Chapter 1
Nina Sutton sent one text to her high school bully: [Handsome, I miss your six-pack.]
She expected to be blocked.
He replied: [Tomorrow, 9 AM. Top floor of Carter Holdings. Interview.]
The interviewer? The guy she just texted. The same cold-hearted bastard who once told her, "Stay away from me. You disgust me."
He barely looked at her. "Be my personal assistant," he said flatly.
What Nina didn't know was that the man had been keeping her photo in his wallet for a full five years.
And he had been waiting for that text all along.
*****
My bestie's message popped up: [Nina, you lost. Truth or dare?]
I stared at the screen. Guess I had no choice. I replied: [Dare.]
The next second, her dare came through: [Send this to the last person you'd ever message: Hey, the moon's beautiful tonight. I kinda miss you... and your abs.]
My vision went black.
I scrolled through my long-forgotten contacts list, my finger stopping on a name: "Ethan Carter."
Ethan Carter. The same guy who once pinned me against a wall in high school and said in the coldest voice, "Stay away from me. You disgust me."
Fine. Him.
We'd blocked each other ages ago. It probably wouldn't even send.
I copied and pasted the message, then hit send.
One second passed. Two seconds. Nothing. No error. Just a quiet "Delivered." My heart skipped a beat.
Wait—what? Didn't he delete me? He actually still had me?
Before I could even process it, my phone buzzed.
Ethan replied: [Tomorrow, 9 a.m. Top floor, Carter Holdings. Interview.]
I spent the whole night trapped in a stress dream.
In it, Ethan had blown that text up into a giant hologram hovering over my head, looping on repeat: "I kind of miss you... and your abs." It was pure torture.
*****
The next day, with giant bags under my eyes and wearing the only white shirt I owned that didn't make me look like a total mess, I stood in front of the ridiculously fancy Carter Holdings building.
I told myself, 'Run, Nina. You can still make it—otherwise it's either dying of embarrassment or actually dying. Pick one.'
But then I thought of my landlord's final warning about the rent, and forced myself to walk in anyway.
In the interview waiting area on the top floor, I spotted my dear cousin, Olivia Sutton, right away.
She was in a designer suit with flawless makeup, and a mocking smirk curled on her lips when she saw me.
"Well, if it isn't Nina. You're here for an interview at Carter Holdings, too?" she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "With a degree from some random third-rate school, I'm surprised you even made it past screening. Who did you have to pull strings to get in?"
I gripped the frayed strap of my faded canvas bag and ignored her.
Seeing that I stayed quiet, Olivia got even more smug. "Figures. Someone who can't even pay rent would come to Carter Holdings and think they stand a chance. But don't kid yourself—my boyfriend's uncle runs a whole department here. I'm just here as a formality."
A few of the other interviewees shot her envious glances.
Just then, the interview room door swung open.
A woman in a business suit stepped out and called, "Next, Nina Sutton."
Olivia's smile froze on her face.
With Olivia shooting daggers at me, I took a deep breath and headed into the interview room.
A man stood with his back to me before the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Tall, lean, all sharp lines—he radiated a suffocating sense of presence even from behind.
Damn it, just from the back, I already knew it was him.
He turned slowly.
His face was too perfect to feel real, completely devoid of expression. His eyes were like a frozen lake—cold, deep, and utterly unreadable, fixed straight on me. It was Ethan Carter.
He was holding my resume in one hand. In the other, his phone. The screen was still lit, my message right there.
"Nina," he said.
His voice was lower than I remembered—colder, too.
"Yes?" My palms were damp.
"Miss me?" he asked.
A prickle ran over my scalp.
"And my... abs?" His gaze swept over me, cool and clinical as a scalpel, but it lingered, and there was heat in its wake.
Oh my god. Just end me.
I wanted the ground to swallow me whole, my cheeks burning hot enough to fry an egg.
"Mr. Carter, it was a mistake. I sent it to the wrong person!" I blurted, words tumbling over each other.
"Oh?" He arched a brow. "Then who was it meant for?"
I had no answer.
The room fell into a suffocating silence. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
After what felt like forever, he tossed my resume onto the desk.
"Starting tomorrow, report to my office. You'll be my personal assistant."
He deliberately lingered on "personal," making it sound like there was way more to it than just a job.