Chapter 5

CHRIS

My phone rang at 7:43 AM and I already knew, with the certainty of a man who has lived thirty-two years in this family, that it was going to ruin something.

"I can't talk," I said, with my jacket half on, and my briefcase in hand. "I have a PA interview.."

"Dinner tonight." My brother's voice. Flat. Already bored of me.

"What?"

"I know you haven't forgotten about the family dinner tonight at Dad's, seven sharp."

I stopped dead in my hallway. "Shit. Is that today?"

"You forgot." Not a question. He sounded delighted.

"I did not forget, I..." I had completely forgotten. "I've had a lot going on."

"Don't forget your plus one."

"My what?"

"Plus one, Christopher. Dad's been very clear. Both of us should be Married and settled, before he hands over the shares...those were his exact words, and I quote, 'before I die wondering.'"

"He's fifty-eight."

"He's dramatic. Bring someone."

"I'll try," I said, in the tone of a man who would absolutely not be trying.

"Seven o'clock," he repeated, and hung up before I could argue.

I stood in my hallway for one more second, already regretting the entire day, and then left for the office because at least that was something I could control.

---

It was not something I could control.

By 9 AM I had three department heads in my office, two contracts that needed signing before noon, and a board member who kept calling to "circle back" on something he'd already circled back on twice. I was deep in a spreadsheet, half a coffee down, mentally drafting an excuse for tonight's dinner. Maybe a work emergency, very sorry, genuinely unavoidable....when my secretary's voice came through the intercom.

"Mr. Donovan, the final PA candidate is on her way up. HR shortlisted her ... very strong interview, apparently."

"Send her in when she arrives," I said, not looking up from the spreadsheet.

"Of course."

I went back to work. The mild, manageable chaos of a Tuesday.

A knock came in almost immediately after the call.

"Come in," I said without looking up.

The door opened.

"WHAT THE FUCK...."

My head snapped up so fast I nearly knocked over my coffee.

Standing in my doorway ...with a CV folder clutched to her chest, and her eyes wide, her mouth still open from whatever had just come out of it ....was Tricia.

Tricia.

"You again?" I said. My voice came out somewhere between a laugh and a genuine question to the universe.

She didn't answer.

She turned around, walked straight back out, and shut the door.

I sat there with my pen in hand. Staring at my closed office door like it might offer an explanation.

Then I heard a thud, her back hitting the door from the other side followed by what sounded like a woman trying to remember how breathing worked.

"What is happening," I heard her say, muffled, to no one. "What is happening right now—"

I covered my mouth with one hand.

"Okay." Another thud, it was softer this time, like she was steadying herself against the door. "Okay. Okay, Tricia. You can do this. He's just a man. A regular ....completely regular — billionaire man who you have somehow run into three times in one week..."

I was smiling so hard my face hurt.

"...who you called a spoilt brat, and stole marshmallows from, and now he's interviewing you for a job...."

She paused immediately.. "Oh my god. He's interviewing me for a job!."

I had to put my pen down. I genuinely had to put it down because my hand was shaking with the effort of staying quiet.

Another long breath from the other side of the door. Then a small, muttered, "Okay. Okay. Fix your face. Walk in there like a professional. You are fine."

The door opened slowly.

Tricia stepped back inside, with her CV folder held in front of her like a shield, her head bowed like she had been defeated, and eyes fixed somewhere on the floor about three feet in front of my desk. She looked like a woman walking into her own execution and trying to maintain dignity about it.

I leaned back in my chair.

Laced my fingers together.

And let the smile spread .... slowly, deliberate and dangerously.

"Tricia," I said softly, watching her freeze mid-step. "Sit down."

She didn't move.

"I believe," I continued, my voice low, almost pleasant, "I told you to watch your back."

Her eyes lifted, just slightly to meet mine.

I tilted my head. "Welcome to the forty-second floor."