Meet Scarlett Striker, a bold and quirky journalist for the Seattle Times. She's fun, confident, sassy, and just the right amount of weird. Scarlett is determined to rise to the top, no matter what it takes.
When her boss offers a golden opportunity...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Today, Chris has one of his end of the month meetings with his executive team. As his executive assistant, I'm expected to keep everything organized and professional, but I won't pretend I don't feel a surge of pride every time I see him in his element.
I smooth out my navy dress and adjust my notepad as we wait for the elevator. Chris stands beside me, tall, sharp in his tailored suit, his hand casually slipping into his pocket as he glances over at me with a small smile.
"You ready for this?" he asks, his voice low, but there's a hint of playfulness underneath the seriousness.
I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Am I ready? Shouldn't I be asking you that, Mr. Bryant?" I tease, though I can't help the smile that creeps onto my face.
He chuckles softly, his eyes glinting. "Fair point. I think we both know who keeps things running around here."
The elevator dings open, and we step inside. The ride is silent for a moment, but it's not uncomfortable. We've found a rhythm over the past few weeks. A balance between professionalism and... whatever this is between us. As the floors click by, I run through the details in my head. I'm sure Chris will dominate the meeting as usual, it's my job to make sure everything behind the scenes goes smoothly.
Once the elevator doors open again, we step into fifteenth floor where the executive boardroom is located. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, the skyline of Seattle reflecting off the glossy boardroom table.
We walk in the conference room which is bustling with energy as members of the executive team trickle in, taking their seats around the massive, polished mahogany table. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a stunning view of downtown Seattle, but the air inside the room is thick with anticipation. Today's meeting isn't just any ordinary check-in; it's a deep dive into Bryant's latest quarterly review and strategic plan for the upcoming year.
Chris takes his place at the head of the table. Even in a room filled with high-powered executives, his presence stands out. There's an ease to him, a quiet confidence that immediately commands respect. But today, I can see a flicker of something more in his gaze: focus. He's watching, waiting for the team to step up and present what they've worked so hard on.
I catch myself staring at him. At the way his shirt hugs his chest, the effortless way he commands attention without even trying.
I quickly shake off the thought, reminding myself that this is a meeting. A professional setting. But then again, when has that ever stopped him from getting under my skin?
I take my place beside him, my hands poised over my tablet, but my focus is undeniably split. The chair is next to him at the head of the table and Chris's presence next to me is distracting in ways it shouldn't be. His cologne, something woodsy and intoxicating, lingers in the air, and I find myself leaning slightly closer without meaning to.
