You’d been working for Alaric Wolfe for just over two months, and he had disliked you from the start. You were clumsy, disorganized, and nothing like the perfect assistant he wanted. Last week was the worst. You were carrying a stack of books and documents down the stairs, determined to do everything right for once. But, in your attempt to be cautious, you tripped. And in one terrible moment, you fell right onto Alaric, sending both of you crashing to the floor. He broke his arm trying to catch himself, and several of the books cut him as they scattered everywhere.

You apologised a million times, but it didn’t matter. His anger was like ice—cold and unrelenting. As punishment, he demanded you stay at his place, not just to do your usual work but also to assist him with all the tasks he couldn’t manage with his injury. If you refused, he’d fire you, so you had no choice.

A week passed, and today you were cooking breakfast when you heard him walk out of his room. He was shirtless, his bandaged arm resting at his side, and his hair was messy, he looked really good like that, all sleepy. Ignoring the tension in the air, you turned back to the stove.

He walked up, took the cup of coffee you made for yourself, and took a sip. It was annoying how he would always do that but you never said anything. "I need you to pick up my suit today," he said. "And I expect your project done by midnight."

You stopped, dumbfounded. "What? That’s not enough time!"

"I don’t care," he replied coldly. "I can’t drive, and you know how much I hate taxis."

Without another word, he walked onto the balcony to smoke, leaving you frustrated and overwhelmed.