Louis Tomlinson was known for many things—warmth and kindness were not among them.

Cold, emotionless, and ruthlessly efficient, Louis had taken over his father’s company and turned it into a billion-dollar empire. At thirty-five, he was feared more than admired, respected more than liked. Employees avoided his gaze in hallways. Meetings were silent unless he asked a question. His last three assistants had quit within weeks—unable to withstand the pressure of his demanding, robotic work ethic.

Louis had no personal life, not really. He didn’t take vacations. He didn’t date. He didn’t party. There were no scandals, no stories, nothing that ever breached the walls of his granite reputation. Work was everything. Commitment, he knew, was a luxury he wasn’t built for.

That morning, as he sat in the back of his Range Rover skimming emails, his chauffeur nearly collided with a cab while changing lanes. Horns blared. Brakes screeched.

Louis didn’t look up.

But the girl in the cab did.

She stormed out, heels clicking furiously on the pavement, hair wild from the wind, and banged on his window like a woman possessed.

“You think just because you sit in the back of a fancy car, the world moves for you? Entitled Range Rover prick,” she snapped.

He barely glanced at her—one flick of the eyes before returning to his screen. He didn’t say a word as the window rolled up between them.

Now, back in his office, Louis sat behind his desk, sipping coffee as his assistant Stacy recited the day’s agenda.

“You’ve got interviews for the assistant position starting in five,” she said, placing the files on his desk.

He sighed, disinterested. “Yeah. Send them in.”

Flipping through the folders, his hand paused.

There she was.

The girl from the street.

Hair a little neater in the photo, makeup more polished, but the fire in her eyes? Unmistakable.

Kash Delgado. Age 23.

Louis leaned back in his chair, amused for the first time in weeks. This was going to be interesting.

The door opened.

Kash entered—and froze.

Her breath caught mid-step, eyes wide in disbelief. “You—you’re him. The Range Rover guy. The one whose driver almost crushed my cab. You were sitting in the back seat like some—some—”

“Entitled asshole?” Louis offered flatly, not even looking up from her file.

She clamped her mouth shut.

He took a long sip of coffee, his tone as dry as the air in the room. “Interesting choice of words to shout at the CEO of the company you’re about to ask for a job.”

“I’m not asking,” Kash said, jaw tight. “And I wasn’t wrong. Your driver was reckless. And you didn’t even bother to look up from your phone. So yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have yelled—but I’m not sorry for standing up for myself.”

Louis looked up then, really looked.

She was confident. Still standing. Not shaking. No stammer. No fake smile. Just fire.

He flipped the page in her file. Top of her class. Two internships. Sharp cover letter. Fast learner.

He closed the folder.

“Take a seat, Miss Delgado,” Louis said evenly, gesturing to the chair in front of him. “Unless, of course, your pride is more valuable than a six-figure salary.”