The morning sun glinted off the glass façade of Hartwell Industries like it was auditioning for a movie scene. Somewhere inside, Alexander Hartwell's office sparkled with gold accents that screamed power, wealth, and probably mild intimidation. And in that exact moment, Charlotte "Charlie" Montrose was crouched behind a potted plant in the lobby, wrestling with a heel so high it practically had its own zip code.
"Charlie," whispered her best friend, Blair, crouched beside her with the kind of dramatic flair that could have earned her a starring role in a soap opera, "if you trip over that heel and faceplant into the receptionist's new orchid, I swear I will never speak to you again."
Charlie rolled her eyes, fumbling to zip the shoe. "Blair, do you understand how much of a power move this is? CEO meeting. Me. First impression. If I trip, they'll remember me forever… for all the wrong reasons."
Blair clutched her stomach, barely holding back laughter. "Oh no. They'll remember you exactly for the wrong reasons. And honestly? That's your brand. Chaotic. Dangerous. And somehow… funny."
Charlie finally straightened, balancing precariously. Her long, wavy chestnut hair threatened to topple over like a misbehaving curtain. She gave herself a last glance in the mirrored elevator doors. The black dress she had agonized over for thirty minutes in front of her wardrobe looked perfect—mostly because it hid the fact that her family had once again disowned her last week. Yes, again.
Her phone buzzed in her purse. A message from her younger brother: "You left the cat in the laundry again. Mom found it."
Charlie groaned. Blair snorted. "Honestly, you need a family-orbiting hazard suit."
"Shut up," Charlie muttered, stalking toward the glass doors like a woman who was definitely not panicking. "This is the one day I don't need chaos."
Of course, chaos had a way of following Charlie around like it had a personal vendetta.
The receptionist, a perfectly polite woman named Karen, looked up in mild horror as Charlie accidentally swatted a vase while stepping forward. The vase wobbled dangerously on the edge of the desk. Charlie froze, eyes wide, heart pounding—and somehow, by sheer luck and maybe divine intervention, it didn't fall.
Karen blinked. "Good morning, Ms. Montrose. Your appointment with Mr. Hartwell is… ready."
Charlie plastered on her brightest, most feminine smile. "Perfect, thank you. And… uh… love the orchids."
Blair leaned in as they walked toward the elevator, whispering, "You just complimented the death trap. Genius move."
Charlie ignored her. The elevator smelled faintly of antiseptic and expensive cologne, a combination that made her stomach twist in anticipation. She looked up at the mirrored ceiling, hoping her reflection radiated confidence and not the mild panic she felt bubbling in her chest.
When the elevator doors opened, he was there.
Alexander Hartwell. CEO. Billionaire. Mafia-adjacent. And, according to Charlie's very unscientific assessment, the most terrifyingly handsome man she had ever seen. Broad shoulders, dark hair slicked back just enough to suggest danger but not ridiculousness, and eyes that seemed to measure your soul in fractions of a second.
Charlie's heel caught on the marble floor. She nearly toppled forward, catching herself with a dramatic spin that would have earned points in a slapstick comedy. Blair groaned behind her, covering her face.
Alexander raised one dark eyebrow. "Ms. Montrose?" His voice was smooth, dangerous—the kind of voice that made you want to do exactly as he asked, even if he told you to jump off a bridge. "I've been expecting you."
Charlie's brain short-circuited. Expecting me? Why?
"Uh… me too," she squeaked, hoping it sounded confident rather than terrified.
He didn't flinch. "Please, follow me."
As she walked behind him, Charlie couldn't help but notice the office. Expansive, gleaming, intimidating—like walking into a museum built for billionaires who secretly might also be dangerous. Security cameras tracked their every step, though she wasn't sure whether it was for safety or simply to make sure she didn't trip again.
Her heels clicked on the marble floor, announcing her presence like a warning siren. Blair muttered something under her breath, probably a commentary on Charlie's coordination or lack thereof, but Charlie didn't hear it. She was too busy trying not to stare too openly at Alexander's back. Dangerous men shouldn't be this gorgeous. It was unfair.
Finally, they stopped at a massive mahogany door. Alexander opened it without turning around. "After you."
Charlie stepped inside. Her eyes scanned the office—walls lined with books she wasn't allowed to read, a desk big enough to host a small football match, and a view of the city that made her dizzy. He gestured for her to sit, and she did, perched on the edge of a chair like a cat trying not to knock over anything fragile.
Alexander finally turned, and Charlie had the distinct feeling she was being weighed, measured, and possibly judged for every misstep of her life—past, present, and future.
"Ms. Montrose," he said, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "You understand why punctuality is important?"
Charlie swallowed. "Yes, sir. Absolutely. Deadlines, time management… and the general chaos of the universe."
His lips twitched—was that amusement?—before he said, "Good. Let's see if your… charm… can survive my world."
Charlie took a deep breath, trying to summon confidence. Charm. Right. You've survived a Montrose family dinner, a cat apocalypse, and your best friend's dramatic commentary. You can survive this.
And then it hit her: this was it. The day her life might actually change. The day she met the man who could either destroy her or… something else. Something thrilling, terrifying, and inexplicably magnetic.
She straightened in her chair, chin lifted. "Challenge accepted," she whispered to herself, smiling despite the panic fluttering in her stomach.
Alexander Hartwell observed her silently for a moment, as if noting her bravado, her humor, and perhaps even the chaos she carried like a secret weapon. Then he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Good. This is going to be… interesting."
Charlie's heartbeat quickened. Interesting. That could mean anything in his world. Thrilling. Dangerous. Funny. Terrifying. She had a feeling it would be all of the above.
And that was the beginning of the day Charlie Montrose would never forget—the day she stepped into a world of power, danger, and a man who could read her like an open book… even when she tried to hide behind heels and humor.