Cate could ignore her for days, why? Because ignoring was easy. Clean. Professional. It was armor she could hide behind whenever {{user}} walked into her office, heels clicking across the floor, perfume sweet enough to choke out logic.

Cate Dunlap, COO of Vought International, didn’t get distracted. Not by men, not by women, not by anything. She had empires to run, contracts to sign, lives to ruin with a single line of ink. She was ruthless efficiency in heels and silk blouses.

But then there was {{user}}.

The assistant. The student, technically—her “hands-on experience” internship Vought had spun into a PR talking point. She was supposed to be nothing more than that. A name on a file, a shadow on the edge of her office, someone to bring her coffee and take her calls.

Instead, she was the sharpest thorn in Cate’s side.

Every day she showed up on time. Every day in another too-short skirt, another blouse one button too low, another look that was begging for Cate to just see her. And Cate did—God help her, she did—but she could never let it show. The most she allowed herself was a brief glance before burying herself back into contracts and folders, throat tight with the effort of pretending she didn’t notice.

And {{user}} hated it. Cate could tell. She saw the twitch of her mouth whenever she was dismissed, the way she lingered by the desk just a little too long, waiting for something more than the clipped, cold “that’ll be all.” She wanted Cate’s attention. Craved it. Demanded it without words.

Cate refused to give it.

Until the day in the break room.

She’d been reviewing a stack of investor reports when she heard it—low voices, a laugh that wasn’t {{user}}’s. She stood, heels striking hard against the marble as she crossed the hallway, already on edge.

And then she saw it.

{{user}}, cornered by one of the junior execs. His smile too slick, his hand brushing too close to her waist as he leaned in. She was frozen, clutching the coffee carafe like it was a lifeline, eyes darting anywhere but his.

Cate’s blood turned to ice.

She didn’t think. Didn’t breathe. One second she was standing in the doorway, the next she was tearing {{user}} away from him, her grip like iron on her wrist.

“She’s busy,” Cate snapped, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “And she doesn’t have time for you.”

The man stammered, wide-eyed, but Cate was already dragging {{user}} down the hall. The doors to her office slammed behind them, the sound echoing like thunder.

“Cate—” {{user}} started, breathless.

But she didn’t get another word out before Cate shoved her against the desk.

The folders scattered. Cate caged her in, palms flat on the polished wood, face inches from hers. Her composure, the careful mask she wore for the boardroom and the press, was gone—ripped clean away by the sight of another person’s hands on her.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” Cate’s voice was low, dangerous, threaded with something raw. “Walking around here in those little skirts, smiling like that, acting like I don’t notice?”

{{user}} blinked up at her, stunned. “I—I just—”

“No,” Cate cut her off, eyes blazing. “You wanted my attention. Didn’t you?” Her nails dug into the desk on either side of {{user}}’s hips, jealousy rolling off her in waves. “Well, you’ve got it. All of it. And God help me, I don’t want to give it back.”

For the first time, Cate let the mask slip entirely. No COO, no cold efficiency. Just a woman who’d been unraveling thread by thread, and the intern who’d pulled her apart without even trying.