Chapter 105 Steal Me for Lunch Sweetheart
The elevator doors slid open onto the top floor, and Amelia stepped out — her coat draped neatly over one arm, a woven picnic basket hooked in the other.
This hallway was familiar to her in the quiet, unconscious way home always is: the muted hum of voices behind glass, the faint, ever-present trace of Bryson’s cologne in the air. She hadn’t even realized how deeply she associated this space with him until now.
What she did not recognize… was the woman in her chair.
Mid-thirties. Impeccably styled. Dark lipstick. Nails shaped like weapons. She sat with the confidence of someone who thought the desk made her powerful.
Her eyes lifted slowly as Amelia approached.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked, voice cool and practiced.
Amelia smiled politely. “Yes, I’m here to see Bryson.”
The woman’s gaze slid lazily to the picnic basket. Then back to Amelia’s face. “Name?”
“Amelia Prescott.”
One manicured finger tapped against the keyboard. Slowly. Deliberately.
“I don’t see an appointment.”
Amelia’s smile stayed soft. “That won’t be necessary. I’m his—”
“Oh, I think it will,” the woman cut in smoothly, not even letting her finish. “Mr. Hearst doesn’t do drop-ins, and I don’t make exceptions.”
Amelia blinked once, surprised—but not offended.
Maxine’s eyes flicked to the badge.
Maxine Vale — Executive Assistant (Temp).
“Oh,” Amelia said gently. “You’re the temp.”
Maxine’s chin lifted. “I’m temporarily filling in for Mr. Hearst’s regular EA. And part of my job is making sure his time is respected.”
“I understand that,” Amelia said kindly.
“And that means,” Maxine continued, with a faint edge, “you’ll need to leave or call downstairs to schedule properly.”
Amelia hesitated for half a second—then nodded.
“Alright.”
She didn’t argue.
She didn’t push.
She simply walked to one of the leather couches in the waiting area, set the picnic basket beside her, and sat down with quiet composure, crossing her legs.
Maxine watched her with visible irritation.
A few minutes passed.
Then Maxine picked up the phone with a sharp click.
“Security to the executive floor.”
She set it down and looked over at Amelia with a tight smile.
“You should probably go before this becomes awkward.”
Amelia looked up calmly. “I’m fine right here, thank you.”
The elevator chimed.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor as the board members began to file out of the conference room in low, important murmurs. Laughter drifted. Power moved.
Maxine straightened instantly, smoothing the front of her blazer like she was stepping into a spotlight. Her eyes flicked once more to Amelia on the couch — calm, seated, legs crossed, hands resting lightly on the picnic basket at her side.
That quiet confidence made Maxine’s irritation spike.
Perfect.
Bryson Hearst stepped out last.
Charcoal suit. Tie loosened. That unmistakable gravity in his walk — the kind that bent space without asking. His attention was still half on the men around him as Maxine intercepted him with practiced urgency.
“Mr. Hearst,” she said briskly, just loud enough to carry. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s been an issue in the waiting area.”
Bryson slowed.
Maxine pointed, sharp and precise.
“A woman without an appointment refused to leave after I explained protocol. I’ve already called security.”
There it was.
The performance.
The power play.
The setup.
Bryson followed the line of her finger.
And everything in him stopped.
Amelia.
Seated on the couch.
Picnic basket nestled next to her.
Watching him with steady patience — not worry, not offense… just him.
For one suspended second, Maxine thought she had won.
Then Bryson said, softly and without hesitation,
“Baby.”
The word landed like a bomb.
The hallway shifted.
Bryson stepped past Maxine as if she were a shadow and crossed the space in commanding as always. His hands went to Amelia immediately — one at her jaw, the other at her waist.
“You brought lunch?” he asked, disbelief and warmth colliding in his voice.
Amelia smiled up at him. “You sounded tired.”
A breathless laugh left him, the tension draining visibly from his body. He leaned down and kissed her — slow, familiar, unshowy, but devastating in its certainty.
Conversation died behind them.
Only then did Bryson glance over his shoulder.
“Mavis,” he said casually, “why is my fiancée being threatened with security?”
The name hit Maxine like a slap.
Her mouth fell open.
“It’s—my name is Maxine—”
Bryson was already looking back at Amelia.
Amelia stood then, calm and composed, hands folding loosely in front of her. “It’s alright,” she said gently. “She didn’t know who I was. I tried to tell her.”
Bryson’s jaw tightened slightly, but his voice stayed level. “You shouldn’t have to explain yourself in my building.”
Then he finally looked at Maxine again — properly this time.
“That’s Amelia Prescott,” he said evenly. “My fiancée. And the executive assistant you are temporarily filling in for.”
The color drained from Maxine’s face so fast it was almost alarming.
“Oh—my God—I’m so sorry,” she rushed out. “I truly didn’t know. I would never have spoken to her that way if I had—”
Amelia’s expression stayed kind. “Apology accepted.”
Bryson never took his hand off Amelia’s waist.
He looked down at the basket.
“You really carried this all the way up here?”
“Yes,” she said lightly. “I had to wrestle security to get it all the way up here.” she teased.
His mouth curved. “Brave of them.”
He picked up the basket himself, turning back toward his office with her already at his side.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Steal me for lunch, Sweetheart.”
Behind them, the board members dispersed in awkward silence.
Maxine remained standing at the desk.
Watching the man she thought she was managing walk away with the woman she had tried to remove.