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Chapter Text

A sharp knock snapped Helen out of her thoughts. Her spine straightened instinctively.
“Come in,” she called, voice crisp.

The door creaked open, and a familiar dark head peeked through.

“Ms. Sharp.”

Mrs. Oscar stepped into the doorway, her longtime assistant, hair dark but threaded with silver, eyes keen as ever. She’d been with Sharp Publishing Co. since 1974, back when Helen’s father ran things. Reliable. Steady. The sort of woman who kept empires standing while everyone else ran around inside them.

Unfortunately, she was retiring.

Which meant Helen needed a new assistant… asap. Two weeks of interviews had worn her patience to the bone. Just one more applicant. One more polite handshake and practiced smile before she could go home and stop pretending to be impressed.

“Your last applicant for the day is here,” Mrs. Oscar said, a quiet smirk tugging at her lips. The expression made Helen pause.

Something about that smirk said this one was going to be different.

“Alright,” Helen murmured, rising from her chair. She smoothed the front of her black blazer, checked for wrinkles in her white button-down and tailored trousers, and ran a quick hand through her hair to tame any flyaways. Her glasses slid down her nose, she pushed them back up, framing sharp green eyes that missed nothing.

“Send them in,” she said.

The slight creaking of her office door forced Helen to glance up, eyes narrowing at the figured who walked through the door.

She was blond… very blond.

That was the first thing Helen noticed, she raked her eyes over the woman, (a little too long to be considered appropriate) standing in front of her. Besides the very noticeable….blondeness. She was dressed formally, a good check in Helen's box. The amount of Gen Z who come to interviews in sweatpants and old baggy hoodies should be studied. 

This one, at least, seemed to have read the memo. She wore tailored off-white pants, a baby-pink blouse neatly tucked in, and matching pale sandals that somehow didn’t look unprofessional. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders in soft curls that caught the light as she moved.

But it was her face… her face that made Helen pause.

She was gorgeous.

How was she supposed to describe a face like that?

Those eyes, bright, startling blue, met hers with a kind of open curiosity that made Helen’s breath hitch for a beat too long. They looked like they held too much.. too much light, too much possibility. Freckles dotted her cheeks and crossed the bridge of her nose, the kind of detail that shouldn’t have mattered and yet Helen couldn’t stop cataloging. Her lips were full, soft-looking, distractingly so, and that smile… 

God, that smile. 

The sort of thing that could sell anyone anything. It faltered at the edges, just slightly forced, but Helen supposed anyone would look that way under scrutiny. It was an interview, after all.

And Helen really needed to stop staring.

She cleared her throat, fighting the faint heat rising up her neck. She stood and reached across the desk, forcing composure into her posture.

“Hi. Welcome in,” she said, voice smooth and professional despite the flutter under her ribs. “I’m Helen Sharp, CEO of Sharp Publishing. And you are?”

The blonde stepped forward, her handshake firm, warm.

“Madeline Ashton.”

A sharp spark, like a jolt of static, or something stronger… Shot up Helen’s arm the moment their hands met. Both women glanced down, then back at each other, eyes locking again.

Helen blinked first.

“What a fitting name,” she thought before she could stop herself.

“It’s truly an honor to be considered for this position,” Madeline said, smile brightening. “I’ve always admired the books your company publishes.”

Helen smiled back, polite, practiced. But inside, something was very much not practiced.

Helen gestured for her to sit, forcing herself back into the rhythm of professionalism.
“Please, have a seat.”

Madeline settled into the chair opposite her, crossing one leg over the other. Her blouse shifted slightly with the movement, catching Helen’s eye before she could stop herself. Focus, she scolded silently, flipping open the folder on her desk.

“So, Madeline,” she began, pretending to read the résumé she’d already memorized. “You recently graduated from NYU?”

“Yes,” Madeline said, her voice soft but sure. “Double major in English and Theater studies, with a minor in dramatic literature.”

“Good combination,” Helen murmured. “We do a lot of crossover work with media coverage and digital publications now. And you’ve worked in editorial before?”

“Briefly,” Madeline said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Internship last summer with Sinclair Press.”

Helen nodded, trying not to watch the way her hand lingered near her neck.
“And what made you interested in Sharp Publishing?”

Madeline smiled, slowly, like she’d been waiting for the question. “Honestly?”

Helen arched a brow. “I prefer honesty.”

Madeline tilted her head, eyes flicking to Helen’s for a beat that lingered just a little too long. “I like the kind of stories you publish. They’re… bold. You take risks. You make room for work that feels alive.”

Helen’s pulse stuttered. That was not the usual canned answer she got from applicants. She looked down quickly, letting her glasses slide lower on her nose to mask the way her lips curved despite herself.

“Well,” she said lightly, “it’s good to know you’ve done your research.”

“I have,” Madeline said, her tone easy, confident now. “On the company… and on you.”

Helen’s head snapped up. “On me?”

Madeline smiled, and it wasn’t the nervous, polite smile anymore, it was something knowing, teasing at the edges.

“Of course. I read your essay on the evolution of women in publishing from last year’s symposium.”

Helen blinked. “You read that?”

“I did. Twice, actually.” Madeline leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees. “It was… sharp. No pun intended.”

Helen let out a small laugh before she could stop it. The sound felt too warm, too familiar. “That’s… thank you. Most people found it a little dry.”

“Maybe they weren’t paying attention,” Madeline said.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The office felt smaller somehow, the air thick with something unspoken. Helen forced herself to glance back at the folder, trying to remember what she was supposed to ask next.

“And, um, your availability?” she managed, voice steadier than she felt, her heart felt it was going a thousand beats per second.

Madeline’s lips curved. “I’m available to start immediately.”

Helen’s throat went dry. “Of course you are,” she muttered under her breath, before realizing she’d said it aloud.

Madeline’s smile deepened. “Was that a good thing or a bad thing, Ms. Sharp?”

Helen’s gaze flicked up sharply, green meeting blue again.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” she said quietly.

_______

The interview went well. Very well. 

So well, in fact, that when Madeline stepped into the elevator, waving a cheerful goodbye, Helen was still standing outside her office door, trying not to smile like an idiot.

Mrs. Oscar was waiting nearby, a knowing smirk already on her face.
“Don’t worry,” she said, folding her hands. “I’ve already sent her an email offering her the position.”

Helen blinked, caught off guard. “How did you know she was the best applicant?”

“Oh, don’t ask me how I knew.” The older woman’s smile deepened. “Call it assistant’s intuition.”

Helen let out a quiet breath, half a laugh, and nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Oscar.”

Eileen Oscar had been with Sharp Publishing longer than Helen had been alive, but she was more than an employee. She was the closest thing Helen had ever had to a mother. Her own had died when she was six, car accident, sudden, unspeakable. Helen never talked about it. And her father… Well, he was always gone when she was growing up. Always busy building the business.

“Not now, dear,” he’d say when she tugged at his sleeve. “I’m building an empire for you to run. It’s all for you.”

It had broken her heart and gratified her at the same time, because at least he believed she could continue what he built.

