Owned By My Ex’s Father

Leah's POV

Five of us.

That's how many people made it to the final round for the Personal Assistant position at Harrington Group.

That means I have a one-in-five chance of my life changing today.

No pressure.

I've been sitting in this waiting area for twenty minutes, watching the others get called in one by one, and my leg hasn't stopped fidgeting since I arrived.

I need this job.

Harrington Group isn't just any company—it's the dream company. It's one of the biggest real estate companies in New York. Getting this position would change everything for me. The salary alone could wipe out two years of debt.

"Leah Elliot."

I rise to my feet before the receptionist even finishes saying my name.

The walk to the CEO's office feels like slow motion. My palms are slightly sweaty. I smooth down my blazer and inhale.

You've prepared for this.

You can do this.

I knock.

"Come in." His deep voice answers from inside the office.

I open the door and immediately take in the view. The office is massive. It has floor-to-ceiling windows, a skyline view and exquisite furniture.

My eyes fall on him next.

Nathan Harrington, CEO of Harrington Group.

He is standing by the filing cabinet along the side wall, pulling drawers open with clear frustration, his jaw tight and brow furrowed.

I'd Googled him, of course. Everyone does. But pictures did absolutely nothing to prepare me for the real thing.

He's in his mid-forties, dressed in a dark tailored suit that you can tell hides muscle underneath. His jaw is sharply defined, lined with a light stubble, complemented by a straight Greek nose and piercing green eyes.

God.

He's perfect.

"Sit down," he says without looking up, flipping through a folder. "I just need to grab something, then we'll start."

I sit in the chair across from the desk, exactly where I was told, and clasp my hands in my lap.

I watch as he continues with his ransacking.

He flips past the same section twice, and something catches my eye. The file he keeps returning to, the one he's clearly trying to cross-reference, the text on the open page isn't English.

It's Mandarin.

Maybe he can't read it. That's why he looks lost. He doesn't even know what he's searching for within it.

I could help.

The thought arrives before I can stop it. I could walk over there right now and find what he needs in under a minute. It would be the simplest thing in the world.

But then, would that be too forward? I haven't even been interviewed yet. He might find it presumptuous.

He glances back at me once he catches me staring.

A short, quiet chuckle escapes him. "Sorry about this." He lifts the open folder slightly. "I'm looking for the Zheng acquisition summary. It should be filed in here somewhere. I'll get to it as soon as I can get past this Mandarin..."

I smile. Guess I was right.

"Mr. Harrington." I rise to my feet. "May I?"

He pauses, surprised. Then he steps aside.

I move to the cabinet. We're both standing now, close enough for me to catch the faint scent of his cologne—expensive, with a hint of cedar. I push the thought away and focus on the files.

A quick scan through the tabs reveals the system is slightly disorganised, but the logic is still clear if you know how to read it.

I find the Zheng file in under a minute, tucked behind a misfiled London report.

"Here you go." I pull the file free and turn to hand it to him.