### CHAPTER NINE The clock struck three p.m. with a decisive chime—precisely the time I had indicated to Chloe that I wanted to go over my schedule for the week. A sharp knock at my door broke the stillness. “Come in,” I called, my voice echoing slightly in the spacious office. From that moment, I couldn’t shake the fact that our interactions today had been minimal. The only significant encounter was outside my office earlier, marked by an impulsive pull that brought her against me, an act I had not planned. Yet, the warmth of her curves lingered in my mind, melding with her intoxicating scent—a tempting mix of vanilla and honey that I found both delightful and maddening. Knowing she smelled so alluring was the last thing I needed. Thank goodness for the late lunch with Cole and Tate, which had offered a welcome reprieve. After their earlier inquisitive prodding, I had steeled myself for an interrogation during our meal. Strangely, though, the topic remained untouched. I suspected that, had I lingered just a little longer, they would’ve worked their way back to it. They took perverse pleasure in riling me up, and I wasn't eager to indulge them. Thus, I made my escape once the plates were cleared. Lately, I had been enjoying my brothers’ company more than I had in years. The chaos surrounding Dad's arrest had inexplicably drawn the three of us back together. Despite the turmoil, the two of them had shifted their focus—discussions now tilted towards their women and the imminent arrival of Cole’s child, topics which hardly enticed me. I chose to avoid the conversations where I had little to contribute, leaving them to their chatter amid their protests. But now, Chloe had stepped into my office, her gaze instantly finding me buried behind my desk. “Good afternoon, Mr. King,” she greeted, and I couldn't help but admire her allure. Underneath my disciplined exterior, a rush of heat shot through me as my mind unraveled, conjuring imagery I’d rather dismiss—my fingers tangling in her hair, pulling just enough to elicit a gasp from those tantalizing lips. I clenched my fists, forcing that mental door closed with determination. “Sit down, Miss Callahan,” I commanded, my voice sharp, perhaps too much so. Without missing a beat, she settled gracefully into the chair opposite mine, balancing her tablet on her lap. There was something commanding about her composure; either she was uncommonly self-assured, or far more skilled at hiding her nerves than most. Her posture squared as if preparing for any potential challenge I might pose—her confidence striking for someone her age, only twenty-four. That age gap felt monstrous yet utterly irrelevant. “I’ve reviewed the schedule for the upcoming week, and I have some suggestions,” she started, her voice steady. “Would you like me to go through them now, or is there something else you’d prefer to discuss first?” I inclined my head. “Let’s start with the schedule.” Nodding, she tucked a loose strand of her moonlit-blond hair behind her ear, revealing the elegant curve of her neck. “You have back-to-back meetings tomorrow morning. I suggest moving your call with the Tokyo office to Wednesday, when there’s a bit more flexibility—some, anyway.” For a fleeting moment, our eyes locked, hers betraying the first hint of nerves as she quickly averted her gaze back to her screen. A smirk curled at the corners of my mouth. “Additionally, there’s a board meeting Thursday morning," she continued, "so I’ve penciled in a prep session for Wednesday afternoon. I spoke with Sophie and managed to shift the marketing presentation with Tate to Friday. She assured me that won’t affect their timeline, allowing you to attend without the stress of rushing off to other engagements.” She glanced up towards me, searching for acknowledgment. I nodded slowly, a simple gesture, but as she returned her gaze to the screen, I noticed a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks, which failed to escape my scrutiny. Why did it please me so that her poised demeanor had cracked ever so slightly? As she continued, her voice held a hint of apprehension. “As you requested, I organized a planning session with David for tomorrow afternoon. His schedule is flexible if that time doesn’t suit you.” My lips tightened at the mention of David. What was his angle? I shook my head against the irritation spreading within me. Had he flirted with her? Knowing his track record, it wouldn’t surprise me. I suppressed the urge to vocalize my aggravation. “And finally,” she added, “I confirmed your RSVP for the charity event on Friday evening. I’ve set aside an hour that afternoon for you to prepare or relax before the event.” Another long glance, this one lingering just a heartbeat longer. “Provided you’re agreeable to these changes, I’ll confirm everything,” she concluded. I held her gaze, mulling over the competence she displayed despite my lack of direction. Impressive, if I were to be honest. Her suggestions paralleled what I would’ve anticipated from Lena... but one aspect stood out. “That's fine, Miss Callahan. However, please cancel the time set aside on Friday afternoon. I have more pressing matters than unwinding. This isn't a party—it’s business.” Her eyes widened, and she blinked in surprise. “Okay. I simply thought that since your schedule is so packed, you might appreciate some time to—” “If I want time to relax, I’ll be sure to let you know.” My tone cut her off sharply. Frustrated silence filled the room as she pressed her lips into a thin line, annoyance brewing beneath the surface. I offered no apology; if she couldn’t handle