So it was Mrs. Oscar she ran to, over and over. Birthdays. School projects. College decisions. Even on her first day as CEO, when the office still felt too big for her, it was Eileen who stood in the doorway with a mug of coffee and said, You’ll do fine, darling. You always do.

Which made this goodbye feel heavier than Helen wanted to admit. It was bittersweet, she loved the woman dearly, but she also knew how hard Eileen had worked, how long she’d carried the weight of this company beside two generations of Sharps. She deserved rest.

That’s why Helen had insisted on the early retirement. Full pension. Benefits. The works. She wasn’t about to let the woman run herself into the ground out of loyalty.

It might have felt bitter… if not for one small comfort.

Eileen had already declared that Sunday dinners at her house were non-negotiable. “No excuses, Helen,” she’d said. “Even CEOs need to eat.”

Helen tried to wriggle out of it. “Eileen, I really can’t… I’ve got..”

“No excuses,” Eileen interrupted, cutting her off mid-sentence. Her sharp eyes swept over Helen, taking in every detail as if measuring her soul. “I don’t care that you’re forty. You could be ninety, and I would still make you come.”

So Helen knew she wouldn’t really lose her. Not completely.

Helen walked back into her office, to her computer dinging with a new notification. 

She opened her email, scanning the new one that just came in. 

Subject: Acceptance for the Assistant Position

Dear Ms. Sharp,

I hope this message finds you well.

I wanted to thank you again for the opportunity to interview with Sharp Publishing Co. today. It was truly a pleasure meeting you and hearing more about the company’s goals, and your own approach to leading it. Our conversation left me even more excited to be a part of the team.

I’m thrilled to formally accept the position of Executive Assistant and am eager to begin contributing to the work you and your company are known for. Please let me know the next steps in the onboarding process, as well as any materials I should prepare. But I will be there Monday morning, 8 am, sharp.

Thank you again for your time and trust.
I look forward to working closely with you soon.

Warm regards,
Madeline Ashton

Her eyes skimmed the message once, then again, slower. The email was perfectly professional, polished, thoughtful. The kind of tone Helen would normally appreciate. But this time, something about it caught under her skin.

Our conversation left me even more excited to be a part of the team.

Her fingers hovered over that line. It was harmless. Completely standard. And yet, Helen could hear the cadence of Madeline’s voice when she read it, the soft emphasis she might have given the words excited and you.

Ridiculous, she thought.
Utterly ridiculous.

She sat back in her chair, exhaling through her nose. This was just an email. A normal acceptance from a qualified applicant. Nothing more.

Still, she reread it a third time before forcing herself to open a new draft. Her response came out measured and efficient, exactly as it should.

Subject: Acceptance for the Assistant Position

Dear Ms. Ashton,

Thank you for your message. I’m pleased to officially welcome you to Sharp Publishing Co.

Our HR department will send over onboarding materials. Please don’t hesitate to reach out with any questions in the meantime.

We’re looking forward to having you on the team.

Best,
Helen Sharp
CEO, Sharp Publishing Co.

Helen read it over twice, making sure it sounded appropriately detached, then hit send.

And yet, as the whoosh of the sent email faded into silence, she found herself staring at her screen longer than necessary, her reflection faint in the glass.

The office suddenly felt too quiet.

She shut her laptop, leaned back, and whispered to the empty room,
“Get a grip, Sharp.”

Chapter Text

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Madeline took a deep breath before stepping out. The lobby of Sharp Publishing looked even more intimidating in daylight. Everything gleamed, marble floors, tall windows, framed book covers from decades past hanging like trophies.

She smoothed the hem of her baby-blue blouse, clutching her bag a little tighter as she approached the receptionist’s desk. Her heart was pounding, though she wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or anticipation. Probably both.

“Madeline Ashton,” she said, smiling politely. “First day.”

The receptionist brightened. “Of course! Ms. Sharp said to send you right up to the executive floor. She’s expecting you.”

Ms. Sharp.

Just hearing it again made something flutter low in her stomach. She’d replayed that interview more times than she wanted to admit, the calm certainty in Helen’s voice, the way her glasses slipped down her nose when she was thinking, the faint scent of coffee and some kind of warm, spiced perfume that lingered long after Madeline had left.

She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, watching the numbers climb.

By the time the doors opened again, she’d rehearsed what she wanted to say three times: be professional, be competent, be normal.

But then Helen looked up from her desk.

Her hair was in a bun again today, soft red waves slipping past the tight updo, framing her face with her glasses balanced low on her nose. She looked less like a CEO and more like the person Madeline had seen flashes off during the interview, sharp, warm, and quietly dangerous in how easily she held attention.

She definitely held Madeline's attention.

“Good morning, Ms. Ashton,” Helen said, standing to greet her. Her voice was even, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes, recognition, maybe.

“Good morning, Ms. Sharp.” Madeline smiled, somehow both confident and breathless. “Thank you again for the opportunity.”

“Of course,” Helen replied. “Welcome to Sharp Publishing. I’ll have Mrs. Oscar show you around, today is her last day so she’ll only be joining us till lunch then she'll be going home for the rest of the day.” 

The older woman came into view with a warm smile on her lips, Helen looked at her, Madeline noticed how the redheads gaze softened, as she gave her a quick nod then stepped into her office, closing the door behind her. 

Mrs. Oscar looked up and down Madeline sizing her up, a warm smile broke on her face, “Come with me.” The woman said. 

Madeline followed Mrs. Oscar down the polished hallways, trying not to let her nerves show. Every surface gleamed, every office door hinted at decades of publishing history, and Madeline’s stomach fluttered as she realized just how much responsibility she was about to inherit.

“Welcome again, Madeline,” Mrs. Oscar said warmly, her voice calm and assured. “You’ll find Sharp Publishing runs like a well-oiled machine. Most days, anyway.” She winked, and Madeline smiled, feeling slightly at ease.

They started the tour with the editorial floor, where assistants and editors worked side by side, papers shuffling, quiet conversations, the occasional sharp laugh cutting through the calm. Mrs. Oscar introduced Madeline to a few key faces, giving quick background notes: who handled what, which editors preferred emails over calls, and who had a tendency to burn through three cups of coffee before 10 a.m.

Finally, they reached the executive offices. Mrs. Oscar paused outside Helen’s door, turning to Madeline with a serious expression.

“Now,” she said, lowering her voice slightly, “working for Ms. Sharp isn’t like any other assistant position you’ve had. She’s brilliant, driven, and… intense. Extremely intense. You need to be prepared to anticipate her needs before she even knows she has them.”

Madeline nodded quickly, absorbing every word.

“She doesn’t tolerate mistakes lightly,” Mrs. Oscar continued. “But she values loyalty and foresight above all. If you’re on top of her schedule, her preferences, even the small things she might not mention… you’ll do fine. If not, well…” Her smile was gentle but serious. “It’s a stressful job, and she expects her assistant to carry as much of that stress as is humanly possible. You’ll be here a lot, sometimes early, sometimes late. But if you’re capable, you’ll also witness the kind of work that makes this place… worth it.”

