"Confidentiality is non-negotiable in my work ethic."
"You'll start Monday. Eleanor will brief you on protocols and security clearance." I extended my hand, curious how she'd react to my touch.
She hesitated, then placed her hand in mine. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through my arm—her skin warm, soft. Her grip was firm but brief, as if touching me burned.
"Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Barone." Her voice remained steady, professional, but her pulse—visible at her throat—had quickened.
I held her gaze longer than necessary. "Eleanor will show you out."
After she left, I stood at the window again, rolling my shoulders against an unfamiliar tension. Something about Isla Quinn unsettled me. The nagging familiarity. The careful way she held herself around me. The secrets behind her eyes.
I picked up my phone. "Marco. I need information on an Isla Quinn. Everything—background, finances, personal connections. Priority."
Marco, my security chief and cousin, understood the subtext. Dig deep. Find what she's hiding.
"Something concerning, boss?" Marco's tone carried a hint of surprise—I rarely requested deep background checks on administrative staff.
"Instinct," I said shortly. "She's hiding something."
"The assistant?" A pause. "That's—unusual."
"I know." And that's what bothered me. "Just find out what she doesn't want me to know."
"Understood. I'll have preliminary findings by tonight."
I watched Isla cross the street below, her dark hair catching sunlight.
"Not yet. But I intend to find out."
I ended the call, my mind already calculating possibilities. If Isla Quinn was a threat—corporate espionage, law enforcement, rival family—I'd know soon enough. If she were simply a woman with secrets unrelated to me or my businesses, I'd know that too.
Either way, I'd made the right choice bringing her close. Keep your enemies closer—a principle that had served me well.
My intercom buzzed. "Mr. Barone, the Azerbaijani minister is on line one."
I straightened my tie, pushing thoughts of my new assistant aside. Business first. Always.
But as I took the call, her scent lingered—citrus and vanilla—tugging at memories I couldn't quite grasp.
Three days later, I stood in my private elevator, reviewing acquisition documents for a struggling refinery in Texas. The doors opened directly into my office suite, where Isla sat at her desk, phone to her ear, fingers flying across her keyboard.
"Yes, I understand the senator's position," she was saying, her voice cool and professional. "However, Mr. Barone's schedule is fully committed. The earliest he can meet is Thursday at four."
She glanced up as I approached, nodding acknowledgment without interrupting her conversation.
"No, I'm afraid that's not possible. Mr. Barone values the senator's input, which is why he's making time despite his commitments overseas next week." She paused. "Excellent. Thursday at four. I'll send the confirmation now."
She hung up, immediately rising. "Good morning, Mr. Barone. Senator Harriman's office confirmed for Thursday. Your coffee is on your desk, the Beijing contracts are flagged for review, and I've rescheduled the board call to accommodate your lunch with Commissioner Davis."
Three days, and she'd already streamlined operations Eleanor had taken years to perfect.
"The Peterson situation?" I asked, testing her.
"Resolved. I spoke with their legal team this morning. They've agreed to the amended terms rather than risk litigation."
I raised an eyebrow. Peterson had been stonewalling us for weeks.
"Their counsel seemed to respond well to a more… direct approach," she added, the ghost of a smile touching her lips.
