Chapter 5
2290words
This would be her first company gala as "Executive Assistant" rather than "server"—a transformation that still felt surreal.
"Relax, it's just corporate theater," her roommate Suzy said, leaning against the doorframe. "Eat fancy food, watch executives give boring speeches, collect your bonus check. Simple."
Rachel adjusted her dress strap. "Blake traditionally announces major personnel changes at these events."
"Worried about getting promoted or fired?" Suzy teased with a wink.
"Neither," Rachel said, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress. "I just don't want to embarrass myself."
Suzy squeezed her shoulder. "Listen, you're not the girl balancing drink trays anymore. These past six months, you've proven yourself. Even the Ice King himself respects you now. What's to fear?"
Rachel inhaled deeply. Suzy was right—since the Stellar Project, her position had solidified considerably. Ethan remained demanding, but he clearly trusted her judgment, even including her in preliminary discussions for major initiatives.
"Now get going," Suzy urged, pushing her toward the door. "And snag me a good photo of your gorgeous boss!"
The ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and elegant guests in formal wear. Rachel located her assigned seat—at the edge of the head table, four places from Ethan, but still at the main table. The placement alone drew envious glances from long-time employees.
"Assistant Adams, quite stunning tonight." Victor Reynolds materialized beside her, offering a flute of champagne. "Drink?"
Rachel accepted the glass but didn't drink. "Thank you, Mr. Reynolds."
"I hear you've been spending time in Design lately," Victor said, claiming a chair that wasn't his. "Moving up quickly, aren't we?"
Rachel offered a guarded smile. "Just learning fundamentals."
"Blake seems quite taken with you," Victor remarked, swirling his champagne. "First time since Sophia Wells I've seen him so… attentive to anyone."
Rachel's fingers tightened on her glass, condensation forming instantly beneath her grip.
That name again. Sophia Wells.
The name that kept surfacing like a splinter working its way out.
"Mr. Reynolds," she met his gaze directly, "I don't understand your fixation with Ms. Wells, but my relationship with Mr. Blake is strictly professional."
Victor's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Of course it is."
Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden hush falling over the room. Ethan Blake had arrived.
He wore a midnight blue suit that emphasized his tall, athletic frame. His dark hair was impeccably styled, highlighting his strong features and penetrating gaze. The room's attention shifted to him like compass needles finding north.
After Ethan's brief welcome speech, the gala properly began. As the evening progressed, Rachel noticed something odd—Ethan had barely touched his food but had consumed several whiskeys. This was unprecedented; he normally limited himself to a single drink at events.
"Blake's hitting the scotch pretty hard tonight," the Marketing Director whispered, leaning toward Rachel. "Last year he didn't drink at all."
Rachel frowned, studying Ethan from across the table. His expression remained composed, but his ears had reddened slightly, and his normally laser-focused gaze seemed distant. When another executive offered a toast, Ethan drained his glass in one swift motion.
"I should check on him," Rachel murmured, rising and making her way around the table. "Mr. Blake," she said quietly, "are you feeling well?"
Ethan turned, taking a moment to focus on her face. "Rachel." Her name sounded different in his softened voice. "You came."
He spoke as though they'd arranged to meet, confirming her suspicion that he was indeed intoxicated.
"Perhaps you'd like some air?" she suggested discreetly.
Ethan shook his head but the movement caused him to sway slightly. Rachel instinctively steadied him. "Let me help you to the lounge."
This time he didn't resist. Rachel caught Marcus's eye with a meaningful glance before guiding Ethan away from the crowded ballroom.
In the quiet of the executive lounge, Ethan dropped onto a leather sofa and loosened his tie. Rachel poured water from a carafe and offered it to him. "This will help."
As he took the glass, his fingers brushed hers, sending an unexpected jolt through her. Rachel quickly pulled back, adjusting her dress to hide her reaction.
"Why aren't you enjoying the party?" Ethan asked, his voice lower and rougher than usual.
"I'm more concerned about you," Rachel answered honestly. "You rarely drink like this."
Ethan gave a soft, humorless laugh. "Once a year exception." He drained the water, his throat working. "They're all waiting for me to stumble."
Rachel frowned. "Who is?"
