Selena Pov

They say hell is other people.

But I'm pretty sure hell is actually alphabetizing five years' worth of disorganized files in a cramped storeroom while wearing stilettos and a pencil skirt.

By noon, my arms ached from hauling boxes. My feet screamed in protest. My stomach had moved past hunger into a gnawing emptiness that made my head swim. Sweat dampened my blouse despite the air conditioning, and I was certain my makeup had melted off hours ago.

But the files were perfect. Every single one organized alphabetically, color-coded by year, and neatly labeled. If Caleb Theller wanted to punish me, fine. But he wouldn't be able to say I'd done subpar work.

I leaned against the doorframe, surveying my handiwork with grim satisfaction.

This was his consequence?

Manual labor?

I'd survived worse. Four years putting myself through college while working two jobs had prepared me for exhaustion.

What I hadn't been prepared for was the complete lack of empathy from my boss. The coldness in those green eyes when he'd assigned me this task, like I was just another inconvenience in his perfectly ordered world. Not once had he checked on me. Not once had he offered water, or asked if I needed a break.

I grabbed my things and headed back to my cabin a small but surprisingly nice office right next to Caleb's. Close enough that I could hear his phone conversations through the wall. Close enough that I'd already learned more about his personal life than I ever wanted to know.

Including the fact that he apparently had a different woman every few hours.

I dropped into my chair with a groan, kicking off my heels and rubbing my sore feet. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me I'd skipped breakfast.

Maybe I could sneak out for a quick-

"Is your work finished, Ms. Carter?"

I jerked upright, nearly falling out of my chair.

Caleb stood in my doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. He'd removed his jacket, and his white dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms that had no business being that distracting.

"Yes, sir." I forced my voice to remain steady. "Every file is organized alphabetically and labeled by year. You're welcome to inspect it."

Something flickered in his expression.

Surprise, maybe?

He pushed off the doorframe and moved closer, and I fought the urge to roll my chair backward. There was something predatory about the way he moved, like a jungle cat stalking prey.

"You actually finished?"

"You sound surprised."

"I am." That infuriating smirk tugged at his lips. "Most people would have complained. Argued. Maybe cried."

"I'm not most people, Mr. Theller."

His eyes held mine for a long moment, and I couldn't read the expression in them. Then he nodded once.

"Apparently not. Book a table for five at an Italian restaurant. Best in the city. We have a business lunch at one o'clock."

"Of course. Anything else?"

"Yes." He turned toward his office, then glanced back over his shoulder. "You'll be joining us!"

My heart dropped at his sentence. Abusiness lunch meant more time with him, more opportunities for humiliation. But I needed this job. My mother's medical bills weren't going to pay themselves.

"I'll book it right away, sir."

Twenty minutes later, I'd secured a reservation at The Papa's Rouge, my favorite Italian restaurant. The irony wasn't lost on me, I'd be sitting at one of my favorite places, probably unable to eat anything while watching others enjoy their meals.

I freshened up as best I could in the bathroom, reapplying lipstick and trying to tame my hair. The woman in the mirror looked tired, but determined. She'd survived the morning. She could survive lunch.

When I returned to grab my bag, Caleb was already heading toward the elevators. I hurried to catch up, my heels clicking against the polished floor.

He pressed the button and waited, checking his phone with casual indifference. When the elevator dinged and the doors opened, I moved to step inside.

He blocked me with his arm.

"Punctuality is crucial in business, Ms. Carter. Since you struggled with it this morning, perhaps you need more practice with time management."

Before I could respond, he stepped into the elevator alone and pressed the button. The doors began to close, and his smirk was the last thing I saw.

"Son of a-" I bit off the curse, fury flooding through me.

The stairs. He expected me to take the stairs. From the thirty-eighth floor.

Fine. If he wanted to play games, I could play too.

I kicked off my stilettos, grabbed them in one hand, and shoved open the stairwell door. The concrete was cool under my bare feet as I began my descent, taking the steps two at a time.

My legs burned. My lungs protested. But I pushed harder, faster, channeling every ounce of frustration into movement.

