Hana Sukehiro was a simple woman. She liked strong coffee, predictable train schedules, and the occasional overpriced dessert.
She also liked men who looked like they could destroy her in a corporate takeover and then hand her a glass of whiskey afterward.
And standing by the window, sleeves rolled up, looking like the human embodiment of dominance, control, and a labor law violation waiting to happen, was Katsuki Hasegawa.
Oh, hell.
Hana had seen his photo-some stiff, high-resolution headshot with the usual I will win and you will suffer expression-but that had done nothing to prepare her for this.
Built like he belonged in a high-end suit ad, except something about him was too sharp, too cutting, to be a simple model. The dark hair, slightly tousled like he'd run a hand through it mid-call. The broad, solid build that filled out his crisp white dress shirt like it was tailored with intent. The way his forearms flexed subtly as he adjusted his phone, tendons shifting under his skin-
Hana swallowed, staring at those forearms.
Men should not have forearms like that. It was irresponsible.
Her older brother, Rei, was bigger. Objectively. She had grown up around men who could probably deadlift entire convenience stores. But intensity was different from size. And Katsuki Hasegawa had the kind of intensity that could incinerate cities.
His presence filled the room, made everything sharper, like stepping into a space with too much static electricity. She swore even the air felt heavier.
The things she would let this man do-
Then he looked at her.
Not a glance. Not even a proper who's the new hire? assessment.
A full-body scan.
Like he was stripping her apart piece by piece, filing away every detail for later use.
Oh, no. No. This was not normal.
This was weaponized eye contact.
Her brain-usually a well-oiled machine of unhinged commentary-glitched.
Huh.
Kinda wanna see if he could pick me up with one arm.
Wait. No.
Kinda wanna see what would happen if I poked him just to see the reaction.
No, focus. Get it together, Sukehiro.
But he was still looking at her.
Like she was an anomaly. Like he hadn't decided whether she was a threat, an inconvenience, or an entirely different problem.
She should have looked away. That would have been the normal thing to do.
Instead, she stared right back.
Shameless.
_______
Katsuki watched her, unimpressed.
New hire. Kai's latest hand-picked disaster.
She wasn't even pretending to be subtle. Just standing there, blatantly analyzing him like he was some kind of exhibit.
He took her in, filing away details with the same ruthless efficiency he applied to everything else.
Small, but not delicate. Her frame was curvy-not that it mattered, but it was a fact. Wild auburn curls, the kind that clearly had a mind of their own despite whatever effort had gone into taming them this morning. A suit that was well-fitted but not stiff-she moved like someone who didn't like feeling restricted.
And those eyes.
Too sharp. Too focused.
Like she was taking notes.
She tilted her head slightly, mouth parting just a fraction, and he had to suppress the immediate, irrational irritation at the audacity of it.
Was she trying to figure him out?
Her expression flickered-just briefly. A split-second shift. Katsuki couldn't tell if it was to hit him or to jump him.
Maybe both.
He didn't break eye contact. He just finished his call with a clipped, "I don't care. Fix it," and ended the conversation.
Turning to her fully, he let the silence stretch just long enough to make her feel it.
"Are you done gawking at me?"
_______
Hana's thirst immediately self-destructed.
Well. That was unnecessary.
Not the first time a man had been an asshole to her, but still-unnecessary.
For half a second, she debated various responses. A simple Yes, sir? Too submissive. You wish? Too obvious.
She settled on a slow, serpentine smile, sweet and full of nothing but polite disrespect.
"You assume too much, sir."
Kai, who had been standing nearby watching the entire exchange like a delighted spectator at an elite bloodsport event, exhaled a soft, knowing laugh; but the first real test came faster than Kai expected.
Katsuki barely looked at her, his tone clipped and edged in pure disdain. "Tell me why I shouldn't fire you."
Kai exhaled slowly through his nose, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the desk.
Okay. Okay. That was direct.
Not that she hadn't expected her new boss to be the human equivalent of a buzz saw, but was this an actual test or just casual workplace bullying? Hard to tell. Either way, she should probably start talking before he did something dramatic, like fire her on the spot and have security escort her out with a manila envelope.
She inhaled sharply. "You can't fire me."
Katsuki's brows twitched. "Excuse me?"
"It's illegal."
Kai's interest sharpened as he watched the subtle shift in dynamics. Hana was fascinating. Not just because she had the audacity to argue with Katsuki Hasegawa on her first day, but because she looked genuinely excited to do it.
Hana pulled out her phone with the kind of energy usually reserved for courtroom mic drops. "According to the Japanese Labor Standards Act, an employer cannot dismiss an employee without a 30-day advance notice or severance pay unless there is gross misconduct. Which I haven't done." She tapped her screen and turned it toward him. "Here".
Kai smothered a laugh.
Katsuki just exhaled slowly through his nose, took the exact amount of time necessary to make it clear he wasn't impressed, then turned on his heel and walked back to his desk.
He didn't argue.
She was sharp. He'd give her that.
He grabbed a folder from his desk and dropped it onto hers. "This was written by a junior associate."
Hana looked down at it, then picked it up. "And?"
Katsuki sat down, steepling his fingers. "Find the errors."
She glanced at the pages, flipping through them with the same ease someone might scan a grocery receipt.
Kai and Katsuki had already gone over this document earlier that morning. They had already found three errors.
So, logically, she should find them too.
Less than three minutes later, Hana shoved the paper back toward Katsuki, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the page.