"Everyone." Ethan closed his eyes. "The board. The executives. My father especially."
This was the first mention Rachel had ever heard of Ethan's family. She knew his father had retired abroad, but beyond that, his personal life was a complete mystery.
"Why would they want that?" she asked carefully.
Ethan's eyes opened, but his gaze seemed focused on something distant. "Because I'll never measure up. Never be enough like him."
Rachel had no response to this raw admission. She simply took his empty glass.
"You know what he told me when he shipped me off to boarding school at seven?" Ethan's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "'Don't embarrass the family name.'"
Rachel's chest tightened. Seven years old—just a child, sent away with only that cold warning.
"Do you miss him?" she asked gently.
"I miss the father I never had," Ethan replied, his words slightly slurred. "Sometimes I wonder if my mother had lived…"
He lurched forward suddenly, face paling. Rachel grabbed a waste bin just in time as he retched, though nothing came up but bile.
"Let's get you home," Rachel said, rubbing his back gently. "I'll take you."
Ethan's lack of protest spoke volumes about his condition. Rachel quickly informed Marcus before guiding Ethan through a service exit to avoid curious eyes.
Ethan's penthouse occupied the top floor of the city's most exclusive residential tower.
Rachel found his access card and managed to get him into the private elevator. He leaned heavily against her, his warm breath against her neck carrying the rich scent of aged whiskey.
"Key…" he mumbled as they reached his door.
Rachel retrieved his keys and unlocked the door. The apartment surprised her—minimalist to the point of austerity, with few personal touches. It resembled a high-end hotel suite more than a home.
She guided him to the bedroom and helped him out of his jacket and shoes before easing him onto the bed.
"I'll get you some honey water," she said, turning to leave, but Ethan's hand shot out and gripped her wrist.
"Don't go," he said, his voice cracking with unexpected vulnerability. "Don't leave me alone…"
Rachel froze. His palm burned against her skin, his grip almost painful. But what truly shocked her was his expression—the always-commanding Ethan Blake looked suddenly like a lost child, afraid of being abandoned.
"I'm just going to the kitchen," she assured him gently. "I'll be right back."
He studied her face as if assessing her truthfulness before slowly releasing her wrist.
The kitchen was immaculate and clearly seldom used. Rachel found honey and prepared a warm drink. When she returned, Ethan was struggling with his shirt buttons, his usually deft fingers clumsy with alcohol.
"Let me," Rachel set down the drink and helped with the buttons. Her fingertips brushed his skin, the heat surprising her. "You're running a fever."
Ethan drank the honey water and closed his eyes. "When I was sick as a child, my nanny would read to me."
Rachel wasn't sure if this was a request, but she couldn't refuse this rare moment of openness. "I could read something, if you'd like."
"The Little Prince," Ethan said immediately, settling back against the pillows. "Chapter twenty-one."
Rachel blinked in surprise. The Little Prince seemed an unexpected choice, and the specific chapter request even more so. She found the text on her phone and began to read:
"'At that moment the fox appeared…'"
As she read the fox's explanation of what it means to "tame" someone, Rachel glanced up to find Ethan asleep. With his features relaxed, he looked younger, the hard edges of his personality softened by slumber.
She set down her phone and gently pulled the blanket over him. Moonlight slipped through the curtains, silvering his profile. Without thinking, Rachel reached toward his face, stopping just before her fingers made contact.
"What am I doing?" she whispered, snatching her hand back. Heart pounding, she retreated to the living room sofa, where she spent the night, alert to any sound from the bedroom.
…
Morning sunlight flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows, waking Rachel. She found herself covered with a throw blanket she didn't remember taking.
"Sleep well?"
The deep voice made her start. Ethan stood at the kitchen island in casual clothes, hair damp from a shower. Apart from slightly bloodshot eyes, he appeared completely composed—the vulnerable man from last night nowhere to be seen.
"Mr. Blake!" Rachel scrambled to her feet. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he replied, offering her a cup of coffee. "Thank you for your assistance last night."
Rachel accepted the coffee, studying his face. "Do you remember much from last night?"
Ethan's expression revealed nothing. "Fragments." He turned toward his study. "Take the day off. No need to come in."
