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. The worst came last week when you tripped on the stairs while carrying a stack of books and documents—landing right on top of him. He broke his arm and got cut by the falling books. Despite your endless apologies, he was furious.

As punishment, he made you move into his house to handle both your usual work and his daily tasks. 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 pants hung low enough to reveal the edge of his boxers. 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.