Chapter 2

The throbbing ache in my head was the first thing I became aware of as I slowly blinked my eyes open. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, casting a hazy glow over the unfamiliar room. Memories of the previous night flooded back to me in fragments, disjointed scenes of laughter, clinking glasses, and the rush of closing a big deal.

Groaning, I rolled over, my limbs heavy with the lingering effects of too much alcohol. Beside me, Anita stirred, her soft breathing sounded like screaming to my sensitive ears. The muted sounds from the city below felt like fire engine sirens blaring in my ear.

Anita stirred, rolling away from me and pulling the blankets up around her. We had always been friends, colleagues even, but last night had been a mistake—a moment of reckless passion fueled by celebration and too many shots of tequila.

I couldn't afford to let it happen again. I wasn't a total player, but I had never been one for serious relationships either. I enjoyed the company of women but couldn't see myself being with the same woman day in and day out. It all felt very suffocating. I didn't want to check in or ask my girlfriend if she was cool if I worked late. And even worse? I didn't want to work with said girl. Talk about layered issues.

Several of my business partners and friends had recently fallen under the spell of women. While they all seemed happy enough, that was not my cup of tea. I liked my freedom. My focus had always been on my career, on building my empire from the ground up, and I couldn't afford to let anything—or anyone—distract me from that.

Women liked to be a priority. I didn't blame them, but I wasn't the man who would ignore everything except her. I wasn't ready for that kind of commitment. Correction.

I didn't want that kind of commitment. Or need it.

With a sigh, I untangled myself from the sheets and slipped out of bed with practiced ease. Anita murmured something unintelligible in her sleep. I hastily gathered my clothes and began to dress.

"Hey," she mumbled groggily, her voice thick with sleep as she reached out to grab my hand. "Leaving already?"

I forced a smile, ignoring the twinge of guilt in my gut. "Sorry, Anita," I said, my tone apologetic. "I've got an early meeting. I'll call you later, okay?"

She nodded, her expression resigned, and I knew that our friendship would never be the same again. But I couldn't dwell on that now. I had bigger things to worry about—like finding a new assistant to replace the one who had unexpectedly left to pursue motherhood.

My job was busy. I couldn't imagine trying to navigate it on my own. I needed someone to keep me organized and on track.

I made my way downstairs and outside, where a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. The driver hopped out to open the back door. I nodded at him and slid into the backseat. It would be a short ride to my penthouse on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It was the kind of home I used to dream about having. I never thought I would have this kind of success. It had come with a lot of hard work. When it became clear I had made the money needed to buy a place, I went big. Really big. Of course, that was after I made sure my mom was set up.

I pulled out my phone and began to read emails through eyes that physically hurt. They had to be bloodshot as hell. I blinked a few times and tried to focus. My fingers flew over the screen as I scanned through the messages that had flooded in overnight. Most were mundane—the usual requests for meetings or updates on ongoing projects—but there was a message from HR that jumped out.

They had set up an interview with someone applying for the assistant position. I had already met with a few potential candidates, and I hadn't liked any of them. On paper they looked great, but in person, my instincts told me we wouldn't mesh well. That was why meeting with them was so important. I had to be sure we were compatible.

The name of the interviewee caught my eye, stopping me dead in my tracks.

Isadora Haskins.

My heart skipped. As I read through the email, a rush of memories flooded back to me. Isadora, the one who had always been just out of reach. She had captivated me from the moment we met. She was the one girl that I had ever been devoted to.

I hated that I had left and we never got to have a proper goodbye. The way things ended between us would always be one of my biggest regrets.

We had fallen crazy in love, but we had both been young and we came from different worlds. She was the kind of woman that wanted marriage and family. I wanted it too, someday, but I was twenty and in college trying to make something of myself. I couldn't take care of her and the family she wanted.

I told myself she was going to get over me the first day she stepped foot on campus. Some young, wealthy law student was going to sweep her off her feet and I was going to be nothing but a memory. Walking away from her had been difficult but it had seemed like the right thing to do.

Now, here she was, applying for the position of my assistant—a position that would bring her back into my life in a way I had never dared to imagine. We would be around each other day in and day out. My last assistant was probably the closest thing to a girlfriend I'd had in a long time—a girlfriend without the affection or anything physical. She even bought condoms for me. I couldn't imagine Isadora ever filling that role.

