Violet’s POV
The silk blouse fits like Adison designed it specifically for my body.
I smooth the fabric over my ribs, watching how the charcoal gray transforms me in the full-length mirror. The cut is professional without being severe. Expensive without screaming wealth.
It makes me look like someone who belongs in boardrooms instead of someone who just fled her mother's apartment with a backpack full of regret.
Adison chose this. Not because I asked, but because she understood instinctively what I needed—armor that doesn't look like armor.
"Ready?" Her voice carries from the doorway, already dressed in her own power suit.
"As I'll ever be." I grab the blazer she laid out and slip it on. The weight of it settles across my shoulders like responsibility I'm not sure I've earned yet.
We ride the elevator down together in comfortable silence. The city's already awake outside—cabs honking, people rushing, the chaos of Manhattan operating at full volume. My reflection catches in the polished elevator doors, and I barely recognize myself.
Gone is the girl who played games at the ranch. The one who tried to seduce Jake just to prove she could. This version looks competent. Serious. Like someone who might actually deserve the chance Adison's giving her.
The thought terrifies me more than I want to admit.
Ward Enterprises gleams with that particular brand of corporate confidence. Glass and steel and people who know exactly where they're going. Adison moves through it like she owns it—because she does—and I follow half a step behind, trying to absorb her certainty through proximity.
We find Zachary in Adison's office, reviewing documents with that focused intensity I remember from yesterday. He looks up when we enter, and his expression shifts from professional attention to something I can't quite read.
"Zachary." Adison's voice carries cheerful authority. "I'd like you to meet your new assistant."
His gaze moves to me. Confusion flickers first. Then understanding. Then something that looks remarkably like barely-concealed horror.
"I'm sorry?" The words come out measured. Careful. Like he's giving her a chance to correct an obvious mistake.
"Violet will be working primarily with you." Adison continues as though she didn't notice his reaction. "Managing schedules, coordinating meetings, handling correspondence. Your responsibilities have multiplied significantly during my absence, and you need help."
"This isn't help." Zachary sets down the documents with deliberate precision. "With all due respect, this is an additional burden. Training someone with no experience while managing an already overwhelming workload—"
"She's intelligent." Adison cuts him off smoothly. "Full of untapped potential. Exactly what you need even if you don't see it yet."
I stand there between them, feeling like evidence being presented in a trial I'm not allowed to participate in.
"Adison—" Zachary tries again.
"I have an investor meeting in ten minutes." She glances at her watch, already moving toward the door. "You two will figure it out."
And just like that, she's gone.
The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush me. I watch Zachary's jaw tighten as he processes what just happened—ambushed by his own boss into babysitting her runaway enemy-slash-ally-slash-whatever-the-hell-I-am-now.
I refuse to let the silence intimidate me.
"Look at it this way." I lean against the edge of the desk, forcing lightness into my voice. "By accepting me, you'll have the opportunity to prove all your skepticism completely justified."
His eyebrows rise slightly. "Is that supposed to be reassuring?"
"It's supposed to be honest." I hold his gaze without flinching. "Though for the record, you won't be proven right. I'm better than you think."
Something almost resembling amusement flickers behind his professional composure. He sighs, and the sound carries resignation wrapped in strategic acceptance.
"Fine." The agreement lands like a man accepting inevitable defeat. "But we establish ground rules immediately."
I straighten, forcing myself to meet this moment with something resembling dignity. "I'm listening."
"What's your corporate experience?" He crosses his arms, studying me with clinical attention.
The question lands exactly where I knew it would. I swallow the defensive sarcasm threatening to rise and offer truth instead.
"Almost none." The admission scrapes out with as much dignity as I can muster. "Unless you count attending charity galas and learning which fork to use for oysters."
"Jesus." Zachary pinches the bridge of his nose. "This is a disaster."
"I'm a fast learner." The defense rises automatically. "And I'm not afraid of hard work."
"That remains to be seen." He drops his hand, fixing me with a look that feels like an assessment. "Here's how this works. You don't touch anything important without my explicit approval. You come to me immediately when you're overwhelmed—not after you've already broken something. And you leave your socialite attitude at the door. This is Ward Enterprises, not a cocktail party."
Each instruction lands like a test I'm not sure I can pass. But beneath the harsh edges, I hear something else—structure. Boundaries. The kind of clear expectations I've never actually received from anyone in my life.
"Understood." I nod once, channeling every ounce of false confidence I possess. "Though for the record, I'm granting you a tremendous favor by accepting your mentorship."
His eyes narrow. "You're granting me—"
"Absolutely." I interrupt before he can finish, wrapping sarcasm around the vulnerability threatening to crack through. "Years from now, when I'm running my own company, you'll be able to say you trained me. That's valuable credibility."
For a long moment, he just stares at me. Then something shifts in his expression—not quite warmth, but not complete dismissal either.
"You're either incredibly confident or completely delusional." His voice carries grudging acknowledgment. "I haven't decided which yet."
"Why not both?" I offer a smile that feels only slightly forced.
He shakes his head, but the gesture lacks real frustration. "Your desk is there." He points to a smaller workstation positioned near his own. "Sit. Observe. Try not to destroy anything in the first hour."
I move toward the desk with careful composure, settling into the chair like I belong there. The computer screen glows to life when I touch the mouse, and my email—already set up, already functional—waits for whatever comes next.
Relief blooms quietly and warm beneath my carefully maintained bravado.
He didn't send me away. Didn't tell Adison this was impossible. Didn't give me the easy out I'm not sure I even wanted.
"Thank you." The words slip out softer than I intend. More honest than I planned.
Zachary glances up from his own screen, something unreadable crossing his face.
"Don't thank me yet." His voice carries a warning wrapped in something that might be protection. "You have no idea what you've signed up for."
"Good." I turn my attention to the screen, forcing confidence I don't entirely feel. "I'm tired of knowing what comes next anyway."
The office settles into working silence. Outside the windows, Manhattan blazes on—indifferent to the girl learning to become someone new, one uncomfortable moment at a time.