The Next Day.
Isa bowed politely as she stepped into Chris's office.
He didn't return the greeting—just cast her a brief glance before returning his gaze to the notes in his hands, flipping through them with silent intensity.
Isa's left hand tightened around her laptop as she walked closer to his desk. Her heart thundered. Her stomach knotted.
What if I got everything wrong? The thought haunted her all night, a shadow she couldn't shake. She'd arrived at work by 7 a.m., reviewing everything she'd prepared. She even showed Ryan her work for feedback, and he'd assured her it was perfect. Still, she had combed through the emails and schedule over and over.
Now, standing before her boss, uncertainty wrapped around her like a noose.
His words echoed in her mind like smoke drifting through a sealed room: Everything should be flawless.
She'd convinced herself his previous PAs must have been the problem—maybe they hadn't met his standards. But she would. She had to. She needed this job.
But what exactly were his standards?
Ryan had told her, "He just wants things perfect."
Isa let out a shaky breath.
Please… let me be different. Let me be the one who gets it right.
She cleared her throat. "Sir…" Her voice wavered. "I've got the emails and schedule ready."
Silence.
Chris continued flipping through his notes, slow and deliberate, as if time were infinite.
Isa clamped her lips shut, her heart drumming in sync with the ticking clock on his desk.
Did he not hear me? she wondered.
She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. "Sir, I—"
"Let me take a look."
Isa nodded quickly. Her hands trembling, she opened her laptop and placed it gently on the desk. She clasped her fingers behind her back, pinching them to steady herself.
Chris finally set his notes aside and swiveled toward the screen. He dragged the laptop closer and began scrolling through the emails.
When Isa saw the slight furrow of his brow and the pause in his scrolling, her breath caught in her throat. The room seemed to tighten around her, the air chilling. Her mind went silent. The ticking clock faded into the distance, drowned by the thunder of her heartbeat.
"One," he said, eyes still on the screen. "Your emails sound like birthday invitations. You're not thrilled. You're extending formal invitations—with grace."
He paused. "Try again. Two."
Isa bit her lip, her fingers digging painfully into her palms. Her heart sank like shattered glass, fragments stabbing at her chest.
"You scheduled too closely." Chris tilted his head. "Why are there two guests booked for 3:15—in different conference rooms?"
Isa opened her mouth, then swallowed hard. Her tongue felt like sandpaper.
"I… I thought if one meeting ended early, you could quickly join the next—"
"This isn't speed dating," he said flatly. "These are collectors. Investors. Critics. They don't wait in line. They don't get rushed."
He leaned back in his chair with ease, picked up his notes again, and turned toward the glass wall behind him.
"Try again."
Isa gave a barely perceptible nod. "Yes… sir." She grabbed her laptop and left the office in a rush.
Isa dropped her laptop on her desk and slumped into her chair, heart still racing. The sting of his dismissal echoed in her chest. She wiped at the corners of her eyes, sniffing.
He's so full of himself… she thought, replaying how he'd dismissed her—just turned his back as if she didn't exist.
That silence… so intentional. Was this how he treated his staff?
She scoffed at herself. How could she have imagined he'd see her any differently—just because of a pair of familiar eyes?
For a moment, Isa saw the truth—she'd been hoping he'd remember her, that he'd treat her differently because of who he used to be. Because of that boy in the woods. But the way he turned his back? He didn't see her. Not as a person. Not as someone who mattered.
I'm wrong. This can't be the boy i knew. How could i have belive that?
Her face flushed hot with embarrassment. All she wanted was to disappear.
You're just a worker to him. A mere assistant. Nothing more.
Her chest shuddered. Her stomach twisted painfully. She gripped the arms of her chair.
Will I get fired too?
"No." Isa shook her head. "I'll do whatever it takes."
She sat up with sudden determination, snapping open her laptop and grabbing a pen and notebook. But the moment the emails and schedule reappeared on her screen, her mind froze.
"He said no meetings after six," she muttered, chewing on the end of her pen. "Then how does he expect me to fit everyone in?" She sighed heavily, eyes half-lidded with mental exhaustion.