As the car pulled up to my apartment building, I couldn't shake the sense of anticipation. This was my opportunity to make things right—to prove to Isadora that I was more than just a reckless playboy, that I was capable of more than fleeting moments of passion and empty promises.

"I'll be ready to leave for the office in an hour," I told the driver.

"Yes, sir."

The doorman of my building greeted me with a nod. I strode through the lobby, knowing I looked a little rough around the edges, but this wasn't my first walk of shame and it wouldn't be the last.

I stepped into the elevator with a nagging doubt lingering in the back of my mind. What if Isadora didn't want anything to do with me? She had applied for the job, so obviously she would have to know who she was working for. Unless she didn't remember my name.

"Ouch," I murmured as I stepped off the elevator and into the foyer of my penthouse.

That was a brutal thought. What if she didn't remember me? It had been almost fifteen years ago. What if she was married with kids now? She was using her maiden name. Possibly divorced? Why apply to work as an assistant? I had not caught up with her family in a long time. Did they lose their money?

I went to my room, stripped off the wrinkled suit, and stepped into the shower. While I got ready for the day, memories of our past together played in my mind, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

Isadora had always been the one who got away, the one I had let slip through my fingers in pursuit of my career ambitions. Would she even recognize me?

I took a moment to look at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a little shorter than it had been back then. Other than filling out a bit from my lanky swimmer's body in high school and college, I felt like I hadn't changed all that much.

What about her? Would she have changed a lot? I was dying to see her again.

I dressed in a tailored suit and made my way to the office. On my way in, I stopped to grab a smoothie and coffee on my way up. The familiar buzz of activity greeted me when I entered the busy office, the sound of keyboards clicking, phones ringing, and quiet conversation. I made my way to my own office and immediately texted Spencer, my fellow partner in the company. I doubted he was in the office yet but told him to come see me as soon as he was in the building.

He showed up with his coffee and slid into the chair in front of my desk. "I don't know about you, but I drank too much last night."

"I did too." I nodded and gestured at the coffee and the green smoothie that was touted as a miracle hangover cure. I decided to get right to the reason I called him into the office. "Do you remember that girl I told you about?"

"You're going to need to be more specific," he joked. "You've told me about dozens of them."

"Not like this girl. Isadora Haskins. My old man used to work for her father."

Spencer's eyes widened and he set his coffee down on the desk. "Isadora Haskins? The girl you were head over heels for, but were too scared to do anything about it?" He leaned back in his chair, a grin playing on his lips. "Yeah, I remember."

"I wouldn't say I was afraid," I retorted. "But yes, Isadora. She applied to be my assistant. The moment I saw her name, it brought up a lot of old memories."

"I'll bet. Do you still have feelings for her?"

I scoffed. "I don't think so. How could I? It's been fifteen years. I haven't seen or talked to her. We were young kids. What I thought I felt for her back then all seems pretty juvenile now."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, studying me intently. "Well, it sounds like fate has brought her back into your life for a reason. Maybe this is your chance to finally make things right with her, to see if there's still a spark after all these years."

The idea of rekindling something with Isadora both excited and terrified me. Could we really pick up where we left off, or had too much time passed? Did she even feel the same way about me now?

Spencer was the only one who knew the full extent of my history with Isadora, how I had let her slip away all those years ago.

"She applied to be my assistant, not my girlfriend."

Spencer leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful as he drummed his fingers against the armrest. "So, what are you going to do?"

I hesitated for a moment. "I don't know," I admitted. "Part of me wants to interview her, see what she's been up to all these years. But another part of me? I don't know if I'm ready to open that door again."

Spencer nodded in understanding, his gaze unwavering as he studied me intently. "Fair enough," he said, his voice soft but supportive.

"Maybe you should do it," I suggested, a faint glimmer of hope stirring within me. "Interview her and tell me what you think. She's probably going to be expecting me to interview her. It might be good to see how she thinks on her feet, get a sense of what she's capable of when thrown a curveball."

Spencer grinned, his eyes alight with mischief, and he rose from his chair. "Alright, I'll do it," he said. "But before we go any further, I have to ask: do you want to hire her or date her?"

I didn't reply. Instead, I met Spencer's gaze with a knowing look of my own, leaving the answer hanging between us, unspoken but understood.

"I've got a meeting," he said. "Send me the information for the interview. Any particular questions you want me to ask her? Are you single? Do you like red or white wine?"

"I'll send the information," I said, not acknowledging his stupid questions. "I'm counting on you."