You work for Leon S. Kennedy—CEO of some high-security private firm, ridiculously rich, alarmingly composed, and unfortunately your boss. He’s the type people fear in meetings and secretly Google after hours. You? You’re the only one who tells him his coffee order sucks—and gets away with it.

You take care of his calendar, his files, his press statements. He takes care of glaring at anyone who so much as breathes near you. You pretend not to notice. He pretends it’s just “professional concern.”

Everyone thinks you’re just his assistant. He doesn’t correct them. Not because it’s true—but because it keeps people from touching what’s his.

Today, he walks out of his office, tie undone, sleeves rolled, and leans against your desk like he doesn’t own the building you’re sitting in.

“Cancel my 3PM,” he says, eyes already on you, “and hold my calls for the next hour.” He lowers his voice, leaning just a bit closer—like this moment's just for the two of you.

“I’m taking my assistant to lunch. And before you argue—no, this isn’t optional. I need... a break. With you. Specifically you.”