A voice startled her from behind. "These emails… What even is this tone?"
Isa blinked and turned sharply.
"Hmm. Did Ryan help with this? Because, wow, this doesn't sound like a professional email… "
"Da…Daniel?" She blinked again, watching him bend slightly to peek at her screen.
"You know the real mistake you made yesterday?" he asked calmly.
She shook her head slowly, her gaze fixed on the man who hadn't said more than a single sentence the day before.
"It was asking Ryan for help with this kind of thing." He chuckled, shaking his head. "He's clueless when it comes this. You should've come to me." Daniel straightened, still eyeing the screen. A quiet laugh escaped him.
"What?" Isa turned to the laptop.
"Hello, Mr. Ricko. We're thrilled to have you at the exhibition! Hope to see you at the meeting—details below!" Daniel read aloud, then chuckled again. "Miss Isabella, this sounds like a party invite."
"Party?" Isa echoed, recalling Chris's exact words: Sounds like a birthday invite.
She buried her face in her hands, heat crawling up her neck.
Daniel patted her shoulder gently. "I can help—when you're ready."
Isa nodded, her face still buried in her hands—unaware she was already alone again.
Six p.m.
"I've got them ready, sir," Isa murmured, barely above a whisper, as she placed her laptop in front of her boss. She pressed her lips together and curled her toes inside her shoes.
Chris slowly swiveled his chair toward the laptop. His chin rested on his palm, elbow propped on the desk, while his other hand idly scrolled through the screen—his face unreadable, almost bored.
I hope it's okay that we schedule the meeting for 2 p.m. Please let me know if that's inconvenient…
He tilted his head, fingers lazily tapping the mouse as he read. Then he leaned back into his chair and noticed the beads of sweat gathering on Isa's forehead. Her chest was stiff—no rise, no fall. She was holding her breath.
Chris's gut tightened, muscles drawing taut. His bored expression slipped into a frown.
Why do I feel like this? His brow furrowed. The sickness is getting worse, he thought, pressing his fingers to his temple.
"Why are you asking them to reschedule a meeting we already set?" His voice was low as he shut the laptop. "We're not hosting a bake sale, Miss Smith."
He looked up—and his heart skipped. Isa's head was lowered, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, fingers nervously fidgeting.
Of course. She should be nervous. She must know this job isn't for her. This place doesn't belong to her.
But then, his gaze dropped to the pen now clenched in his fist.
How…?
He tilted his head, confused. He couldn't remember picking it up. A hot burst of anger flared in his chest. He let the pen fall—it hit the desk with a sharp ring that sliced through the silence.
"Are you sure you're capable of this job, Miss Smith?" he asked, picking up his notepad and flipping through pages like he was grasping for anything to focus on.
Isa's head snapped up, eyes wide.
"I—I'm sorry, sir."
Chris's grip tightened on the notebook as he glanced up at her.
"I—I promise I'll do better. Please give me another chance. I'll get it right. I'll try my best. I promise." She spoke in one breath, then added, "I know I make mistakes," nodding slightly, "but I can also do better when I put in more effort."
Why is she so desperate?
Chris's brow furrowed deeper.
Why does it sound like her life depends on this?
His eyes drifted across the desk and landed on the iPad. He leaned forward, picked it up, and squinted at the screen—like something about it didn't look quite right.
"The password is Nova," he said, sliding the iPad toward her. "Check it out. You'll find samples of my emails and schedules there." He paused, glancing away as the pulse in his ears quickened.
I shouldn't be doing this—not if I want the plan to work. But it still needs to look professional.
He leaned back in his chair, his voice flatter now. "This is your last chance, Miss Smith." He crossed his legs, slowly swiveling side to side. "You're dismissed."
Isa nodded, taking the iPad. "Thank you, sir."
He caught the lift in her voice—like she was already snapping back into work mode. He looked up just as she turned to leave, and his gaze followed her delicate frame until the door clicked shut.
When he caught himself still staring, he coughed and cleared his throat.
I hope you fail again... Isabella.
He didn't call her that out loud. Never will. But it echoed now.
And it stung—for reasons he didn't want to explore.