He thought I would give up. He thought I would cry, or complain, or quit.

He was wrong.

By the time I burst through the ground floor exit, I was drenched in sweat, gasping for air, and probably looked like I'd just run a marathon. Which, essentially, I had.

Caleb stood near the entrance, finishing a phone call. He glanced up as I approached, and for just a moment, something like respect flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by that infuriating smirk.

"Which restaurant, Ms. Carter?"

"The Papa's Rouge," I managed between breaths.

"Excellent choice." He pocketed his phone and walked toward the waiting limousine, where a driver held the door open. Just before climbing in, Caleb looked back at me.

"Do try not to be late this time."

The door closed. The limo pulled away.

And I stood there, barefoot and sweating on the sidewalk, watching my boss abandon me for the second time today.

The taxi ride through downtown traffic was a special kind of torture. Every red light, every slow-moving vehicle felt like a personal vendetta. I checked my phone obsessively, watching the minutes tick closer to one o'clock.

I arrived at 1:07 PM.

Inside The Papa's Rouge, the familiar scent of garlic and fresh bread made my stomach clench with hunger. I spotted Caleb immediately at a corner table, sitting with two older gentlemen in expensive suits. They were laughing at something he'd said, completely at ease.

I smoothed my skirt, squared my shoulders, and approached.

"Gentlemen, my apologies for the delay. Traffic was-"

Caleb's hand wrapped around my wrist as I moved to sit, pulling me close enough that only I could hear his whispered words.

"You are late."

His breath was warm against my ear, his grip firm but not painful. The intimacy of the gesture sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

"Mr. Theller," one of the men said warmly, "you didn't mention your secretary was so lovely."

"Ms. Carter," Caleb said smoothly, releasing my wrist and gesturing to the men. "Mr. Thompson and Mr. Jobs. They're considering a significant investment with us."

I shook hands with both men, noting their appraising looks and friendly smiles. At least someone at this table had manners.

The waiter appeared, taking drink orders. When he turned to me, I opened my mouth to order water.

"Ms. Carter isn't feeling well," Caleb interjected smoothly. "She won't be dining with us today."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stared at him, unable to believe what I'd just heard. His expression was perfectly composed, giving nothing away, but his eyes held a challenge.

He was deliberately denying me food. After making me work all morning. After forcing me to run down thirty-eight flights of stairs.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that," Mr. Thompson said sympathetically. "Perhaps some tea?"

"I'm fine, thank you." The words felt like ash in my mouth. "Please, don't let me interrupt."

For the next hour, I sat in silence while three men ate the most delicious-looking pasta I'd ever seen.

My stomach growled so loudly I was certain everyone could hear it. The aroma of tomato sauce and fresh basil was torture.

But I refused to show weakness. I kept my expression neutral, took notes when appropriate, and maintained perfect professional composure even as hunger made my hands shake.

The business discussion was actually fascinating. Caleb outlined an investment strategy that was genuinely innovative a tech startup focusing on sustainable energy solutions. His knowledge was impressive, his arguments compelling. The clients hung on his every word, asking questions he answered with confident precision.

I could see why he was CEO at thirty. Brilliance and ruthlessness wrapped in a devastatingly handsome package.

"Mr. Theller," Mr. Jobs said as dessert arrived, "you've convinced us. We're in."

Caleb smiled a genuine smile that transformed his face from coldly handsome to absolutely stunning.

"Excellent. Ms. Carter will send over the contracts this afternoon."

They shook hands all around. The clients left with warm goodbyes and promises of future partnerships.

And then it was just the two of us.

"Well done, Ms. Carter," Caleb said, not looking at me as he signed the check. "You lasted longer than I expected."

"Is that all, sir?"

"Yes. I have meetings this afternoon. You can find your own way back."

He stood and walked out, leaving me alone at the table with the remnants of a meal I hadn't been allowed to touch.

The taxi ride back cost me twenty dollars I couldn't really afford. By the time I reached the office, my head was pounding and my vision kept blurring at the edges. But I had work to finish reports to compile, emails to send, contracts to draft.

