**Chapter 5** CALEB The car envelops us in an awkward silence that hangs in the air like an unwelcome guest. Normally, I would draw comfort from it, but tonight it feels heavy and oppressive. I can sense the weight of it pressing down on both of us. Despising the quiet, I resolve not to place the obligation of breaking it on her shoulders. I want her to feel free, to exist without the pressure of conversation. Still, her earlier words have sparked something inside me—a determination to end the pretense that has loomed between us. “Oh, the address,” she finally breaks through the silence, her tone exasperated. “My phone is being a brat.” Gabriella lets out an adorable huff that almost makes me chuckle. “Why don’t you stay with me?” The words slip from my lips, a little more desperate than I intended. “What? I couldn’t do that.” Her shock is palpable, but it only fuels my resolve. “Why not? I have a penthouse with five bedrooms,” I state, trying to keep my voice casual, even though I feel anything but. “Why do you have five bedrooms?” she asks, eyebrow raised in curiosity. “I wanted to be on the top floor, and the resale value is top tier.” I shrug, keenly aware of how absurd that sounds. “I don’t want to intrude. You’re already doing too much—driving me around, offering me a job. It's too much.” Panic rises in her voice. How do I convince her to stay with me? A light bulb flickers above my head, illuminating a possible solution. In the corporate world, quick thinking is paramount. “Actually, it’s part of the job. I need an assistant,” I declare, tossing it out with a confident grin. “Don’t you have one?” “I have one for work, but I need a personal one to manage my life outside the office. Someone to keep the rest of my world in line.” The words spill out, and I watch her in the rearview mirror. She’s biting her lip, two fingers tapping thoughtfully against her mouth. “Hmm. I’m not exactly sure how to do that. I’d probably get lost and make things worse,” she admits, her honesty disarming. Just my luck. She’s the worst applicant ever. Who tells their potential boss they’ll screw things up? Gabriella needs protection—someone to guard that sweet spirit of hers from the harsh realities of life. She deserves to thrive without the weight of the world pressing down on her. “I’m not sure either, but we can learn together,” I suggest, trying to close the gap forming between us. “Do you really need a personal assistant, or are you just being sweet because you feel guilty?” Every time she calls me sweet, it nearly makes me laugh. It’s a label I’ve never encountered—one that sits awkwardly on my chest. “Trust me, Gabriella, I really need this,” I say, the truth hanging heavy in my heart. “You’d be doing me a favor.” I dive deeper into this pitch. “I’m way behind on everything because of the holidays.” Little does she know that the holidays barely register on my radar. “Oh, like at home?” I can hear her curiosity bubbling over. “Is your home not Christmas-ready?” “No, it’s not,” I confess, glancing down at my hands on the steering wheel. “I haven’t done anything for Christmas.” “And you want to—like, decorate? Buy gifts and such?” “Yes to all of those things,” I reply, the desperation in my voice barely concealed. “That sounds kind of fun. I’d probably do that for free,” she says, her enthusiasm sparkling like fresh snow. For a moment, I am struck by the realization: people likely take advantage of that kindness more often than I can fathom. I’ll be damned if anyone else gets the chance to exploit her. Fortunately, she’s with me now, and I’ll ensure she’s safeguarded from the greed of others. “I would pay you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t feel right.” “Right, so we keep it professional.” There’s a hint of disappointment in her tone, and I take note of that. “Gabriella, our relationship is beyond mere professionalism, don’t you think?” I fish for insight, trying to gauge her reaction without scaring her off. This territory is unnervingly unfamiliar to me. “Yes, I was really sad I might not see you again. Then boom, here you are,” she says, her smile contagious. In that fleeting moment, I spot her dimples, and an irresistible urge washes over me—I want to kiss them. My lips, almost involuntarily, curve into a smile that feels foreign and exhilarating. “It’s settled then. You’ll live with me and be my personal assistant. Sound good?” I ask, anticipation tightening in my chest. The seconds drag agonizingly as I await her response, my mind racing with wild, illegal thoughts in case she declines—though the mere thought makes me shudder. “You’ve got yourself a new personal assistant,” she declares, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. Relief floods through me, mixed with something deeper, something I can’t quite name. Thank God. Gabriella enthusiastically launches into a discussion about all the festive essentials we’ll need to transform my sterile apartment into a holiday haven. Meanwhile, I mentally add a note to email Lauren, warning her I might be late tomorrow—or not show up at all. And there’s also the pressing matter of getting Gabriella a new phone. I want her reachable at all times; the last thing I want is for her to be out of contact. "Are you going into your office?" she asks as we pull into the underground garage. The guard gives a nod, lifting the gate with a familiarity that makes my chest swell with pride. I steer the car into my usual spot and turn to her. “The top five floors are for residents,” I explain while stepping out. I open the back door to retrieve her two trash bags. A part of me wants to toss them into a dumpster, but I know that wouldn’t sit well with her. “I had no idea,” she utters, still clutching her one small piece of luggage. We need more than holiday decorations; I’d rather devote tomorrow to helping her gather her belongings. “One of the residential floors is for people who are traveling. I occupy the top two, while the other two are for executives.” Gabriella trails me towards the elevator, her footsteps hesitant as if she’s not quite accustomed to this world. “Wait, do you own the building?” Her eyes widen in disbelief. “Yes,” I confirm, hitting the button to call the elevator. “I had the top floors converted for my convenience,” I continue, watching as her expression shifts from awe to confusion. The doors slide open, inviting us into the sterile space that has become my home. “This bank of elevators is for resident-only floors.” I whip out my card and scan it, aware of the luxurious privacy we’re afforded. “How do you get to the offices?” she asks, leaning against the elevator wall. “You take this elevator down to one of the other residential floors. There’s another set you can use from there,” I explain. “I can’t believe you own a whole building.” “It’s an investment,” I assure her, brushing off the weight of it. Gabriella shifts on her feet, her demeanor turning contemplative. I sense her childhood was worlds apart from mine. My family had wealth and opportunities at their fingertips; I attended prestigious schools and had a trust fund that catapulted me into my career. Yet here we both stand—bound by the common thread of familial absence. My family may be alive, but my father is a disgrace and my mother is too enamored with him to notice the chaos swirling in our lives. Gabriella, on the other hand, carved her own path through the foster system, fighting tooth and nail for every scrap of stability she could find. Despite the cards she was dealt, her unwavering kindness leaves me in awe. Meanwhile, I live behind a façade of sarcasm and detachment, pushing people away. That strategy seems futile now. “Ope,” she exclaims as the elevator doors swing open into my home. “That’s fancy.” She steps out, a look of fascination lighting her features. I follow, unable to keep the smile from spreading across my face. God knows I’d follow her to the ends of the earth if it meant seeing that look of wonder again.