The CEO's Match

The Constant Distraction

As the day went on, I couldn't help but notice the subtle glances and hushed whispers that followed me around the office. The so-called murmurs of my colleagues were about as subtle as a foghorn, and I could practically feel their judgment radiating from across the room.

I caught snippets of their conversation as I passed by the break room-something about my sleeveless blouse being "too flashy" and how my diamond-encrusted tie was "a bit much for the office." My favorite, though, was the comment about my skirt length, delivered with just the right amount of faux concern.

The lot of them were huddled together, pretending to be engrossed in their coffee mugs while clearly reveling in their little critiques. Their disapproving glances were practically begging for a response, and who was I to deny them?

With a casual confidence, I walked up to the group, the sharp click of my heels drawing their attention as I leaned against the counter, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. "Good morning, everyone," I began, letting the warmth of my tone contrast the sharpness of my words. "I couldn't help but overhear your fashion advice. I must say, it's always refreshing to get style tips from people who think beige is a personality."

A few of them exchanged awkward glances, clearly caught off guard by my directness. But I wasn't finished.

"You know," I continued, pretending to inspect my tie, "I thought about wearing something a bit more... muted today, but then I realized, why blend in when you can stand out? After all, some of us prefer to leave a lasting impression rather than just exist in the background."

One of them, a woman named Claire who fancied herself the office's unofficial style critic, huffed slightly, her nose wrinkling. "We just think it's important to maintain a professional image."

"Absolutely," I agreed, nodding sagely. "And nothing says 'professional' like the bold confidence to wear what you want and not what others expect, don't you think? After all, isn't professionalism more about how we do our jobs than how we dress for them? Or did I miss the memo where beige cardigans became mandatory?"

Another colleague, who clearly wasn't expecting a direct confrontation, mumbled something about "just trying to help."

"Oh, I appreciate the concern," I said, placing a hand over my heart in mock sincerity. "It's touching, really. But next time, why don't we all just focus on our work instead of critiquing each other's outfits? I'm sure we'd all be a lot more productive."

The group shifted uncomfortably, their attempt at office gossip thoroughly dismantled. I flashed them a sweet smile, one that didn't quite reach my eyes, before turning on my heel and striding away. My hair swished behind me, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of my steps, and I could feel their eyes on my back, probably burning holes in my carefully chosen outfit.

As I returned to my desk, I allowed myself a small, satisfied grin. The whispers might continue, but so would my fierce refusal to be anything less than exactly who I was. If my outfit irritated them, it was only because it reminded them that they could never quite match my level of confidence-or style. And that was a victory I'd take any day.

Alexander's pov

The morning was off to a predictably frustrating start. Papers were strewn across my desk in organized chaos, deadlines loomed overhead like storm clouds, and the nagging pressure of a potential deal falling through was pounding at my temples. And then there was Nova Dice.

I glanced at the clock on my wall, barely registering the time as I combed through the revised numbers she had sent earlier. It wasn't that the figures were wrong-they were spot on, as always. It was the way she'd delivered them, with that insufferable smirk and a quip that somehow managed to irritate and amuse me at the same time. She had this way of cutting through the tension with her razor-sharp wit, leaving me in a constant state of exasperation.

I should have been used to it by now. Nova's presence was as much a part of my day as the relentless grind of running this conglomerate. Yet every time she walked into my office, it felt like the rules of the game shifted, and I was left struggling to keep up.

I set the papers down and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as if the answers to my mounting problems might be written there. But all I could think about was her. The way she'd breezed in this morning, dressed to kill in that sleeveless blouse with the diamond-studded tie. Her short black skirt hugged her hips just enough to be noticed, and her black heels-well, they were designed to command attention, and command it they did. The entire office had probably noticed.

She was a distraction. A constant, maddening distraction. But that was the least of my problems.

I sat up straight, trying to refocus on the work at hand. There were contracts to finalize, meetings to prepare for, and a board to keep happy. And yet, despite all that, my thoughts kept drifting back to Nova and that damnable attitude of hers.

She was always pushing back, challenging me in ways no one else dared to. Most people around here fell in line, but not Nova. No, she had to poke and prod, using her sarcasm like a weapon. And somehow, despite it all, she was the best damn secretary I'd ever had. Sharp as a tack, efficient to a fault, and with a mind that worked faster than most executives'. It was infuriating.

As the day dragged on, I heard murmurs coming from outside my office. Whispers of gossip, petty critiques-likely about Nova. They couldn't understand her, couldn't handle the way she held herself with such unapologetic confidence. Frankly, they didn't know how to deal with someone who wasn't afraid to break the mold. That was their problem, not mine.

I stood up, pacing behind my desk as the tension in my shoulders refused to ease. I wasn't in the mood for petty office drama. There were far more important things to handle, and if I was going to keep this company on track, I couldn't afford distractions. Least of all from Nova Dice.

But, of course, as if on cue, she made her presence known. I heard her voice-sharp, cutting through the usual hum of the office like a blade. I couldn't make out the exact words, but the tone was unmistakable. She was firing back at someone, no doubt with that same fierce wit that she so often turned on me.

Curiosity, despite my better judgment, got the better of me. I opened my office door just enough to catch a glimpse of her standing there, her posture perfect, eyes gleaming with that dangerous spark. Whoever she was talking to was shrinking back, clearly regretting whatever they'd said to provoke her.

I should have been annoyed-maybe even furious-that she was stirring things up again. But instead, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction watching her put someone in their place. She was fierce, unapologetic, and damn good at her job. And that, in this cutthroat world, was worth its weight in gold.

Shaking my head, I closed the door and returned to my desk, trying to push thoughts of her aside. I needed to focus. I had to focus. But with Nova around, that was easier said than done.

I sat down, staring at the documents in front of me, my mind a whirl of numbers, contracts, and...Nova. Always Nova.

She was the best secretary I'd ever had, but God help me, she was also the biggest thorn in my side. And the worst part? I wouldn't have it any other way.