Madeline swallowed, nerves twisting into excitement. “I understand. I… I’ll do my best.”

Mrs. Oscar’s eyes softened. “I know you will. And one more thing, Ms. Sharp doesn’t really ask for help in words. You’ll have to notice when she’s overworked, tired, or frustrated, and step in quietly. Keep her on track, keep her schedule in order, and occasionally keep her from working herself into the ground.”

Madeline blinked, processing. “So… I’m like her shadow?”

Mrs. Oscar chuckled. “Exactly. Her shadow. But a shadow she can trust. Now, let’s get you acquainted with the rest of the office before lunch, then I’ll leave you in her hands.”

The rest of the morning passed in a whirlwind of introductions, software walkthroughs, and key workflow explanations. Mrs. Oscar moved like a seasoned guide, giving Madeline little nuggets of wisdom as they went.

Finally, just before noon, Mrs. Oscar stopped by Helen’s office one last time. She leaned close, lowering her voice.

“Remember, Madeline. She works hard because she loves it. But that intensity comes at a price. You’ll need to be ready to match her pace… and sometimes to gently remind her to breathe.”

Madeline nodded solemnly. “I will. Thank you for all your guidance.”

Mrs. Oscar smiled and patted her shoulder. “It’s my pleasure, dear. I know she’ll appreciate having someone like you. Now, go have lunch, recharge. You’re going to need the energy.”

As Madeline watched the older woman leave, she felt a strange combination of apprehension and excitement. The weight of the responsibility was real, but so was the anticipation. And somehow, she thought with a faint, guilty smile, I think I’m ready for it.

By early afternoon, Mrs. Oscar had finished the grand tour, a maze of glass offices, humming printers, and the faint smell of burnt coffee that seemed to be Sharp Publishing’s signature scent.

“…and this,” Eileen said, tapping a polished nameplate, “is her office. You’ll be outside here most of the day, running point. You keep her schedule, her calls, her sanity. Helen doesn’t eat unless someone reminds her. She’ll never admit it, but she needs someone to keep her grounded. You’ll be her right hand.”

Madeline nodded, clutching her new notepad like a lifeline. “Got it. Keep her fed, focused, and functional.”

Eileen laughed, the sound soft and knowing. “Exactly. She works hard, sweetheart. Too hard. Just… be patient with her. She’s not cold, just… careful. You’ll see.”

When noon rolled around, Mrs. Oscar patted Madeline’s shoulder, gathering her bag. “Lunch is all yours. And remember… Helen’s bark is worse than her bite.”

That wasn’t entirely comforting.

_______

At 12:45, the phone on Madeline’s desk buzzed once. Helen’s voice crackled through the intercom, smooth and clipped:

“Ms. Ashton, could you come in here for a moment?”

Madeline stood quickly, smoothing her shirt and stepping into Helen’s office.

Helen didn’t look up right away, her glasses were perched low on her nose, eyes scanning a document on her desk. “I have a small favor,” she said. “Two things, actually. First, I need you to proof this contract before I sign. And second…”

She looked up then, those sharp green eyes catching Madeline mid-step. “...coffee. Black. One sugar.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Madeline said, taking the papers.

Helen’s brow lifted slightly at the “ma’am,” though she didn’t correct it.

Madeline ducked out, heart hammering, contract in one hand, mission clear. She’d proofread hundreds of pages before, but none had ever belonged to her boss. Especially not one who looked like that in a blazer.

By the time she brought the corrected pages and the steaming mug back, Helen was standing by the window, back to her, the city skyline glowing behind her.

Madeline cleared her throat softly. “Here you go. The contract had a typo in section 4B, just a misplaced comma. And your coffee.”

Helen turned, surprised. “You caught that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Madeline said, setting it down carefully on her desk.

Helen’s lips curved, faintly impressed. “Most people don’t.”

Madeline smiled. “Well, I like to read between the lines.”

Helen blinked at her, as though the phrase had landed somewhere unexpected, before letting out a small breath. “Hm. I see that.”

The redhead’s gaze lingered a fraction too long before she reached for the mug. “Good work, Ms. Ashton. I think you’ll fit in just fine here.”

Madeline turned to leave, pulse thrumming.

And behind her, Helen stared at the untouched coffee, realizing it wasn’t the caffeine making her chest feel unsteady.

“Madeline…” The name slipped out before she could stop it.

The blonde turned immediately, eyes bright. “Yes, ma’am?”

Helen’s throat went dry. Her gaze softened in spite of herself. “Please, call me Helen.”
A pause.
Then, realizing how it sounded, too personal, too sudden, she fumbled, “O…or Ms. Sharp. That’s fine too.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Madeline’s lips, slow and knowing. “Okay, Hel…”

It wasn’t the full name. It wasn’t proper.
It was devastating.

Helen blinked, speechless, as the blonde winked and slid the door shut behind her, leaving the office unnervingly quiet, and Helen herself breathless.

_______

The city glowed beneath her windows, a thousand lights blinking against the glass like restless stars. Helen stood in her living room, wine glass in hand, the faint hum of traffic below mixing with the low crackle of an old jazz record spinning in the corner.

Her penthouse wasn’t the sleek, glass-and-chrome space people probably imagined when they thought of a CEO. It was lived-in. Comfortable. The kind of place that smelled faintly of old books and lavender.

Shelves lined almost every wall, first editions, worn paperbacks, and leather-bound volumes passed down from her father’s collection. Between them were framed photographs: her at university, her and Eileen at a company gala, a picture of her parents from the seventies that she kept near the window even though the frame was cracked.

A few houseplants crowded the windowsill half thriving, half clinging to life. A orange tabby cat named Oscar (after Eileen, obviously) was curled in a patch of lamplight on the couch, tail flicking lazily. He opened one eye when Helen moved, then decided she wasn’t worth the effort and went back to sleep.

The room was warm in tone, deep wood floors, a Persian rug, amber light from a floor lamp pooling over the spines of old novels. It was the kind of space that invited quiet, reflection.

And tonight, reflection was the last thing Helen needed.

She took another slow sip of wine, letting the glass cool her hand. The events of the day kept circling back, Madeline’s smile, her bright voice, the way she’d said Helen’s name like it meant something. Okay, Hel…

Helen exhaled through her nose, setting the glass down on the coffee table beside a half-finished crossword. “Get over it,” she muttered, raking a hand through her hair. “She’s your assistant.”

Oscar meowed softly, unimpressed with her self-scolding.

“Exactly,” Helen told him. “An assistant.”

She turned to her desk in the corner, where her laptop still glowed. A few emails blinked unread. She tried to answer one, something about a marketing rollout, but her fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard. Every thought drifted back to blue eyes and pink lipstick and the faint floral scent that had lingered in her office all afternoon.

When she finally shut the laptop, she realized she hadn’t actually typed a single sentence.

She crossed to the window, tugging her cardigan tighter around her shoulders and loosened her hair, shaking out the tight bun that had survived the day. Red curls tumbled around her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how tense her scalp was until the ache started to fade. As she approached the window and watched the city shift below. She could see her reflection faintly in the glass, softened by the warm lamplight behind her, hair coming loose, eyes a little tired.

