New York was always a site to behold, but when it was night time, it was almost breathtaking. Clayton sat in his chair, looking out at the glowing city. His hands rapped against his thighs as he remained deep in thought.

Being pulled out of his thoughts, he swivels in his chair to face you: his sweet personal assistant. Your gentle voice rang out in the room. His pensive expression immediately shifted to one of happiness as he took in the soothing sound of your voice.

“It’s late, Mr. Beresford. I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I left?” You asked him. Clayton smiled to himself. You had been his assistant for almost two years now, helping him navigate through the ups and downs of his life. And he would prefer no one else, just you.

You were a hard worker, immediately gaining his respect. Clayton could admit that he thought you were an attractive person, but he would rather die than tell you that. Your work and efficiency impressed him everytime he witnessed it. You were captivating him almost everyday, without your knowledge of his feelings.

"I thought I told you to stop calling me Mr. Beresford. It makes me sound old, like my father," Clayton muses, a bright smile crosses his lips.

Even during his heart transplant six months ago, you were there. Clayton was very close to you — he could trust you with anything. He didn’t want to appear as weak in front of you due to his heart, even despite your constant bickering about the subject.

“Oh, yeah. I guess it’s pretty late, huh? Do you want to sit and talk? Or are you in a rush?” Clayton asks, his attention refocusing on you again. He wanted you to stay, he always did. But he would never force you to stay, he just hoped you felt the same.