Chapter 187: The Personal Assistant

DAVID’S POV

She stood with grace and calm like this was her boardroom. Like she didn’t just intern her way in through a back door fifteen minutes ago.

She walked around the table slowly, her heels soft but deliberate, and opened a new slide on the screen that wasn’t in the original deck.

Where the hell did she even get that?

“Here’s the thing about Atelier Solace,” she began, her voice poised and calm, like she wasn’t mid-power grab. “It’s not just a design firm. It’s a response. A philosophy. They don’t build luxury high-rises or modern monstrosities for corporate egos. They build healing spaces…places where people find safety after conflict, after loss, after trauma.”

The room went still.

She glanced at the J Cole partners, her tone shifting…lower, more intimate.

“They create what they call trauma-informed architecture. It’s niche, yes. But revolutionary. They work in communities ravaged by war, natural disasters, violence. They don’t just rebuild buildings—they rebuild trust. Identity. Hope.”

She flipped to another slide—photos of curved community centers in Sudan, light-drenched safe houses in Colombia, rebuilt classrooms in Eastern Europe.

“They don’t treat design like aesthetics. They treat it like medicine,” she continued, meeting the older partner’s eyes. “And right now, several humanitarian foundations are circling. Solace is on the verge of breaking into global relevance, but they need the right voice. A partner who sees beyond numbers. Someone who can translate their heart into action. That’s us.”

That’s us?

I gripped the edge of the table, hard enough my knuckles went white.

“Imagine the narrative: J Coal partners with Solace to redefine architecture as restoration. You don’t just get revenue. You get a legacy. You get moral capital. You get to be on the right side of the next design revolution.”

She paused. Let the words settle like dust after an explosion.

And then she smiled.

That goddamn smile.

Soft. Pure. Radiant.

Like she hadn’t just flipped the room upside down and walked off with every ounce of interest I’d fought months to earn.

The older J Coal exec leaned forward, his fingers laced thoughtfully. “This... this is the angle we’ve been missing.”

The younger one nodded. “No one’s ever positioned them like this. Not even their own pitch decks.”

Norman looked dumbstruck. “Wait—was that in the file they sent us?”

“It wasn’t,” Holly said, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “But I did some research. Just in case.”

She turned to me then, eyes wide and innocent. “Of course, Mr. Hunt will lead the rest. I just couldn’t help jumping in when I saw the direction it was going. Hope I didn’t overstep,” she said, throwing me that devilish smile that reeked of mischief.

Overstep?

That’s not just an understatement…that’s a goddamn joke.

She didn’t just overstep…she bulldozed her way into my life, stormed into my bedroom, sank her claws into my company…and now she has the audacity to call it an overstep?

I clenched my jaw, gave the J Coal guys a tight smile, and slid into the chair beside Norman, watching her sit back down with a little satisfied sigh. She smoothed her skirt, opened her notebook again, and resumed taking notes like she hadn’t just scalped my pride with a hair flip.

The room continued…buzzing, electric. Suddenly the deal didn’t feel like a pitch anymore. It felt like they were already sold, and the one selling them wore gloss and perfume and that devilish goddamn smirk.

I didn’t say a word for the rest of the presentation.

But in my head?

I made a decision.

She’s leaving.

She’s not staying here.

I don’t care how brilliant she is, how persuasive, or how impossibly smart.

She’s fire.

And I’ve already been burned several times.

She walked into this company with chaos on her breath and my name under her tongue.

And if she thinks I’m letting her play me in both arenas?

She has another thing coming.

Because this time?

I play the game.

And she won’t see the end coming.

The meeting was over.

Handshakes were being exchanged. Polite nods. That post-deal glow hung in the air like the scent of expensive cigars and ego. The J Coal partners looked pleased—smug even—as they packed up their notes, murmuring about timelines and next steps.

And then one of them said it.

“We’ll have the contracts drawn up. But we want Miss Holly Rodriguez to be fully involved in the project moving forward.”

My spine snapped straight.

No.

No, no, no.

Before I could so much as part my lips to object, Norman’s voice cut through the room like a blade dipped in charm.

“Absolutely, sir,” he said, flashing that toothpaste-ad smile. “She’s going to see this through. Right, Dave?”

And then it happened.

They all turned to me. Expectant. Eager. Hungry for confirmation.

Say no.

Fucking say no.

But then—

“Yes,” I heard myself say.

And not just yes—I tacked on something about her ‘insight’ and how she’d ‘bring a unique perspective’ to the project. Who the hell was speaking? Because it sure wasn’t me.

But what choice did I have?

We’d been trying to land this partnership for months. Countless meetings. Countless rejections. Now it was finally ours, and I wasn’t going to torch it because of a girl who talked like a saint and moved like sin.

My eyes briefly met hers.

That look.

That ‘I’ve got you now and you can’t go anywhere look.’

Sweet and smug like a poisoned peach.

A shiver ran down my spine, cold and crawling.

What’s the worst that could happen?

She’s just a kid. A cocky intern with good shoes and dangerous ideas. Ava would come for her eventually. Take her off my hands. And by then the project would be too far along to undo.

Or maybe….

Maybe she’d have a little “accident” that kept her out of the office for a few weeks. Something harmless. A twisted ankle. Food poisoning. A mysterious printer mishap.

Who knows.

The J Coal partners filed out one by one, leaving just Norman, the brat, and me.

I waited until the glass doors shut behind them before leaning toward Norman, dropping my voice low.

“We need to talk. About Holly. About… her position in the office.”

Norman turned, pretending not to hear the panic woven into my tone.

“I mean it,” I whispered. “This company’s still growing. We can’t afford another full-time staff member, especially—”

I didn’t finish.

Norman placed a firm hand on my shoulder, his voice light.

“Don’t worry, Dave. She’s working as my personal assistant.”

I blinked.

“Personal?” I asked slowly.

Norman’s smirk was subtle but sharp.

“Yeah. Personal.”

Wait. Personal?

What the hell does that even mean?

Look, I know I’m a jerk. Scratch that—I’m a textbook-grade douchebag. But Norman? If I had a sister and he was the last man on earth? I’d lock her in a bunker and swallow the key.

He doesn’t hurt anyone, no. But he’s everywhere. Smooth, invasive, slippery. And that look he gave me? He’s not just seeing Holly as an assistant.

And suddenly I knew.