my straightforward nature, then it was better she recognized it now. “Of course, Mr. King,” she managed, though her smile was tight. “Anything else?” She shifted her focus back to the screen for a brief moment, and I felt the absence of her gaze acutely—as if the daylight had dimmed. “You had a lunch meeting scheduled with Mr. Sato from Sakamoto Investments for Tuesday next week. However, he now needs to take a later flight and has requested to reschedule for dinner instead.” A frown threatened the corners of my mouth. I despised dinner meetings; yet lunch meetings were hardly preferable either. Dad thrived on the social intricacies of business—the indulgence of fine alcohol and lavish dinners; to him, these meetings were less about forming legitimate deals and more about a game of quid pro quo. I preferred a boardroom table—a place where business could be conducted with integrity, rather than fluffed by pretense and ego. But in this world, I’d learned there was little choice. “Fine. Make a reservation at Magnolia’s for seven p.m. Ensure it’s a quiet table, away from prying eyes,” I instructed. She dutifully tapped away at her tablet, lips pursing slightly. “Yes, sir. Is there anything else I can assist with?” “That will be all for now.” As she stood to leave, I fought with myself to keep my gaze steady on her face, resisting the gravity that beckoned me to follow the contours of her figure. It required more self-restraint than I cared to admit. She took one step toward the door but then hesitated, turning back to me. “Mr. King?” I leaned back in my chair, raising an eyebrow. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips—a nervous gesture I noted—but her eyes remained fixed on mine. “Have you given any thought to your position on whether I’m capable of meeting your expectations in this role?” I paused to consider my response. I could not, in good conscience, deny the quality of her work. If she were anyone else, I’d readily commend her competency. Yet, her association with my father loomed over my decision like a dark cloud. I pictured her working for someone just like him; the thought caused a visceral reaction in my gut. I was drawn to her—I could acknowledge that much. But I had enough self-control to maintain a clear boundary between attraction and professional duty. However, her persistence was enthralling. I could feel the defiance radiating from her as she took a stand, her delicate jaw setting with determination. “I like to think I’ve done well today, Mr. King. No, I know I’ve done well. And with very little input from you to guide me! It’s unjust to judge my capabilities based solely on my age. Lena saw something in me for a reason, and if you can’t look past the surface and recognize my potential, then…” She inhaled sharply, her posture shifting with resolve. “Then that’s your loss.” I was struck by her boldness. While calm professionalism was vital for my assistants, her fortitude ignited a surprising thrill within me—a flicker of vitality I had felt long absent. Suppressing my instinctive reaction, I straightened my back, steepling my fingers on the desk, masking the moment. “You can relax, Miss Callahan. You performed adequately today. You may retain your position.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “I—I can?” A nod was my only answer, and I reveled in watching the emotions cascade across her face—disbelief, surprise, followed slowly by embarrassment as a rosy hue crept into her cheeks. After a deep breath to steady herself, she stammered, “I apologize for my outburst. I was—” I raised my hand, silencing her. “That’s acceptable. However, I expect professional demeanor at all times moving forward. You represent the King Group now, and me by extension. Please keep that in mind.” She tilted her head slightly, pressing her lips together as if to hold back further words, before smoothing her expression back into that familiar professional mask. “Yes, of course, Mr. King.” I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back the amusement bubbling under the surface. “That will be all.” As she turned to exit, I made every effort to keep my gaze off her retreating figure, knowing my own resolve could very well shatter if I let my eyes wander. When her fingers brushed against the door handle, she paused once more, glancing over her shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, her voice imbued with vulnerability that hinted at much more than mere appreciation. A spark of curiosity ignited in me, an urge to grasp the layers that lay beneath her determined façade. The determination she’d exhibited all day was suddenly juxtaposed by a shadow of fragility that flickered within her gaze. What hidden stories danced behind those beautifully expressive eyes? Yet none of that mattered now. I fortified my defenses, reminded that personal boundaries could not be crossed. Any curiosity surrounding my new assistant would have to remain unexamined. “Of course,” I said simply, nodding as she slipped through the door. Once she was gone, I rolled my intricately designed silver pen between my fingers, allowing myself a fleeting moment of doubt about my decision. Yet just as quickly, I squashed those lingering thoughts. I had never struggled to maintain control around beautiful women—why would that change now? I would not become ensnared in the same destructive patterns as my father, nor would I forsake my focus or purpose. With a newfound conviction, I redirected my attention to the task on my computer, burying myself in work as the brief encounter lingered faintly at the edge of my consciousness.