It wasn’t the version of herself she showed at work. This was quieter. Less composed. Human.

Madeline had only been in her office for one day.
One day, and already Helen’s carefully constructed calm felt… thinner.

Oscar stretched, curling up tighter, purring softly.

Helen took one last sip of wine before turning off the lamp. The room dipped into darkness, the faint city light catching on the cat’s whiskers and the gold lettering of the books that lined the shelves.

Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she’d be fine. Professional. Untouched.

But as she climbed into bed, that small, forbidden voice whispered again, Madeline’s teasing lilt replaying in her head…

Okay, Hel…

And Helen fell asleep wondering when a simple name had started to sound like something dangerous.

Chapter Text

The smell hit her first.

Coffee. Fresh, dark, real coffee, not the bitter corporate sludge that dripped out of the office machines. Helen paused halfway through the doorway to her office, blinking like she’d stepped into a dream.

The blinds were half open, soft light spilling across her desk, and standing in the middle of it all, perfectly framed by morning sunlight, was Madeline Ashton.

She was early. Painfully early.
And she looked infuriatingly awake.

And infuriatingly beautiful.

“Good morning, Ms. Sharp!” Madeline chirped, spinning around with a smile that could power half the city. She held up a mug like a peace offering. “I took the liberty of making you a fresh pot.”

Helen blinked, still clutching the strap of her briefcase like a shield. Helen set her things down and took the mug, trying not to seem as startled, or as touched, as she felt. “Thank you. That’s… very thoughtful.”

Madeline smiled, bright and soft. “You’re welcome! I wanted to get in early, go over the schedule, maybe get a sense of the daily rhythm.”

Helen took a sip, and, damn it, it was perfect. Smooth, rich, exactly the way she liked it. She glanced at the young woman sitting outside her office door, already perched neatly at the assistant’s desk, typing something with quick, precise movements.

“Daily rhythm,” Helen repeated, watching her. “You make it sound like I’m a metronome.”

Madeline looked up, eyes glinting with something playful. “Are you not?”

Helen almost smiled. Almost. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling across Helen’s glass-walled office and the small workspace just beyond it, Madeline’s new desk.

Helen hadn’t realized when she approved the floor plan years ago that the assistant’s desk sat directly outside her door, separated only by a thin glass wall and a set of curtains she’d never once bothered to draw. Now, she couldn’t seem to look away.

Madeline was there already, typing something, hair swept up messily, sunlight catching in the soft gold strands. Every time she shifted, Helen caught flashes of movement through the glass. She tried to focus on her reports, but her gaze kept betraying her, sliding back to that sliver of light and color beyond the curtain’s edge.

It was maddening, in a way that made Helen feel younger, and far less disciplined, than she liked to admit.

For a moment, the office was quiet except for the tapping of keys and the city hum beyond the glass. Helen tried to focus on her email, but her attention kept drifting, to the sound of Madeline’s laugh as she answered a phone call, the way she pushed her hair behind her ear when she concentrated, the faint scent of her perfume that somehow found its way across the room.

She was efficient. Bright. Unshakably cheerful.

And dangerously distracting.

By the time noon rolled around, Helen found herself pretending to be more absorbed in her monitor than she actually was, just to avoid watching Madeline organize her desk for the fourth time.

Eileen stopped by just before lunch, her sharp eyes darting between the two women with something like amusement. “Well,” she said, adjusting her scarf. “Looks like you’re both settling in nicely.”

Madeline beamed. “I think so! I’ve already color-coded Helen’s, uh sorry, Ms. Sharp’s, calendar and sorted through the priority memos.”

“Efficient,” Eileen nodded approvingly. Then to Helen, “Try not to work her too hard. I promised her you weren’t as terrifying as people say.”

Helen’s eyebrows lifted. “People say that?”

Eileen gave her a look that said don’t play innocent. “I’ll be leaving after lunch,” she added, lowering her voice conspiratorially toward Madeline. “She gets grumpy if she doesn’t eat by one. Make sure she does.”

Madeline stifled a laugh, nodding solemnly. “Got it. Lunch by one. Life or death.”

Helen rolled her eyes, but couldn’t quite stop the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

When Eileen finally left, the office felt different. Quieter. Still warm from the older woman’s presence, but edged with a new, uncertain energy.

Madeline glanced up from her computer. “You know,” she said, voice softer now, “Eileen told me once that you never take breaks.”

Helen didn’t look up. “Eileen talks too much.”

“Maybe,” Madeline said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “But she also said you work too hard.”

Helen finally met her eyes. “That’s what running an empire looks like, Ms. Ashton.”

Madeline tilted her head. “And what about living?”

The question hung in the air, light but heavy all at once. Helen blinked, caught off guard, her heartbeat doing that irritating skip again.

Madeline smiled, easy and bright again. “I’ll order lunch. Don’t argue.”

And before Helen could find a response, she was already on the phone, efficient, charming, completely in control of the situation.

Helen felt completely out of control in her situation.

Helen leaned back in her chair, trying not to let her expression betray how thoroughly she’d just been handled.

“God help me,” she murmured under her breath. “She’s going to run me instead.”

_________

The mornings had begun to feel dangerously familiar.
Helen walked in to find her coffee already waiting, her schedule perfectly printed and color-coded, and Madeline… always Madeline, at her desk just outside the glass wall.

She’d drawn the curtains a few times that first week, out of habit, but it hadn’t lasted. The silence between them through the glass was oddly comforting, like the kind of quiet you only share with someone you know too well. Now the curtains stayed open, always.

Madeline’s desk sat facing the hallway, but she had a habit of half-turning her chair when she worked, as though she knew Helen was watching. And she often was. Helen had stopped pretending otherwise.

Sometimes Madeline caught her, blue eyes flicking up from her laptop, that faint, knowing smile curving her mouth. It wasn’t smug, exactly. It was worse: understanding. Like she knew Helen’s thoughts before Helen did.

The desk had become a kind of mirror for Helen. Every tilt of Madeline’s head, every absent bite of her pen cap, every stretch when she reached for the stapler, it was all reflected back at her, sharp and human and unbearably distracting.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Assistants came and went; they were efficient, polite, and unmemorable.
But this one lingered.

This one left her coffee cup on the edge of Helen’s desk just close enough that Helen could smell the hint of vanilla on the rim. This one stayed late without asking, claiming she was “just organizing tomorrow’s agenda.”

Helen should have put a stop to it.
She didn’t.

_____

The soft click of heels broke Helen’s thoughts.
She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. She could tell by the rhythm, confident, unhurried, that subtle pause before the door slid open.

“Good morning,” Madeline said, voice lilting, sweet like she hadn’t already been here an hour making everything perfect.

Helen didn’t answer right away. She was staring at her computer screen, pretending to read an email that hadn’t changed in ten minutes. “Morning,” she murmured at last, her tone cool, too even.

Madeline stepped further inside, setting a folder on Helen’s desk. “I finished compiling the quarterly reports. And I noticed you still haven’t eaten breakfast again.”

