Million Dollar Devil

7.

I get to the office early, hoping to stay ahead of the chaos. The city is still waking up outside the windows, everything draped in pale gray light. I sit at my desk, nervously chewing the eraser of a pencil as I scroll through Mr. Hayes' endless sea of emails, sorting them by urgency. Meetings. Deadlines. Negotiations. His schedule is brutal. I don't envy his life.

I sip my coffee and sink back into my chair, running a hand through my curls. Exhaustion clings to me. I got home from Lilacs at one a.m. and rolled out of bed at five-thirty, my body running on fumes and caffeine.

The office is quiet at this hour. I make a mental note to get here early more often. The drive is easier. The skyline looks softer. And best of all, I avoid the army of perfectly polished women at AKMO who look at me like I'm an intruder. Competition is nothing new, but sometimes, I wish we weren't always trained to sharpen our teeth at each other.

The soft click of Mr. Hayes' office door pulls me from my thoughts.

Laughter, low and genuine, floats into the hallway.

I blink.
Laughter? From him?

I inch to my door, crack it open just enough to peek out. Mr. Hayes stands by his desk, arms crossed, the faintest ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Across from him: Jackson Pike, all loose limbs and easy grins, punching his shoulder like they're two college kids goofing off. Mr. Hayes rolls his eyes but doesn't hide the faint amusement tugging at his mouth. He looks... different. Human.

Jackson glances toward my office. I slam the door shut, scrambling back to my desk like a guilty teenager.

Knock knock.

"Door's open!" I call, flipping my screen up and pretending to be mid-email.

Jackson strolls in like he owns the place, leaning casually against my wall, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"You're here early for such a negligent assistant," he teases.

I arch a brow. "What errands are you running for Mr. Hayes today? Dropping off stilettos for the receptionist?"

He chuckles, shameless. "Just coffee for the king," he winks.

"Shut up," I glare.

He just laughs harder. Infuriatingly handsome.

"Jackson," Mr. Hayes' voice cuts down the hallway.

"In here!" Jackson calls back over his shoulder, not moving an inch.

A few seconds later, Mr. Hayes appears in my doorway. His green eyes sweep over Jackson, then flick to me. His expression is unreadable, but his presence fills the room anyway.

"Stop distracting Lillian," he says, voice low but pointed.

Jackson shrugs. "It's so much more fun than talking to you."

Mr. Hayes' mouth twitches like he's fighting a smirk. I wonder what it would look like if he didn't.

Their friendship is obvious now, an easy, lived-in rhythm. Mr. Hayes: all cold precision. Jackson: all warmth and noise. They balance each other without even trying. 

"I'm not paying you to annoy my assistant," Mr. Hayes says, the word my curling in the air.

It does something to me. Tightens something low in my stomach.

Jackson smirks at me. "See what I deal with?"

I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. "Good morning, Mr. Hayes," I say, steering us back to something professional.