Chapter 08

Adrian's POV

"Sitting so far off, Ms. Rose? Too much racket at the dining table for you?" I asked casually, my eyes flicking between the newspaper and her, fingers tapping the mug's edge to hide the grin tugging at me.

Anna set her fork down with grace, a subtle smile curling her lips like she'd seen my jab coming a mile off.

"Quite the opposite, Mr. Salvatore. The light's perfect here for reviewing files." She gestured to the work schedule on her tablet, her fingertip gliding across the screen, smooth as a silent dance.

"Is that so?" I lowered the paper, stretching the word out slow, leaning back with my gaze lingering on her face a beat longer. "Thought you'd prefer… closer quarters. Some details don't show up from a distance."

Winston cleared his throat right on cue, the clatter of dishes slicing through the tension just right. He kept his head down, but I caught the twitch at his mouth—he'd seen this play of mine plenty.

"True," she replied, cool as ever, a glint of mischief sparking in her eyes, half taunt, half lure. "But sometimes distance sharpens the view. Get too close, you miss the big picture."

I nearly choked on my coffee, a laugh bubbling up my throat. This woman always knew how to parry with class, making me want to step in closer while tipping my hat to her wit.

Even across the gap, she was impossible to ignore. That tailored suit hugged her frame just right, the jacket's buttons catching the morning light with a soft gleam. Every move she made oozed charm—her fingers cradling the fork, nails clipped neat, but still soft in a way she couldn't hide.

I clocked how she picked through her food, sliding the cilantro aside with a delicate nudge, fingertips brushing the plate like she was crafting something fine. That little quirk made me smile—perfect Anna Rose had her human ticks after all, a quirky twist to that cool front.

"Winston," I flicked my eyes his way, and he got it in a heartbeat, steps pausing silent.

"Ms. Rose, apologies for not asking your preferences earlier. I'll ensure no cilantro moving forward." He dipped a slight bow, his tone polished as ever.

She looked up, eyes darting between Winston and me, clearly thrown we'd caught that detail. For a split second, her slick professional mask slipped, surprise softening her—brows lifting, a flicker of warmth in her gaze.

"No need, really…" she started, a hint of doubt in her voice, like she wasn't used to being seen so close.

"It's what we do," I cut in, firm but easy, letting my eyes rest on her an extra second. Her faint fluster sparked something satisfying—like that tiny crack let me peek at the real her, not just the ever-steady assistant.

On the drive to the office, I forced my head into the conference call, Tokyo's chatter buzzing through my earpiece, numbers and plans spinning in my skull. But she was there like a fog, creeping in quiet.

She sat shotgun, scribbling notes, fingers darting over her tablet, glancing up now and then to double-check. Her perfume drifted soft in the car—clean, warm, impossible to tune out. This close-but-not-close-enough deal wasn't pain; it was sweet torture. My grip tightened on the wheel, fighting the urge to steal a look at the hair slipping loose over her shoulder.

"Tokyo's pushing for early delivery," I said low, tossing her a sidelong glance. "Thoughts?"

She paused her pen, meeting my eyes, calm and sharp. "Rushing risks quality, Mr. Salvatore. I'd stick to the plan unless they cough up extra resources." Her voice held steady, edged with a finality that didn't budge.

I nodded, a corner of my mouth ticking up. "Good. Note it, send it to Charles." Her quick smarts impressed me again, but it was that slight lift of her chin—quietly claiming control—that stuck with me more.

Twenty minutes later, we hit the office. Stepping off the elevator, I spotted William already in my space, leaning by the window with a coffee, his usual laid-back smirk in place. But his eyes carried a shadow of worry. Then they lit up, zeroing in on Anna like a hawk spotting prey.

"No appointment this morning," Anna stepped up, voice cool and clipped, tablet in hand. "Mr. Salvatore's booked solid today. Maybe we can reschedule?"

"For you, darling, I'll book proper next time." William flashed his signature charmer grin, loosening his tie with a lazy tug, collar popping open to show a peek of collarbone. "William Parker, Adrian's oldest pal—definitely the fun one. And you must be the stunning new spark at Salvatore Industries…"

"Ms. Rose, Mr. Salvatore's executive assistant," Anna replied, icy polite, keeping him at arm's length, her gaze skimming him like he was a minor variable.

"Ms. Rose," William's eyes danced with teasing heat, leaning in a touch. "You know, Parker Industries has killer perks—private office with a view, flex hours…" He propped himself casual against her desk, fingers drumming light, testing her. "And a much… looser dress code. No need to stay so… buttoned-up every day."

My jaw clenched, fingers curling tight in my pocket. That blatant flirt was grinding my gears—she was my assistant, not his damn plaything.

"Mr. Parker," Anna's tone stayed even, but I caught a flicker of amusement in her eyes, like she was mocking his weak game. "I'm plenty satisfied here. Buttoned-up suits me fine."

"Call me William," he winked, undeterred. "Satisfaction's relative. I could show you the real deal over dinner—candles, wine, my unbeatable company."

"Enough, William," I snapped, my voice cutting sharper than I'd meant, surprising even me with its bite. His words jabbed like needles, and I couldn't just stand there.

He swung to me with a knowing smirk, like he'd bet on me snapping. "Just doing my rival-employer duty, old friend." He turned back to Anna, pulling a card with a theatrical flourish, sliding it over with a fingertip.

"When you tire of this workaholic's grind, ring me. I'll make it worth your while."

Anna took it with practiced courtesy, but I saw her tuck it straight into a drawer, not sparing it a glance. That small move lit a quiet thrill in me—she'd given him nothing.

"Such a shame," William sighed, hand to his chest like a wounded poet. "All the pretty ones seem to pick you, Adrian. I'm starting to take it personal. But gotta say, your taste's still razor-sharp."

I motioned him into my office, shutting the door. The lightness from breakfast turned heavy—I knew William too well; this drop-in wasn't just about hitting on my assistant.

He dropped the act fast, slumping into a chair, arms crossed. "You hit our bar that day? Never saw you."

"You were late. I didn't wait—left early," I said, giving him a light smack, trying to keep it loose, but my shoulders stayed tight.

"Fair, my bad. You weren't yourself that night—thought you'd stick around longer." He paused, eyes lingering on me, digging.

I frowned, that night swimming up fuzzy—whiskey's burn, heavy thoughts, then her. She'd cut through my dark like a flare. For a second, I'd forgotten who I was.

"Oh?" He raised a brow, a sly look creeping in, mouth twitching. "So there's a story? Don't tell me you sulked solo all night."

"No story," I said flat, dodging the waver in my tone, eyes shifting to the window. "Just some chatter, unwinding."

He watched me a beat, then chuckled, a tease in his voice. "Chatter, huh? Bar manager mentioned a woman in red—I figured you'd spill more. Guess you weren't that bored."

"Quit fishing," I cut him off, voice harder than I planned, nipping it dead. "That's all it was—nothing big. Drop the gossip."

He shrugged, half-convinced, letting it slide. "Fine, have it your way. Catch you later." He headed out, tossing a loaded grin over his shoulder, like he wasn't done poking.

The day blurred through calls and meetings. Late afternoon, passing Anna's empty desk, something odd caught my eye—a pharmacy bag peeking from the drawer, its logo creasing my brow. Curiosity tugged; I pulled my phone, snapped a shot. Footsteps echoed down the hall.

"Mr. Salvatore?" Anna's voice rang out. I pocketed the phone fast, turning to face her.