Ice it.

My alarm goes off, signaling that it's time to go into the meeting room, so with the little strength I force myself to have, I take my things and get out.

My stomachache and sprained ankle aren't the only things bothering me. I suddenly feel dizzy, but I manage to keep my balance until my foot hitches, and I go plunging to the side.

Someone catches me by the shoulder, and I don't even have the strength to move until I hear the person's voice.

"What's wrong with you today?" Ryan asks from behind me, assisting me back to balance, and I find enough strength to move out of his hold once I'm stable enough. "Thank you, sir; I'm quite fine." I bow and summon a lift. "You didn't seem fine when you were swaggering a while ago." I gulp but don't answer, and he doesn't persist any further, joining me in the elevator.

Strictly professionalism.

When we enter the meeting room, which is partially empty, I take my seat beside him, subtly adding just an inch more distance between us. I'll take as much as I can get.

The meeting starts in just ten minutes, and people start coming in before the 10-minute mark. In no time, we start.

"Free my schedule for the whole of next week; I'll be on quick leave." I write everything down on the iPad as he speaks, spinning in his office chair lightly. "Also, book a hotel suite for one night over at Oakwood Area. That's all; no one is supposed to contact me but you during the week." "Ok, sir."

Just as I look over my notes, I chuckle inwardly at the thought of my parents, who live in the Oakwood residence.

I nod and turn the device off, getting up and about to excuse myself.

"Ms. Moore," "Yes, sir?" He says nothing and comes over to me. All his movements seem hesitant, as if he's failing to calculate what to do next. Something I've never seen during my six months here. He's always meticulous about everything.

He stands a few millimeters away from me, staring at me intensely. "You've been limping, why?" "I'm fine, sir," I answer, but he shakes his head. "The truth, Mrs. Moore," "I'm quite fine, sir, just my shoe."

"Monique," he leans in, and I gulp, hearing my name so dangerously seductively from his lips. "You will not leave my office until I know why you're limping." I gulp, feeling his hot breath on my nose. “I just sprained my ankle, sir, that's all." "Ice it." I nod, but he leans in even closer, caging me in between him and the door, and my eyes travel down to his luscious pink, thin lips, luring me in.

Before you know it, we're kissing on the door.

His hand trails all over my top where one button is open, and I moan when he grabs my ass with the other, pushing himself into me, and I feel a spark go off inside me, wanting this man more than I ever had. Even more than our first kiss in his car.

I should stop, I know, but I just can't. Our bodies and lips fit so perfectly together, it is hypnotizing.

When we pull away for oxygen and the moment dies down, I snap out of my high and apologize before running out the door.

Really Monique? We talked about this, and what did you go and do? Kiss him. Such an idiot.

I fix my clothes and fall into the comfort of my chair, resting my head on the desk and biting my lips in frustration.

Shit.

I plop down onto my bed, a spoon in my mouth and an ice cream tub in my hand. "Ugh." Why do I want the one off-limits and out of my class? I groan out loudly, biting the spoon, as I recall the feel of his lips on mine, kissing me with passion.

No, not good.

He's a billionaire with a good reputation and family standards to set, I'm sure. I'm just a personal assistant who follows him around all the time, but it's bad enough that I'm half black and work in such a close space. Not to mention my no-boyfriend era. I still haven't recovered from the experience of having a racist boyfriend. And I've never thought to date someone so much as 8 years older than me.

But Ryan. Ryan makes me question myself.

Before, I had a ‘type’ and this man was never in that category. Instead, he created new standards in my head. Standards I fear only he can meet. It was almost like they were made only for him.

They were.

I sigh and remove my bookmark. I somehow find time to read during my busy schedule, and I'm grateful for the little escape it provides me from my shitty life.

It's been a long day, and I have a whole week to relax given that Ryan will be on leave and my services won't be needed. Maybe it's an excuse to avoid me, but whatever the reason, I'm glad for the break. I should treat myself. I'm sure with Isabelle's wedding preparations, she won't remember I exist, which means my pay is safe for now.

I go back to the kitchen for a refill and come back. I put my hair up and read myself to sleep.

I wake up feeling better today, and I know exactly what I want to do.

I walk through the supermarket, loading up my trolley, when I see an old man trying to pick up something from the bottom shelf but failing to even bend more than halfway. "Here you go, sir," I say, handing him the can of beer. It's strange and ironic, but it's his choice.

"Oh, thank you so much, Young Miss." I nod, passing him a smile until a few men rush to him with his wheelchair, and I chuckle. "I had to stretch my legs a little," he winks, tightly holding onto his bottle. I chuckle again, nodding in understanding, then bid him bye and continue my shopping.

I get everything I need and unpack at home after ordering in. Payday is the best day. Until your older sister blackmails you for it. But today, I'm lucky enough for her to be busy and distracted.

I take a shower as I wait for my food delivery to come.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I rush to my ringing phone and quickly answer it.

"Hello?" Nothing. "Hello?" I ask again, but no one answers, and the line cuts off. Wrong number, I assume. Just then my buzzer rings, and I go to the door, paying for my food and coming back inside.

Time to stress eat.