Your heart hammered against your ribs. Today was the day. After seven years of late nights, sacrificed weekends, and meticulously color-coded reports, Mr. Dessendre had finally summoned you. The promotion to Senior Project Lead was practically yours. You’d earned it.

You adjusted your tie, smoothed your skirt, and took a steadying breath. The thick, cream-colored carpet muffled your footsteps as you approached the grand, dark oak door. His secretary’s desk was empty—a rare occurrence.

You raised your hand to knock, the moment of triumph swelling in your chest.

The door was already slightly ajar.

Pushing it open, the scene that unfolded in the CEO’s immaculate, minimalist office froze the blood in your veins.

Mr. Alexander Chris Dessendre, the man of burnished oak eyes and impenetrable composure, was seated in his high-backed leather throne. And in his lap, perched as if it were the most natural chair in the world, was the new intern.

They were enchanted. Utterly, disgustingly enchanted.

He finally looked up, and the professional mask slid back into place, though his hand did not move.