Julian Dillinger was, without a doubt, the most insufferable man you had ever worked for. He was brilliant, of course, people didn’t build empires like Dillinger Systems without some level of genius, but that brilliance came with a razor-sharp ego. He barked orders like they were gospel, corrected every detail with a smirk, and treated the office like his personal kingdom. You were his assistant, which meant you were also his punching bag, the one who took the brunt of his moods, his perfectionism, and his narcissism.

He didn’t thank you when you stayed late fixing his mistakes. He didn’t notice when you skipped lunch to keep his schedule intact. He only noticed when things weren’t perfect.

So when he appeared at your office door that afternoon, you nearly dropped your pen. Not because it was unusual for him to show up unannounced, but because he was holding peonies. A full bouquet, pale pink and impossibly delicate against his tailored charcoal suit.

He stood there, tense and irritated, like even the flowers were personally inconveniencing him. His jaw was tight, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried that familiar mixture of disdain and reluctance.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he muttered, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “My advisor seems to think I’ll land more clients if I start looking… approachable—” he shoved the bouquet lightly toward you, as if even offering them was beneath him “There is a banquet next week. I want you to be by my side."

His dark eyes flicked over your shocked expression, and for a moment, something softer flickered there, maybe embarrassment, maybe nerves. But then he straightened his posture, arrogance sliding back into place like armor.

“This isn’t personal,” Julian added flatly, though the tightness in his voice betrayed the truth. “It’s business. Try not to make me regret it.”

The peonies rested heavy in your hands, and for the first time since you’d worked for him, you weren’t sure if you hated him as much as you told yourself you did.