Million Dollar Devil

4.

Kyle reaches past me and turns the handle, opening the door with a smooth, practiced motion. He steps aside, gesturing for me to enter.

I hesitate for half a second, then step forward.

The office is enormous. Minimalist. Quiet in a way that feels curated. The entire back wall is glass, a full sweep of skyline that stretches endlessly, silver towers cutting through clouds, the city laid bare beneath us. The light is soft and cold, like it's been filtered through money. The rest of the space is sleek and dark, the kind of luxury that doesn't ask for attention but takes it anyway.

At the center of it all: a black wood desk. And leaning casually against its edge, a man I know instantly must be Leo Hayes.

He's reading a large stack of papers, expression unreadable. The paper rustles slightly in his hands, the only sound in the room. 

My gaze slips, uninvited. His suit is a shade of black that swallows the light, tailored sharp enough to cut. The dark shirt beneath it is buttoned just high enough to say discipline, but not modesty. His hair is swept back cleanly, not a single strand daring to rebel. His jawline is devastatingly angular, like it was designed by an architect with a grudge.

As if sensing me, his eyes flick up. They are greener than I could have imagined. They lock on mine for a heartbeat. But then he returns to the paper, slow and deliberate, and places it down.

He straightens to full height, his figure taller than I expected.

When his gaze drifts back to me, it moves with precision, as if cataloging. Not crude, not lingering, just... deliberate. His lashes are long, almost too pretty for someone who radiates that kind of danger.

He doesn't smile.
Doesn't nod.
Doesn't even greet us.

My fingers curl lightly around the strap of my purse. I shift my weight. My heels click faintly against each other, barely audible.

He drags a thumb along his jawline, faint stubble catching the light. The gesture looks thoughtless, but I feel watched anyway. His skin is olive-toned and flawless. He's the cover of a GQ Magazine, a heartthrob, the man they build rooms around.

Finally he breaks the silence, though his gaze stay trained on me. 

"Is this her?" he says to Kyle, not even glancing his way. His tone is low, even, perfectly controlled.

Kyle nods. "Yes, this is Lillian Wright, your new assistant."

Kyle turns to me. "Lillian, meet Mr. Hayes."

I give a shy wave though I instantly regret the childish-ness of it. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Hayes. Thank you for the opportunity. I'm looking forward to starting tomorrow."

His eyes narrow just slightly, focused on me like he's dissecting a line of text.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wright-"

"Lillian," I interrupt too fast. "You can call me Lillian. Or, um, Lily. Most people call me Lily." My voice trails off. My cheeks burn as I bite my lip.

His eyes flicker down to my mouth for just a heartbeat . When they rise again, there's something unreadable there.

"Nice to meet you, Lillian," he says, his eyes shamelessly moving back up to meet my gaze.

He glances toward the side of the room, nodding once. "Your office is through there. Kyle will give you a key."

Kyle motions for me to follow. I exhale quietly and trail behind him.

The smaller office is still nicer than anything I've ever walked into. The glass desk gleams under the light. A white leather chair sits behind it. Above, a wall-mounted calendar etched with AKMO's logo gleams like something sacred. A MacBook Air and an iPhone 13 are perfectly placed, screen still dark, waiting.