𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒. 𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈. 𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈.
Isabella Leighton, a 23-year-old aspiring lawyer, unexpectedly lands a job working for the most prominent CEO in New York. While she doesn't align with his lifestyle, the generous sa...
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ASHER
The room was filled with silence, broken only by the faint ticking of my watch. I took a moment to survey the pale faces at the long wooden desk, none of them daring to meet my gaze.
I couldn't help but clench my jaw in anticipation of a response from anyone in the room. At last, the petite blonde woman broke the silence, her eyes darting towards her assistants. "Mr. Petrov," she murmured softly, "she's pursuing a legal case against you. No sum of money can make this problem disappear; you'll have to seek legal representation."
It was as if my tie had tightened around my neck, suffocating me. Throughout my tenure as CEO, I had encountered numerous obstacles, but this one seemed insurmountable.
"Everyone may leave," I said with my forehead resting against my clenched fists as I addressed the room.
My mind was flooded with a cascade of troubling thoughts, each one more daunting than the last. While uncertain about my next steps, I was acutely aware of the need to formulate a plan.
The sole silver lining in this entire situation was the availability of time. Despite it being my only resource, it might have been the only thing I needed.
With a sigh, I buried my face in my hands as the glass door quietly shut behind me, granting me the solitude I craved. Despite my efforts to banish them, my thoughts refused to relent. Among them, the most insistent was the peculiar conversation I had with the applicant.
The conversation played back in my mind, prompting a chuckle. I shook my head and rolled back my suit sleeve, stealing a quick glance at my watch.
6:34 A.M.
Swiftly, I pushed my chair away from the table, rising to my feet and striding toward the fragile glass door. My reflection in the glass took me by surprise, as my typically well-groomed hair was in disarray.
A stray strand dangled over my forehead, resisting all my attempts to push it back into place. In resignation, I decided to leave it be and exited the conference room.
As I headed towards my office, a cluster of women surrounded me, each with various requests. Some held papers in need of my signature, one had a photo of me and a Sharpie, which caught me off guard, and the final woman stood by the unattended reception desk.
After a moment, Ryan, my trusted right-hand man, hurried over and ushered the women toward the elevator with a firm declaration, "No pictures, ladies." However, when he approached the woman by the desk, I couldn't help but notice how she stood taller and defied his request to leave the office.
