Anastasia felt like her brain had been wrung out, twisted, and shoved back into her skull. The moment she closed the last file, her fingers cramped from signing, organizing, and typing all damn day, she barely had the strength to breathe. Her first day as Dante Montgomery's personal secretary had been nothing short of brutal. The work had come in endless waves—reports, files, meetings, calls. She hadn't even gotten a chance to catch her breath after that measly takeout lunch.
By the time the office lights dimmed and the rest of the staff began to pack up, she was still behind her desk, staring blankly at the final document, her temples throbbing.
And there he was. Cool, composed. Dante. Leaning by the glass wall of his office, checking his watch like she hadn't just worked herself into the ground under his name.
