More Than His Secretary

“I give you two more months to pay your debt. If not, I’m going to come for you and every member of your damned family to make sure you all suffer till you die.”

Imagine waking up and this is the first thing you see in the morning.

Yeah, not great.

I rub my eyes, still trying to shake off whatever is left of my sleep, but the weight of the message keeps pulling me down. I glance at it again and read it two more times.

I slap my face against my palm in frustration and make a mental note to stop picking up my phone the first thing when I wake up in the morning. Ever since I installed the TikTok app on my phone, I've been hooked.

My excuse is that I have nightmares almost every night so my morning routine consists of me scrolling through funny videos for an hour or more to get the bad dreams out of my head and give me enough dopamine to last methrough the day. I know it's very unhealthy but I can't just help myself.

Sitting in bed now, I check the number which sent the message, it is an unsaved number and starts with +1 (210) which means it's from Texas so I already know who sent it, even if I didn't figure it out already from the content of the message.

Damn, I'm in big trouble. Two months. That’s all I have.

This thought makes my chest pound in fear. I need to calm down. Think straight. I rush to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face before staring at myself in the mirror. My reflection does little to comfort me.

My chestnut brown hair is all messy and it falls in tangled curls over my shoulder. I stare into my hazel eyes. Wait, are those eyebags?

As I continue to stare, the pounding in my head becomes impossible to ignore.

The hangover hits me full force now, along with the foggy memories of last night’s reckless drinking. I can't even tell if my headache is because of the hangover or from the weight of the message I received. Probably a combination of both.

I press my palm to my forehead, trying to dull the pain. “Aria, what are you even thinking?” I mutter to myself, leaning over the sink.

I close my eyes and splash more water on my face. Suddenly, I hear my phone buzzing from the room. I go back to the room, pick it up and stare at the screen through blurry eyes. 8:45 AM.

Wait. Something about that time feels off—

Oh my God. My heart sinks.

I have a job interview at 9:30.

“Shit!” I throw the phone down on the bed. My brain scrambles to process everything. I rush back to the bathroom and have a quick shower. Back in my bedroom, my clothes are scattered everywhere, and I fumble to find something decent to wear.

How could I have forgotten something so important? My mind is still half-occupied with the threat I received but I can’t let that cost me this job. This is my shot at a fresh start, away from the scandal, the debt... everything.

Putting on a pair of slacks and a blouse, I dash back into the bathroom, barely running a comb through my tangled hair. There’s no time for makeup, no time for anything. I grab my bag and sprint out the door, praying I won’t be late.

I quickly hail a cab and jump in, barely managing to close the door before shouting, “Crane Industries, please! And fast.” The driver glances at me through the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow, but says nothing as he pulls into traffic.

The cab drives through the busy streets, and I keep glancing at the time on my phone. 9:05. If traffic stays light, I might just make it in time. My mind spins from the realization that I’m minutes away from potentially landing a job at one of the biggest companies in the city, if I don’t blow it.

Unfortunately, traffic is a nightmare. Just as we get to the building, I check my time. Crap! 9:35. I know I should quickly get out and go in, but I’m starving. My head is still pounding from the hangover. At least, even if I have no time to eat, I need coffee. Desperately.

I hop out of the cab and spot a café directly opposite the company. I dash across the street, barely checking the traffic, and swing open the door to the small café. The scent of freshly brewed coffee hits me instantly, soothing the hangover headache that’s still hammering at my skull. I order the largest cup they have, practically tossing the cash onto the counter.

I need this, I think, holding the cup like it’s my last lifeline.

With caffeine finally in hand, I take small sips as I cross the street and walk to the front of the company building. Okay, I tell myself. You can do this, Aria.

As I’m about to step into the building, a sleek black car pulls up beside me, immediately grabbing my attention. Out steps a sharply dressed man, and the first thing I notice about him are his blue eyes, deep blue like the ocean.

Does he work here? I wondered as I stared at him.

His face is all sharp features. Strong jawline, high cheekbones, lips that rest in a confident half-smile. His skin is warm, sun-kissed against the white collar of his shirt, with a few strands of dark hair falling loose over his face.

As he walk towards me, I notice he looks kind of familiar. I couldn’t care less though, I have to go in now. As I turn to walk past him, he glances at me directly, sending a shiver down my spine.

My stomach does a little flip, and suddenly, everything about him is hot, way too hot. I can feel my pulse racing, my cheeks heating up as I steal another glance.

That’s when I completely lose focus, my balance slipping just as my hand jerks, and I collide right into him, my coffee splattering all over his suit.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” I exclaim, panic washing over me.

His half-smile disappears and he glances down at his ruined suit. “Do you work here?” he demands, voice low and edged with irritation.

“Yes! I mean, I—” I stutter, my nerves getting the best of me. I almost correct myself, but the words are stuck in my throat.

“What’s your name?” he asks, cutting me off, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“Aria,” I manage to reply, my heart racing. I open my mouth to explain, to say I’m not actually employed yet, but before I can utter another word, he shoots back, “Aria what?”

“I’m Aria Cole but...”

“Note that down” he says to a short, stout looking guy who just emerged from the building to meet him.

“Note what sir?” the man asks, eyes darting between the two of us.

“Her name is Aria Cole. And she’s fired”

“What? But I—”

He holds up a hand, silencing me instantly. “I don’t tolerate mistakes. Get out of my sight.”

And just like that, he turns and walks into the building, leaving me standing there with my coffee-soaked hand.

Wait! Oh my God, no wonder he looked so familiar. I’ve seen this face before, when I was about to apply for this job and was checking details about the company online. He’s Mr. Crane, the CEO of Crane Group, the very company I’m standing in front of.

The company where I’m supposed to interview for a secretary position.

Uh-oh.

I think I just gave my potential boss a coffee shower.