voice was soft.

“Thank you, Mr. DeWitt.”

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t move.

But his voice came low and dark.

“Be on time. Wear black. And don’t call me sir.”