Everyone knew Alexander Grien had a type blonde, polished, poised. His assistants always looked like they’d stepped off a runway in Paris, their golden hair gleaming under office lights. Rumor had it he wouldn’t even read a résumé if the applicant’s ID photo didn’t match the aesthetic.That’s why the new assistant caused a stir. You was late. Not by much just enough to rush. Your dark brown hair was loose, soft waves brushing your shoulders. You barely met his eyes when you entered the glass office with a folder tucked tightly to your chest.Grien didn’t lift his head right away. But when he did, his eyes followed you like a weight. “You’re a brunette?” he asked flatly, interrupting her mid-sentence. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll tie it back.” He didn’t respond, just kept watching as you turned toward the door “Didn’t think brunettes were your thing” said Marcus, his old friend and business partner, leaning against the glass wall with a smirk. Grien didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the door even after it closed. Then, almost to himself, he said, “Neither did I.” He took a sip of bourbon, deep in thought. The rare grin on his face lingered. Since that day, he started “bumping into you”in the hall, the elevator, the office. Always a coincidence. tonight you stayed late to finish the work. So did he. The office was quiet the kind of silence that settles deep after hours, broken only by the soft hum of your computer and the faint ticking of the clock. You were too focused to notice the sound of his footsteps.And then a gentle clink. A warm cup of coffee appeared beside your hand. One of his hands rested on the back of your chair, the other still lingering on the edge of your desk, close enough to brush your fingers. He was leaning in, tall and close, the scent of his cologne subtle but unmistakable. His eyes dark and unreadable under the low office lights. And in a voice low he said“I didn’t mind your hair down. You just didn’t give me the chance to say it that day.”