I worked through the afternoon in a fog of exhaustion and hunger, powered by spite and stubbornness alone. At six o'clock, I finally completed the investment contracts. I gathered them carefully and headed to Caleb's office.

Muffled voices came from inside. I knocked twice, clearly and firmly.

No response.

I counted to ten, then knocked again.

Still nothing.

With a sigh, I turned the handle and pushed open the door.

For the second time that day, I found my boss in a compromising position. This time, a brunette in a tight dress was perched on his desk, his hands on her waist, their faces inches apart.

They sprang apart. The woman's eyes went wide. Caleb's expression darkened with fury.

"Get out," he snapped at the woman.

She grabbed her purse and fled, shooting me a venomous look as she passed.

"Ms. Carter." His voice was ice. "Do you have a problem with following basic professional protocols? Or do you make a habit of barging into private moments?"

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I held my ground.

"I knocked twice, Mr. Theller. Both times loudly. You didn't respond."

"So your solution was to enter without permission?"

"My solution was to deliver the contracts you needed by end of day." I held up the folder. "Which is my job."

We stared at each other across the room, the tension thick enough to choke on. His jaw was tight, his eyes blazing with anger. But beneath it, I saw something else. Something that looked almost like... awareness.

"Leave them on my desk and get out."

I set the folder down carefully and turned to leave. The room tilted suddenly, and I stumbled, catching myself on the doorframe. The floor seemed to be moving beneath my feet.

"Ms. Carter?"

Caleb's voice sounded distant. I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision, but the darkness kept creeping in from the edges. My legs gave out.

Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.

"Selena." His voice was different now. Soft. Concerned. "When did you last eat?"

"Nothing,"

I heard him curse under his breath. Then he was lifting me, carrying me like I weighed nothing. He set me down on the leather couch in his office, and suddenly he was kneeling beside me, his face level with mine.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"You didn't exactly give me the opportunity, sir." I tried to sit up, but he held me in place with a hand on my shoulder. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're exhausted and dehydrated." His fingers brushed my cheek, checking my temperature, and the gentleness of the gesture shocked me more than anything else that day. "Let me take you home."

"No."

"Ms. Carter-"

"I said no." I pushed his hand away and forced myself to stand, ignoring the way the room spun. "I don't need your concern, Mr. Theller. Your pity. Or your guilt. I just need to do my job and go home."

Something flickered across his face, hurt? Regret? But it was gone before I could identify it.

"As you wish."

I grabbed my bag and walked out with as much dignity as I could muster, feeling his eyes on me the entire way. It wasn't until I was in the elevator that I let myself sag against the wall, tears of exhaustion and frustration burning behind my eyes.

In the taxi home, I let my head rest against the cool window and watched the city lights blur past. My first day at Theller International had been a disaster, humiliation after humiliation, punctuated by moments of confusing intensity with a boss who seemed to shift between cruelty and concern without warning.

Caleb Theller was brilliant, ruthless, and clearly a womanizer with commitment issues. He was also the most infuriating, complicated man I'd ever met.

And despite everything despite the hunger, the exhaustion, the calculated cruelty, I couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd said my first name. The genuine concern in his voice when he'd caught me. The softness in his eyes that had appeared for just a moment before his walls slammed back into place.

I pressed my fingers against my temples, willing away the headache and the confusing tangle of emotions.

One day down. However many more to go until I could pay off my mother's medical bills and find a job with a boss who wasn't determined to drive me insane.

I just had to survive. Keep my head down, do my work, and absolutely, definitely not let myself get tangled up in whatever complicated, messy thing Caleb Theller was.

Even if the memory of his arms catching me, strong and steady, refused to leave my mind.

Even if some traitorous part of me wanted to understand what lay beneath that cold exterior.

I closed my eyes and promised myself that tomorrow would be different.

Tomorrow, I would be stronger.

Tomorrow, I wouldn't let him get to me.

But as the taxi pulled up to my apartment building and I dragged myself inside, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was lying to myself.