1. Scarlett

Chapter 1

Scarlett

I’m staring at my computer screen, watching the little clock in the corner tick ever so slowly toward five o'clock. The hands of time seem determined to move at the pace of a slug crawling through molasses. Any minute now, my grouchy boss will summon me with some last-minute task that’ll have me staying late—not that I’m bitter or anything. I glance at the stack of paperwork towering to my left, and Noah’s voice comes over the intercom. Speak of the devil.

“Scarlett, can you come into my office, please?” It’s more of a command than a question, and the impatience in his voice is as familiar as my morning cup of coffee. I roll my eyes but push back my chair and grab my trusty notepad.

As I cross the open-plan office to reach his domain, I mentally prepare myself for whatever storm might hit. Noah Blackwood is, without a doubt, the most gorgeous, successful, and infuriating man I’ve ever met. Seriously, he’s like a Greek god molded in the form of a CEO, but with the temperament of a bear woken up from winter hibernation without any coffee in sight.

I knock lightly on his door and wait for his grumbled, “Come in,” before stepping inside. Yep. I learned how much he hates for someone to walk in before he permits them on my first day. It was the last time I ever made that mistake. He sits behind his desk, looking every bit the part of a business tycoon in his perfectly tailored, custom suit. His dark hair is tousled just enough to look effortlessly suave, not like the hot mess my hair is perpetually unraveled into by the end of each workday.

His piercing blue eyes lift from his screen to meet mine, and even though he’s about to bark orders at me, my stomach does that weird flippy thing it always does when he looks at me. Focus, Scarlett. You’re a professional and jumping your boss’ bones wouldn’t be very professional.

"Scarlett," he says, gesturing to a dubious pile of documents on the edge of his desk. "I need these organized and summarized before you leave tonight.”

I nod, my professional demeanor firmly in place, even as I suppress the urge to grumble. “Of course. I’ll get right on that.”

He nods, satisfied with my compliance, and dismisses me with a wave of his hand. It’s my cue to beat a hasty retreat. As soon as the door closes behind me, I stick out my tongue at it, the only protest I’m brave enough to make. Childish? Maybe. But sometimes acting out my frustrations in small, ridiculous ways is necessary for survival.

Back at my desk, I tackle the additional paperwork with the determination of a girl who knows her favorite TV show is starting in an hour. I rifle through the papers, scrawling notes and summaries with the precision borne of far too many evenings spent working overtime.

By the time I puzzle through the last page and the clock ticks its way triumphantly to six-thirty, I'm ready to make my escape. I gather everything neatly, swing by Bossy McGrumpster’s office to drop off the completed work, and as I turn to leave, my professionalism slips just a tad.

“Have a great night, Mr. Blackwood,” I say, my voice as sweet as the hot cocoa dreams are made of.

Noah glances up from his laptop, surprised by the syrupy cheerfulness of my tone. His brow furrows just slightly. “See you tomorrow, Scarlett.”

Did I just imagine the hint of warmth there, or am I simply desperate to find a hint of humanity in my handsome tyrant of a boss?

As I walk home, my brain keeps replaying our interactions over and over, looking for secret messages like a poorly developed spy. Do I like Noah Blackstone? Resent him? Or is it some bizarre mix of “this could be more if the stars aligned, and coffee didn’t run out?”

Once I’m home, I throw myself onto my couch and turn on the TV, but my mind isn’t on the drama series playing in front of me. Instead, it’s weaving its own narrative about what lies beneath my boss’ gruff exterior. There might be more to him than just barking orders and keeping impeccable time. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who rescues kittens from trees but hides it behind a scowl. Or maybe he’s just someone who drinks his coffee black and picks the marshmallows out of Lucky Charms. It’s hard to tell because he’s grumpy and tight-lipped, and beneath that god-like exterior is a mystery wrapped in Armani.

My grumpy kitty, Minnie, walks over and stretches her lithe, white body out next to me. “How’s my big girl doing?” Okay. Yes, I talk to my cat.

Her bored eye roll and slight flick to her tail are the only answers I get. Oh well, right now, I’ll take it.

The show plays on, but I’m barely paying attention. It’s silly to think about him outside of work like this, with his perfect, chiseled jawline covered by a perpetual five o'clock shadow. But the human brain is weirdly persistent when it comes to linking A to B, especially if B is a mysterious, alluring boss you spend most of your waking hours with.

As I finally begin to drift off into a much-needed slumber, I can’t help but wonder: Am I ready for whatever revelation—or disaster—may arise from getting to know Noah Blackwood better? Probably not. I’ll have to file that under unfinished business for tomorrow—right next to one large cup of morning coffee.

I’m buried under what feels like an avalanche of chaos, not literal snow, but definitely the paperwork equivalent, when my phone starts buzzing on my desk. I glance at the caller ID and see it’s my sister, Eve. Wonderful. I’m neck-deep in sorting out this latest office predicament, and I really don’t have time to chat.