Helen’s gaze lifted slowly. Madeline was standing close, too close. A pale silk blouse tucked neatly into tailored trousers, her sleeves rolled just enough to reveal a gold bracelet glinting against her wrist. Her perfume was faint, something floral and disarming.

“I’m not a breakfast person,” Helen replied, voice tighter than she meant.

Madeline tilted her head, a small smirk ghosting across her lips. “That’s a terrible habit for someone who works twelve hours a day.”

Helen exhaled sharply through her nose. “I’m aware.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

“Because I’m too busy keeping this company from falling apart,” Helen said. “Unless you’d like to take that on for me?”

Madeline laughed softly, a sound that filled the room. “Oh, I think I already do more than enough for you, Ms. Sharp.”

Something in the way she said it, soft, teasing, deliberate, made Helen’s pulse flick.

Helen leaned back in her chair, forcing composure. “Careful,” she murmured. “That sounds dangerously close to insubordination.”

Madeline’s smile widened. “Only if you tell on me.”

The silence that followed was electric. Madeline held her gaze a beat too long before she reached across the desk, fingers brushing Helen’s hand as she slid the folder closer. It was the lightest touch imaginable, but it burned.

“Sign those when you get a chance,” Madeline said, her tone all professionalism again, though the spark in her eyes betrayed her.

Helen cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

Madeline lingered a second longer. “You’re welcome.”

She turned to go, but paused at the glass door, glancing over her shoulder. “And Helen…”

Helen’s head lifted at the sound of her name, bare and dangerous on Madeline’s tongue.

“You should really try the croissants I brought. They’re still warm.”

Then she was gone, leaving Helen staring at the folder, her heartbeat a wild, traitorous thing in her chest.

______

Madeline closed the glass door behind her with a soft click, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, too loud, too fast for a simple conversation with her boss.

She leaned against her own desk, just on the other side of the wall that separated her from Helen. The glass was clear, the curtains drawn open, so she could see everything, the sleek lines of the office, the woman behind the desk, the way Helen’s hand lingered on that folder like it had burned her.

God, she was beautiful when she was trying not to look flustered.

Madeline bit her lip, watching Helen push her glasses up and refocus on the computer screen. Always so composed, so precise, but the faintest blush still lingered on her throat, peeking above the crisp collar of her blouse.

It was a dangerous game. She knew that.
But it was one she couldn’t seem to stop playing.

The first few weeks, she’d been careful, polite, overly professional, matching Helen’s clipped tone with a smile that never lasted too long. But somewhere between the late-night edits and the shared coffee breaks, it started shifting. A little more banter. A little less distance. Helen would laugh sometimes now, rare and low and soft, like it surprised her every time.

Madeline glanced up again. Helen was still there, pretending to work. Her jaw was set, her shoulders a little too rigid, the same look she wore when she was trying to hide something.

Madeline smiled to herself and reached for the bag on her desk, pulling out a single croissant from the box she’d brought that morning. She tore off a piece, then held it up in mock toast toward the glass.

“Eat something, Helen.” she murmured under her breath.

As if on cue, Helen glanced up, their eyes meeting through the glass. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then Helen arched a single brow, that sharp, knowing look returning, but it was softer now, like she was in on the game. Madeline’s lips curved. She turned back to her screen, pretending to type, but her reflection in the glass betrayed her smirk.

She liked this part… the tension that hung between them like static, the unspoken awareness of every look and word. It made the long days feel alive.

And if Helen Sharp thought she could hide behind her professionalism forever… well.
Madeline had plenty of time to change her mind.

______

By the time the office emptied out, the light outside had faded into that soft, late-evening blue that made everything look like it belonged in a dream.

Most of the staff had gone home hours ago. The hum of the air conditioning and the faint tap of Helen’s keyboard were the only sounds left. Madeline sat at her desk by the glass wall, her screen open but forgotten. The only light came from her lamp and the warm glow spilling out of Helen’s office , gold against the deepening dusk.

It was always like this lately.
Everyone else gone.
Just the two of them, the hum of silence, and something quietly pulsing beneath it.

Madeline glanced up. Through the glass, Helen sat with one leg crossed over the other, her glasses low on her nose, hair falling loose from her bun in soft, stray strands that made her look younger , softer. The kind of soft Helen would hate to be called.

Madeline pretended to type another line of the report before giving up completely. She stood, stretching slowly, and the movement caught Helen’s eye.

“Still here?” Helen’s voice drifted through the open doorway , lower, rougher at the end of a long day.

Madeline leaned against the frame. “Could ask you the same thing.”

Helen gave a small, tired smile. “Someone has to make sure this company survives.”

Madeline tilted her head. “You ever think it’d survive just fine if you went home once in a while?”

Helen looked up at her over the rim of her glasses. “You’re awfully bold for an assistant.”

Madeline shrugged. “You’re awfully stubborn for a CEO.”

That earned the faintest laugh , the kind that slipped out before Helen could stop it. She leaned back in her chair, gaze softening as she studied Madeline in the dim light. “You shouldn’t stay late just because I do.”

“I’m not,” Madeline said simply, stepping into the office. “I just like the quiet.”

Her tone made it clear she wasn’t talking about the silence.

Helen’s eyes flickered , from Madeline’s mouth to her eyes and back again , before she blinked hard, looking away. “The quiet,” she repeated, her voice a little unsteady.

Madeline smiled, slow and knowing. “Yeah. The quiet.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the city outside , a horn in the distance, the faint rumble of traffic. Madeline moved closer to the desk, her fingers brushing the edge.

“You missed dinner again,” she said softly.

Helen sighed, half-exasperated. “You really are determined to feed me, aren’t you?”

“Someone has to take care of you.”

That did it , a flicker of something broke across Helen’s face. Not annoyance. Not resistance. Something far more dangerous.

Their eyes met again, and Madeline swore the air shifted , the kind of thick, suspended quiet where the next breath could tip everything over the edge.

Helen was the one to break it this time, clearing her throat, voice a little too firm. “Go home, Madeline.”

Madeline nodded, but her smirk didn’t fade. “You say that every night.”

“And yet you never listen.”

“I like making sure you mean it.”

Helen’s gaze lingered for a long, silent beat , then she looked back to her papers. “Goodnight, Madeline.”

Madeline turned to go, her pulse still thrumming, but just before she stepped through the doorway, she glanced back over her shoulder. Helen’s eyes were already on her again , caught in the act, as always.

Madeline smiled, soft and dangerous. “Goodnight, Helen.”

And this time, Helen didn’t correct her.

Madeline had made it all the way down to the parking garage before she realized she’d left her folder, and with it, the entire draft schedule for next week’s author campaign , sitting right on Helen’s desk.

She swore under her breath, her voice echoing off the concrete. It was late, past ten, the kind of hour where the building was usually locked up and dark. But she knew Helen was still upstairs. Helen was always still upstairs.

So she went back.

The elevator chimed softly, and the doors slid open onto the near-empty floor. Most of the lights were off now, leaving only the soft glow from Helen’s office spilling into the hallway.

