The revolving doors of Volkov Enterprises loomed like the gates of a palace sleek glass, polished chrome, and security guards in suits who looked like they moonlighted as bodyguards. Isabella's heels clicked against the pristine marble floor as she stepped into the lobby, heart thudding in her chest.
Her resume trembled slightly in her hand, though she tried to keep her chin high.
She could do this. She had to do this. A stable job meant health insurance. Maternity leave. A future.
"Name?" the receptionist asked, barely glancing up.
"Isabella Romano. I have an interview for the executive assistant position."
The woman tapped something into her computer, then gave a nod. "Twenty-sixth floor. Office at the end of the hall."
"Thank you."
Isabella entered the elevator and pressed the button with a deep breath. The doors slid shut, sealing her in. She adjusted her blouse, smoothing down invisible wrinkles, trying to calm the storm of nerves battering her from the inside.
What she didn't expect was the sense of familiarity that struck her the moment she stepped into the executive corridor. It wasn't the décor, it was the cold.
The same chill that had seeped into her bones that night in the hotel.
She shook her head. It was just her imagination. Anxiety playing tricks on her.
When she reached the end of the hallway, she found another assistant seated at a sleek desk outside a closed office. The woman offered a tight smile. "Mr. Volkov will see you now."
Isabella blinked. "Mr. Volkov…?"
But the door was already swinging open.
She stepped inside and froze.
Behind a vast desk of dark mahogany sat the man from that night.
Sharp jawline. Ice-blue eyes. That same commanding presence that had stolen her breath in the dark and left her shattered by morning.
He looked up from a tablet, expression unreadable. "Miss Romano?"
The blood drained from her face.
"Him?".
Of all the jobs in New York City… of all the offices… it was him.
Dominic Volkov.
The coldest, most ruthless CEO in the city. Billionaire heir to the Volkov fortune. And the father of the child growing inside her.
She tried to speak. Tried to breathe. But nothing came out.
His eyes narrowed slightly, taking in her frozen stance. "Is there a problem?"
She forced herself to move forward, legs like lead, and sat in the chair opposite him.
He didn't recognize her. Of course he didn't. Why would he? To him, she'd probably been just another faceless woman from a one-night stand. Disposable. Forgettable.
But she could never forget him.
"I… thank you for seeing me," she said, her voice to steady. "I'm here for the assistant position."
His gaze was sharp and assessing, cutting right through her. "You have experience?"
"Yes," she lied. "Three years. I've worked as a freelance coordinator and PA. I'm extremely organized."
He said nothing for a moment. The silence stretched.
Then he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "I'm not looking for someone easily rattled, Miss Romano. My schedule is demanding. My standards are higher than most. I don't tolerate mistakes."
She met his gaze. "I don't make them."
A flicker of something crossed his face approval? amusement?
"Very well," he said. "You start Monday."
She blinked. "Just like that?"
His mouth curved, but it wasn't a smile. "You'll find I don't waste time."
Neither should she.
Because Isabella had just stepped into the lion's den and she was carrying his child.