I pick up the phone, adopting my best no-nonsense voice. “Hey, sis. I’m kind of busy right now. Can I call you back after work?”

“I really need to talk to you now!” she insists, her voice a mix of pleading and just the tiniest hint of drama that makes me sigh. My older sister is nothing if not persistent.

I relent, hitting the speakerphone button so I can keep my hands free to search for the missing file that’s surely plotting its own demise at the bottom of my desk pile. “Okay, fine. You’re on speaker, and I’m buried right now, so talk fast, sis.”

The office is quiet since Noah is out schmoozing at some lunch benefit, so I figure I’m safe enough from eavesdropping ears.

“You’ve been avoiding my calls and texts,” Eve begins with that tone that tells me she’s about to dive into something major. “Are you coming home for Christmas?”

I rub my temples, searching my brain for an answer that isn’t just 'pffft,' which, to be honest, is pretty tempting. “I’m trying to see if my budget can handle the plane ticket. You know how it is.” Actually, she doesn’t. My sister owns her own art gallery in a small town filled with billionaires who love their expensive art.

“I can help you with the ticket,” she offers for what feels like the hundredth time, her generosity as earnest as ever.

“Grrrr, I told you no.” I shovel some papers to one side, uncovering a sticky note with the words Order toner!! underlined three times. Grossly underrated priorities. “I don’t want you to spend money on this. I’ll figure something out.”

Of course, just as I’m about to make a compelling argument for my financial responsibility, Noah appears as if from nowhere. Maybe he’s got some secret teleportation power, or maybe he’s just stealthy when he wants to be. Either way, I nearly jump out of my seat when he speaks.

“Scarlett, you know I’m flying to my cabin in Colorado the week before Christmas. You could fly with me, and the jet will take you on to California after dropping me off.”

Cue shock and not the awe-inspiring kind. I look up at him, my mouth slightly agape in utter disbelief. “Excuse me?” I finally manage to say.

Bossy McGrumpster, standing there with his hands in his pockets, looks almost casual with this absurd offer, as if handing out private jet rides is just something he does every day. Maybe it is, in his world. “I have a jet. It’s available. You wouldn't have to worry about flight costs, and it’s no trouble at all.”

In the back of my mind, a neon sign flashes “HECK NO,” but my mouth is still working to form a coherent sentence. I mean, who offers up their private jet like it’s a spare cup of sugar?

Eve’s voice comes through the speaker, full of disbelief and excitement. “Did some guy just offer you his jet, Scar? Who is this guy, and why aren’t you already dating him?”

“No, Eve, it’s not like that. Noah is my boss,” I say quickly, feeling my face turn bright red. Leave it to my sister to embarrass me. “But… wow, thanks, really, but I just… uh, I mean, it’s not necessary.”

Noah watches me with a kind of patient amusement, as though he sees right through my polite protest and knows I’m totally, definitely considering it, no strings attached. “Think about it, Scarlett. The offer stands.”

I nod, mostly because I can’t form a more sophisticated response in the face of such a wildly generous offering. Seriously, did I just enter a parallel universe where this is a normal interaction between boss and assistant?

“Sure,” I murmur, deciding that rationalization can wait until my brain stops doing somersaults. “I’ll think about it.”

He gives a satisfied nod, almost like I've made his day by not immediately rejecting the idea outright. As he walks back to his office, I look back at my phone, where Eve sounds like she might explode with curiosity and delight.

“This is huge!” Eve squeals. “Not only is your boss clearly nice, which is shocking considering everything you’ve said about him, but you’re also going to get to fly like a freaking celebrity!”

Great. Now he knows I’ve been saying not-so-nice things about him. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” I remind her, trying to reel in the runaway train of enthusiasm on the line. “It’s just… an option. Besides, it’s complicated.”

Complicated because accepting means spending more time with Noah, which means more opportunities for my heart and sanity to become collateral damage in the workplace. Complicated because it blurs the lines I’ve so diligently tried to maintain. And complicated because it suggests that beneath his gruff exterior, Noah might actually be a pretty great guy, which is a dangerous realization for someone determined to keep things strictly professional.

“So, you’re thinking about it,” Eve persists, her voice lilting with mischief.

I can't help but chuckle, still bewildered by the turn my afternoon has taken. “I’ll keep you posted, Eve. Now, let me get back to mitigating this disaster mountain of paperwork, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” she relents, and I can almost hear her smiling. “But remember, free flights on private jets don’t come around every day.”

We say our goodbyes, and after hanging up, I sit back in my chair, trying to refocus on the task at hand while my mind dances circles around this bizarre, potentially amazing offer.

Work time, Scarlett. Worry about impending awkward festive flights later. For now, there’s toner to order and documents to save from oblivion. My own private mental juggling act continues in earnest, spurred on by this unexpected twist.