Madeline slowed, her heels quiet against the carpet. Through the glass wall, she could see Helen , blazer off, shirt sleeves rolled to her elbows, a pencil in her hair that was threatening to fall out entirely. She sat at her desk, hunched slightly, the soft lamplight gilding her skin and the rim of her glasses.

It was disarming, seeing her like that. Less CEO, more… human.

Madeline was halfway down the hallway when the lights went out.

Not flickered, out.

One second the floor was humming with its usual soft glow, the next it was nothing but black and the faint sound of her own startled laugh. “Seriously?” she muttered, clutching her bag to her chest.

The emergency lights didn’t even kick in, just the pale glow of the city spilling through the wall of windows at the far end of the hall, painting everything in deep blue. She could still see Helen’s office, faintly lit by the skyline. The glass walls gleamed like water.

Helen Sharp never left before midnight.

Madeline hesitated for a second, debating whether to just leave the forgotten folder she’d come back for, but she was already walking before she could talk herself out of it.

She pushed open the glass door to Helen’s office. “Ms. Sharp?”

Helen looked up from her desk, the faint light from her laptop screen casting her face in cool, ghostly blue. “Oh. It’s you.” She glanced toward the window, eyebrows knitting. “Power’s out?”

“Looks like it,” Madeline said, stepping inside. Her voice sounded too loud in the stillness. “It’s citywide, I think. The elevator stopped on my way up.”

Helen sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Of course. Perfect timing.”

Madeline watched her for a moment, the way she exhaled, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The lamplight gone made everything feel softer, less clinical. Just the two of them, the hum of the city below, the quiet between.

“Got any candles?” Madeline asked lightly, trying to fill the silence.

Helen blinked. “Candles?”

“Yeah. I saw some on your shelf last week. The ones that look like you stole them from an old library?”

That earned a quiet laugh, low, tired, unguarded. “Those were a gift from Mrs. Oscar. And yes, I suppose I do.”

Helen stood and crossed the room to the cabinet by the wall, her silhouette lit by the windows, her skirt tight around her backside, Madeline couldn't help but stare. She struck a match, and the faint flare of orange carved her face out of the dark. For a second, it felt almost holy.

The candlelight flickered to life , warm, golden, slipping across her jaw, catching on her hair. Madeline’s breath caught before she could stop it.

Helen turned, one brow lifting. “Better?”

“Much,” Madeline said softly.

Helen set the candle on her desk, the flame dancing between them. “You came back for something?”

“My folder,” Madeline said. “I left it here after you told me to go home.”

Helen’s mouth curved, just barely. “Ah, disobeying orders again.”

Madeline took a small step closer, emboldened by the darkness, by the intimacy of the half-light. “Maybe I just like seeing you give them.”

Helen’s eyes met hers, steady, unreadable, but not cold. “Careful, Ms. Ashton.”

The words should’ve sounded like a warning. They didn’t.

The air was too thick, the room too quiet. Madeline could smell the faint trace of Helen’s perfume, something expensive and warm, like cinnamon and old paper. The candle flickered between them, throwing light and shadow over Helen’s cheekbones.

“I’m not the one who’s afraid of the dark,” Madeline murmured, trying to keep her voice even.

“I’m not afraid,” Helen said, but her voice wasn’t steady either.

Madeline smiled, stepping just a little closer, enough that she could see the reflection of the candlelight in Helen’s glasses. “Then prove it.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Just the quiet hum of the city below, the soft hiss of wax dripping down the candle, the impossible closeness of it all.

Helen’s gaze dropped, to Madeline’s mouth, just for a second, before she looked away sharply, retreating behind her desk again.

“You should go,” she said, but it came out softer than she meant it to.

Madeline lingered another moment, then nodded. “Goodnight, Helen.”

The way Helen froze at her name almost made Madeline turn back. Almost.

By the time she reached the hallway, the power flickered back to life , harsh and white and far too bright. She glanced back through the glass.

Helen was standing perfectly still in the middle of the room, staring at the candle still burning on her desk.

Helen looked up suddenly, “Madeline wait…” A blush spread across her cheeks. “I’ll… I’ll walk you to your car.”

THe blonde looked at her with a small smile gracing her lips, and she nodded.

The air between them was thick, electric, as they stepped out into the night. Rain misted the city streets, slicking the pavement, reflecting neon lights in wavering streaks of pink and gold. Their umbrellas barely kept them dry, brushing together with every step, a constant reminder of the closeness they could no longer deny.

Neither spoke. Every movement felt amplified, the brush of Helen’s arm against Madeline’s, the way their strides naturally fell in sync, the subtle scent of rain mixed with Helen’s perfume. It was unbearable, and yet irresistible.

Madeline’s hand twitched at her side, fingers brushing Helen’s as they walked. She felt Helen’s body shift slightly closer, as if she too couldn’t resist the magnetic pull between them.

Finally, they reached Madeline’s car. The glow of the streetlight overhead cast shadows across their faces, highlighting every flicker of emotion. Helen’s gaze lingered on Madeline, slow and intense, drinking in the sight of her, the damp curls clinging to her cheeks, the mischievous curve of her lips, the way her eyes sparkled even in the dim light.

Madeline swallowed hard. “Here we are,” she said, voice low, teasing, but her hands were trembling slightly as she fumbled with her keys.

Helen didn’t answer. She stepped closer, narrowing the space between them until the umbrellas could no longer separate them. Her hand reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from Madeline’s face, fingers lingering on her cheek.

The moment stretched. Every thought, every instinct, screamed for them to stop, and yet, neither moved away.

Madeline’s breath hitched. “Helen…”

That single word was enough. It broke the restraint.

They collided, lips crashing together in a kiss sharp with need and desperation. This one wasn’t slow or gentle, it was hungry, claiming, the kind of kiss that made it impossible to think about anything else. Madeline’s hands went to Helen’s shoulders, pulling her closer, while Helen’s fingers gripped the small of Madeline’s back, holding her there as if letting go would undo the world itself.

A moan slipped out of Madeline, the sound widening her mouth, giving Helen entrance. The redhead slipped her tongue in as they both groaned in sync. The blonde moving to nip at Helen's bottom lip.

The night air was sharp against their flushed cheeks as they pulled back just slightly from the kiss, foreheads resting together. Madeline’s hands lingered on Helen’s shoulders; Helen’s fingers still gripped the small of her back.

For a moment, the world felt suspended, the city quiet, the rain glistening off the pavement. And then it hit… hard.

Madeline blinked, heart hammering. Helen is my boss.

Her body throbbed in a new way, excitement tangled with panic. This wasn’t just desire anymore; it was dangerous. Every stolen glance, every touch could have consequences she hadn’t fully considered until now.

Helen’s own sharp inhale told her she was thinking the same thing. The desire hadn’t faded, but the reality of their positions, the professional walls they’d been dancing around for weeks, slammed into her like cold water.

“I… we can’t…” Helen murmured, her voice low but tense, eyes scanning Madeline’s face as if seeing her clearly for the first time. “This… this is…”

“Yeah,” Madeline whispered, voice tight. “I know.”