Rachel began to speak, then thought better of it. "Thank you. I'll head out then."
"Rachel." Her name stopped her at the door.
She turned, heart inexplicably quickening.
"Regarding last night," his voice was perfectly controlled, "complete discretion."
Her heart sank. "Of course, Mr. Blake."
Outside his building, the morning sun seemed harsh and unforgiving. Rachel took a steadying breath, forcing herself back to reality. What had she expected? Last night was nothing but an alcohol-induced anomaly. Nothing more.
A week later, the office atmosphere had noticeably shifted.
Colleagues watched her with undisguised curiosity, conversations halting when she entered rooms. Most concerning was Victor Reynolds, whose hostility had become almost palpable.
"Word is you took Blake home after the gala," Lisa from Design whispered during lunch. "Spent the night, even."
Rachel's hands stilled. "He was unwell. I ensured he got home safely."
"How… dedicated of you." Lisa's smile was knowing. "So are you two…?"
"It's strictly professional," Rachel stated firmly. "Nothing more."
Lisa clearly didn't believe her but dropped the subject.
The gossip was bad enough, but Ethan's behavior had become increasingly distant since that night.
He no longer commented on her designs, left her prepared lunches untouched, and communicated almost exclusively through Marcus.
Rachel told herself this was for the best—he was the CEO, she was just an assistant. But the memory of his vulnerability that night remained etched in her mind.
During Friday's department meeting, Rachel felt the weight of hostile stares. When she offered input on new packaging designs, Marketing Director Wilson scoffed audibly:
"Perhaps Assistant Adams should focus on her… specialized duties for Mr. Blake. Leave design work to actual professionals."
The room went deadly quiet. Rachel's cheeks burned, but she kept her voice steady. "My suggestions are based on consumer research data, Director Wilson. If you have substantive objections, I'm happy to discuss them."
"That's enough," Marcus cut in sharply. "Next item on the agenda."
Later, in the restroom, Rachel overheard two colleagues talking:
"She actually spent the night at his place, can you believe it?"
"Acts so professional, but we all know how she really got that promotion."
"Careful—she's his pet now. She could get us fired."
Rachel bit her lip until she tasted blood. When they left, she emerged to stare at her pale reflection. The face looking back seemed drained of all energy.
Back at her desk, she saw the intercom light blinking. Taking a steadying breath, she headed to Ethan's office.
"You needed me, sir?" she asked quietly.
Ethan glanced up briefly, his expression neutral. "Major client visiting Monday. Prepare the conference room and materials."
"Yes, sir."
He seemed about to add something, then simply nodded. "That's all."
Rachel turned to leave when his voice stopped her. "Wait."
She turned back, her pulse inexplicably quickening.
His expression remained neutral, but something in his eyes had softened. "How are you holding up?"
The simple question nearly undid her. She wanted to tell him everything—about the rumors, the hostility, how his hot-and-cold behavior confused her. Instead, she nodded. "I'm fine, thank you for asking, sir."
Ethan studied her for a long moment, as if seeing through her facade. "If you encounter any… difficulties, speak with Marcus."
Rachel forced a smile and left. Once outside, tears threatened to spill over. Ethan clearly knew about the gossip but chose this distant form of "help"—acknowledging the problem while maintaining professional separation. Always the perfect executive.
At the next morning's executive meeting, Ethan addressed the "unprofessional commentary" circulating through the company.
"Blake Industries is not a high school cafeteria," he stated, his gaze lingering meaningfully on Director Wilson. "Employees are judged solely on performance. Assistant Adams' contributions speak for themselves. Further unprofessional commentary will have consequences."
His words silenced the worst of the gossip but cemented Rachel's position as "the boss's favorite." Colleagues became superficially polite while further isolating her. Ethan, having made his statement, maintained his professional distance.
Only Marcus offered occasional support. "Don't take it personally," he advised. "That's just Blake's way. The more he cares about something, the more distance he creates."
Rachel smiled weakly, saying nothing.
She channeled all her energy into work, particularly her design studies. Late at night, she would sketch for hours with her W&K tools until her fingers cramped.
Design became her sanctuary—the one place where she could forget that night, the vulnerability in Ethan's eyes, and her own confused feelings.
