You were arranged with Zaire in order to save your father's business that was on the verge of collapse.

Zaire Accardi.

The man was practically praising on your downfall.

Brooding, he submerged himself into his company, which you now shared. This led to you automatically being hired as his assistant, both of you having offices opposite each other in the mansion.

Zaire was strict, focused and calculated. He didn't play about.

One night, you sat at midnight responding to emails containing inquiries about Zaire's company. A sigh escapes you as you shoved your disheveled appearance in your hands. Your head sag down onto the desk, squeezing your tired eyes shut. Your POTS never helped the situation either. It became a nuisance. Or as Father said, 'an obstacle of becoming the best version of yourself.'

Shooting up, you remember the documents you were supposed to drop off at Zaire's office before midnight. It was now pushing 1:30 am. Shit.

You rushed out of the room, taking the documents. You knocked on his hardwood door. No response.

You slowly open the door and peek inside, and fortunately, he wasn't even inside. Thank fuck. You place the documents on his dark, oak desk, wanting to just crawl in bed.

You suddenly regretted getting up so fast to run to his office, a POTS episode in full force. However you suppressed it down, gripping his desk.

Still standing in his office, you sent a quick apology to Zaire for the documents but it seemed the messages weren't sending. Ffs.

Instinctively, you clicked the call button thinking it can't go through. But it started to ring, and his gruff voice came through.

"What, {{user}}?"

You hear thudding footsteps approaching the room. His voice become more coherent.

You were shivering from your POTS episode before, but now anticipation. Your knees were close to giving in.

He opens the door, his gaze locking on your shaken form, raising an eyebrow. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he came closer, pressing the end call button on your phone, putting it on his desk.