Their lips brushed again, quick and almost frantic, before they both pulled back, startled by the weight of the moment. The urgency and hunger were still there, simmering, but now it was tinged with guilt, awareness, and that intoxicating mix of wanting and knowing they shouldn’t.

Helen’s hand lingered near Madeline’s arm, hovering, almost willing her to stay, but her sharp inhale told her she knew the line they’d crossed.

Madeline swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the street, the car, the world beyond their bubble. “We’re… in trouble,” she admitted, a crooked smile breaking through despite herself.

Helen’s green eyes darkened, but there was a flicker of reluctant agreement. “Yes,” she said, voice low and almost dangerous. “We’re very, very in trouble.”

And even though they both knew it, the temptation in the night, the closeness, the warmth, the electricity, made it impossible to turn away completely. They were caught between wanting each other and knowing the cost.

The question being... Was it worth it?

Chapter Text

Helen woke up feeling like her skin didn’t fit right.

The world outside her windows was gray, washed in soft rainlight, the kind of morning that made everything look blurred at the edges. Her head ached, not from drinking but from thinking too much, from remembering.

Madeline.

The car.

That kiss.

Fuck, that kiss.

Helen pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead and exhaled, but it didn’t help. Every detail was still there, sharp and alive, the sound of the rain starting up just as Madeline leaned closer, the smell of her perfume in the air between them, the way she’d said her name in that whisper right before their mouths collided.

Helen had kissed people before. She’d even loved once. But this… this had been something else. Too sudden, too consuming. The kind of thing you feel in your bones before your brain even catches up.

Now, sitting at her kitchen table in a robe with her untouched coffee cooling beside her, all Helen could think about was the taste of Madeline’s lip gloss. The taste of Madeline… as she sucked the blonde's tongue into her mouth. The feeling of want and desire and lust all pooling in her core, making her throb.

She shouldn’t have let it happen.

She shouldn’t have wanted it to happen.

But she had. And she wanted it still.

The guilt came in waves, steady and familiar. She told herself every version of the truth she could stand, that it had been a slip, a moment of weakness, that it didn’t mean anything. But her hands still trembled when she thought about the way Madeline had looked at her after, like she was something more than a boss, or a name on a door.

By the time she got to the office, the rain had cleared but the air still felt heavy. Madeline’s desk sat just outside her door, as always, neat, organized, a small vase of fresh daisies in the corner. She wasn’t there yet, and Helen felt both relief and disappointment wash over her.

When Madeline did arrive, it was quiet, a soft good morning as she passed Helen’s open office door, eyes down, cheeks faintly pink.

Helen’s chest ached.

“Morning,” she managed, pretending to be absorbed in her screen.

The day dragged on in silence, every sound amplified, the hum of the copier, the soft clack of Madeline’s keyboard, the occasional murmur of her voice answering a call. Helen caught herself glancing up too often, eyes flicking toward the glass wall separating them. Sometimes, Madeline caught her looking. 

Neither of them said a word.

By lunch, Helen’s nerves were raw. She found excuses to stay in her office, emails to reread, calls to return, meaningless things to fill the silence. She could feel Madeline’s presence through the glass like static.

When the clock hit five, Madeline stood to leave. She gathered her bag, smoothed her skirt, and finally looked toward Helen.

Their eyes met. Just once. Long enough for Helen to feel it all over again, the pull, the wanting, the impossibility.

“Goodnight, Ms. Sharp,” Madeline said softly.

Helen swallowed. “Goodnight.”

The door slid shut, and Helen exhaled for what felt like the first time all day.

Her hands were shaking again.

And she knew, with a sinking certainty, that avoiding this wasn’t going to save her.

__________

By ten in the morning, the next day was already a disaster.

The company’s newest author, a young breakout novelist Sharp Publishing had been banking on, had just pulled her contract. No warning, no reason, just a terse email from her agent that landed in Helen’s inbox like a grenade.

Helen stared at it for a long moment before she swore under her breath, loud enough that a few heads turned through the glass wall. She didn’t care.

Madeline’s head popped up from her desk outside, her blue eyes instantly sharp. “Everything okay?”

“Get in here,” Helen said, her tone clipped.

Madeline slipped in, shutting the glass door behind her. Helen was pacing already, her heels echoing against the hardwood.

“Lydia Vale just dropped her deal. Completely. We had an advance scheduled for next week, marketing materials already in production, and she just… walked.” Helen threw up her hands. “Do you know what that does to the budget this quarter?”

Madeline frowned, setting her tablet down. “Did she give a reason?”

“‘Creative direction differences,’” Helen bit out. “Which is PR for she got a better offer.”

Madeline hesitated, thinking. “Do you want me to call her agent? Maybe I can…”

“No,” Helen said too quickly. “I’ll handle it.”

But Madeline was already pulling up her email, fingers moving fast. “I know her assistant. Maybe if I reach out quietly, we can get her on the phone before she signs anything else…”

“Madeline.” Helen’s voice rose, sharp enough to stop her mid-sentence. “I said I’ll handle it.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than they should have.

Madeline froze, blinking. “I was just trying to help.”

“I know.” Helen exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “But there’s a chain of command for a reason. This isn’t a classroom project, this is a seven-figure deal. You can’t just start making calls on behalf of the company without clearance.”

Madeline’s face fell slightly, color rising in her cheeks. “Right. Of course.” She folded her arms. “I just thought maybe if I tried,”

“Don’t think,” Helen snapped. “Just…”

She stopped herself too late.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Madeline’s eyes darkened, the sting unmistakable.

Helen closed her eyes, guilt twisting in her chest. “I didn’t mean that,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I just,”

“You’re stressed,” Madeline said flatly. “I get it.”

Helen looked at her, really looked at her. The way her jaw set, the way her fingers gripped her tablet a little too tightly. The way her breath quickened, not just with anger but something else.

The space between them felt charged again, like the car nights before. Dangerous. Too close.

Helen swallowed hard. “Madeline…”

Madeline lifted her chin. “What?”

“Don’t,” Helen said softly, warning herself more than her. “Not right now.”

Madeline’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but not quite. “You always say that.”

Helen’s pulse jumped.

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed. Lydia Vale’s agent. Saved by the bell.

Helen grabbed it, muttering, “Sharp speaking.”

But her eyes stayed locked on Madeline the entire time.

Madeline didn’t move, didn’t look away. She just stood there in the quiet, her gaze steady, waiting, until Helen finally ended the call.

“It’s not over yet,” Helen said softly.

Madeline tilted her head, voice low. “No, I don’t think it is.”

She turned and walked out, the glass door clicking shut behind her. Helen exhaled shakily, the world spinning for a moment.

Because it wasn’t.

Not the deal.

Not the longing.

Not even close.

By the time Helen finally closed her laptop that afternoon, her shoulders felt like stone. The day had been chaos, calls with marketing, accounting, PR, everyone scrambling to fill the crater Lydia Vale had left behind.

Helen prided herself on control. Calm, capable, always a step ahead. But today, she was frayed. And it didn’t help that every time she looked through the glass wall, she saw Madeline, focused, serious, eyes flicking up just long enough to meet hers before darting away.

She’d been quiet all afternoon. Too quiet.

It should have been a relief. It wasn’t.

Helen was halfway through writing a damage control email when there was a knock on her door.

She didn’t even look up. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly. Madeline stepped in, tablet in hand, a careful look on her face.

Helen’s throat tightened. “Yes?”

“I just… wanted to update you,” Madeline said. “About the Vale situation.”

Helen sighed, rubbing her temple. “There’s not much to update. Her agent…”

“She called me back.”

Helen froze. “What?”

Madeline hesitated, then stepped closer, voice softer but sure. “I reached out this morning. Before lunch. I know you said not to, but I wanted to try. And she called me back just now.”

Helen blinked. “You went behind my back?”

Madeline winced slightly. “I went around it. There’s a difference.”

“Madeline.” Helen’s voice dropped, dangerously quiet. “That was a direct order.”

“I know.”

The words landed like a spark.

Helen stood from her chair, every inch of her bristling with restrained fury ,and something else. “Do you realize how unprofessional that is? If this goes wrong, it wouldn’t just be on you, it would be on me.”

Madeline didn’t flinch. “But it didn’t go wrong.”

Helen’s breath caught. “What?”

“She said she’s reconsidering,” Madeline said simply, holding Helen’s gaze. “Her agent admitted she’s been uneasy about the other publisher. She’s giving Sharp a week to present a new offer. I told her you’d call tomorrow morning.”

Helen stared at her. A beat passed. Then another.

“You overstepped,” Helen said, though her voice had softened.

Madeline nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

Helen exhaled slowly, pacing a small circle behind her desk. “You can’t do that again.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious, Madeline.”

“I know, Helen.”

Helen froze. That name, the sound of it in Madeline’s mouth. Soft, defiant. Intimate.

God, her mouth…

Their eyes met again, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt.

Madeline’s chin lifted slightly, that flicker of fire back in her expression. “You can be angry if you want. But I just saved your deal.”

Helen’s pulse thundered. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” Madeline asked quietly.

Helen’s hands clenched at her sides. “The point is that I can’t…”

She stopped herself. Couldn’t what?

Couldn’t lose control? Couldn’t keep pretending that looking at her didn’t hurt? Couldn’t keep denying that the quickening of her heart, or the throb between her legs didn’t make her ache day and night?

Madeline’s gaze softened. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

Madeline tilted her head. “Then what is it about, Helen?”

The way she said her name again, soft, deliberate, made Helen’s breath stutter.

For one unbearable second, Helen thought she might actually close the space between them. The air felt charged, heavy, the same way it had at the car, that moment before gravity wins.

Then Madeline stepped back, eyes flicking away, and the spell broke.

“I’ll send you a summary of the call,” she said quietly.

“Madeline…”

“Goodnight, Ms. Sharp.”

She turned and walked out, the click of her heels fading down the hall.

Helen sank back against her desk, heart pounding, every inch of her body still buzzing.

She’d wanted to scold her. To put her back in her place.

Instead, all she wanted was her back in the room.

_________

Helen didn’t sleep much.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Madeline ,that steady, defiant stare, that quiet I know, and the way the words… Goodnight, Ms. Sharp… had landed like a challenge instead of a goodbye.

By morning, she’d built her armor back up. Black slacks. Crisp white blouse. Hair slicked back tight. Coffee strong enough to burn the taste of last night off her tongue.

She was in the office by seven. Before anyone else. Before she could think about what it meant that she wanted to see her first.

The call with Lydia Vale’s agent was scheduled for eight. Helen had written three versions of her pitch, revised her notes, and deleted the line where she’d almost typed “thanks to my assistant.” She wouldn’t give Madeline that kind of acknowledgment in writing. Not yet.

When the phone finally rang, Helen’s chest went tight.

“Ms. Sharp,” came the agent’s voice. “You caught us in a good window.”

Helen smiled, controlled. “I appreciate your time.”

The conversation unfolded with tense precision ,Helen at her best, sharp, persuasive, professional. But halfway through, the agent said something that made her pause.

“She spoke very highly of you, by the way.”

Helen blinked. “Lydia did?”

“No… your assistant. Madeline, was it? She said something about you being the only editor who’s ever made Vale’s diction breathe.”

Helen’s throat went dry.

The call ended successfully, Vale agreed to renegotiate, the deal was back on track, and Sharp Publishing’s crisis had been quietly averted, but Helen didn’t feel relief. She just sat there for a long minute, staring at her reflection in the dark screen of her laptop.

Madeline had said that? To Vale’s agent?

Helen tried to imagine how that call had gone, Madeline leaning forward, voice low, stubborn, impossible not to listen to. Helen could almost hear her… Helen Sharp believes in this book more than anyone in the industry.

Her chest tightened painfully.

There was a knock.

“Come in,” she called, voice even.

Madeline stepped inside, clutching her tablet. She looked fresh, confident, hair pinned up the way it always fell apart by noon. (Helen shook her head, wondering when she had started to notice that…) There was something different about her posture, the quiet satisfaction of someone who knows she’s won.

“Well?” she asked.

Helen swallowed. “Vale’s back on board.”

Madeline grinned, bright, proud. “Told you.”

Helen exhaled slowly. “Don’t get smug.”

“I’m not.” She tilted her head. “You just sound like someone who owes me coffee.”

Helen’s eyebrow lifted. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s a win.”

Helen studied her for a long, dangerous beat. “You disobeyed a direct instruction.”

Madeline’s smile faltered, but only slightly. “And it worked.”

“Madeline.”

“What?” she asked quietly. “You’re mad I went around you, or that you needed me to?”

The words hit like a slap.

Helen’s heart started to hammer again, that same chaotic rhythm as last night.

Her jaw tightened. “Close the door.”

Madeline hesitated, then did.

Helen stood, rounding her desk, every step deliberate. “You need to understand something,” she said softly. “When I tell you not to do something, I expect,”

“....you expect control,” Madeline finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

Helen froze.

Madeline’s eyes met hers, steady, unflinching. “You expect everything to stay in your hands. Even me.”

“Madeline…”

“Maybe that’s why you’re so angry,” she said, stepping closer now. “Because for once, something went right without you being the one to fix it.” Madeline raised her hand, pointing a finger at her boss.

Helen’s breath hitched. “You’re out of line.”

Madeline took another step. “Then tell me to stop.”

Silence.

Helen’s pulse was a roar in her ears.

She should’ve said it, should’ve pulled rank, should’ve cut the moment off like she always did, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

The space between them burned.

Madeline’s voice dropped. “Didn’t think so.”

She turned, slow, deliberate, and opened the door again. “I’ll send you the updated numbers from Vale’s rep,” she said, all business again. “Congratulations, Ms. Sharp.”

Then she left.

Helen just stood there, hand gripping the edge of her desk, knuckles white, heartbeat wild.

She had her deal back. Her control, though…

That was slipping fast.