"There."
Katsuki glanced down. Correct.
Three minutes. Fast. But not fast enough.
Before he could make a comment, Hana kept flipping through the pages.
And then, without missing a beat, she muttered, "There are four. Including the typo."
Silence.
Katsuki's fingers tapped once against the desk.
They had only caught three, and that was both of them.
His eyes flicked up to Kai's. He didn't look surprised, but there was a sharp glint of interest in his expression.
Katsuki leaned forward, elbows braced on the desk. "Show me."
Hana's eyes lit up.
The way someone's would when handed a brand-new puzzle.
She straightened, flipping to the first one she'd already pointed out. "Here-redundancy. The contract states that termination notice must be given within 'a period of no less than thirty days' while also stating the 'minimum notice period is one month.' It's the same thing written two different ways. Should be streamlined."
She flipped to the next page. "Here. They reference an internal clause that doesn't exist. They probably meant Clause 12.5, not 13.5, because if you look-" she tapped the text, "-Clause 13.5 doesn't even cover supplier penalties."
Another flip.
"This." She gestured to a paragraph. "It contradicts itself. The first line states that either party may request an extension of up to two weeks, but the last line limits extensions to ten days. Which is it?"
She paused.
Then-almost as an afterthought-she added, "Oh, and there's a typo on page six. 'Subrogate' is spelled wrong."
She set the paper down, looking up expectantly.
Kai was already grinning.
Katsuki said nothing.
Just sat there, watching her.
The document had already been reviewed by two of the best legal minds in the country.
And she had caught an error neither of them did.
On her first day.
A slow, almost imperceptible shift settled in the air.
Kai saw it first.
Ah. There it is.
Katsuki tapped his fingers against the desk once. Just once. A small, measured gesture that betrayed nothing.
"So what do you suggest?"
Kai's head turned. Huh.
Katsuki never asked for suggestions. Ever. Not from junior associates, not from partners, not even from clients. Only from him.
Yet here he was, asking Hana Sukehiro.
Hana's entire expression brightened, like a kid on Christmas morning. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just pure, unfiltered confidence.
Most people hesitated when sparring with Katsuki, calculating the safest response. Not her. She thrived on it.
Hana pushed the folder open again, smoothing her palm over the page like it was something precious. "Alright," she started, voice picking up momentum, "so first, I'd rewrite the redundancy to just say, 'Termination notice must be given at least thirty days in advance.' Short, clear, removes unnecessary phrasing."
She flicked to the next page. "Then here-Clause 13.5-I'd send it back to the associate with a note to double-check internal references before submission. Honestly, they should have caught that before this even landed on your desk."
Katsuki just watched her. Silent. Assessing.
"And the contradiction?" Hana flipped to the extension clause. "Personally, I'd suggest keeping the first phrasing-'a period of no less than thirty days'-because it's more common in contract language and avoids ambiguity."
A pause.
Then, she grinned. A wicked little thing.
"I'd also highlight the typo in the next internal memo. Just for the fun of it."
Katsuki finally moved, exhaling as he leaned forward, forearms braced against the desk. His tone was flat, unimpressed.
"That was good."
Hana grinned. "Really?"
His expression didn't change. "If we're living in a fucking fairy tale."
Hana's grin froze.
Katsuki reached for the document, flipping it back to the contradiction. "First of all, you don't just 'suggest' changes. If you send something back to an associate, you tell them exactly what to fix and how to phrase it. Otherwise, they'll waste more of my time coming back with another half-assed version."
He moved to the termination clause. "And this? Thirty days sounds clear in theory, but corporate contracts don't work like that. You want a buffer. If you don't specify whether it includes non-business days, someone's going to exploit that in court."
Hana's brows knit together slightly, but she listened.
Katsuki continued, flicking back to the extension issue. "And you picked the right phrasing, but not the right reason. 'No less than thirty days' is standard, but in this case, the client's entire deal is contingent on an unpredictable fiscal quarter. They need flexibility. You reword it, sure, but you also include an exception clause. Otherwise, they lose their leverage."
By the time he finished, Hana had folded her arms, considering.
Then, slowly, she nodded. "Alright. That makes sense."
She wasn't arguing. She wasn't defensive.
She was just absorbing the information.
Katsuki leaned back, watching her for a long moment before finally saying, "So. About your job."
Hana perked up slightly. "Yes, sir."
"Your job is to handle all my emails before they reach me," he said, tone sharp, deliberate. "If a client is being indecisive, shut them down or pass them to Kai. If they're really indecisive, tell them to go hire another firm. I'm not a therapist."
"Okay."
"You'll keep an updated log of every internal firm decision, settlement outcome, and client request. I expect it summarized and ready on demand."
"...Alright."
"You will ensure my coffee is not burned, not weak, and not whatever bullshit half-decaf nonsense Naomi orders."
"You will track my moods." He added
"WHAT?"
Katsuki continued like she hadn't spoken. "If you notice an unusually high frequency of my responding with one-word emails, you will delay any unnecessary meetings until I am no longer tempted to walk out of them."
Kai huffed a laugh.
"You will remind me of social norms when absolutely necessary," Katsuki added dryly, "such as not glaring at people until they leave."
"...I'm sorry, that needs reminding?"
Katsuki ignored her. "You will prepare exit strategies at events in case I decide I don't want to be there anymore. I don't care what excuse you use. Food poisoning, emergency hearing, natural disaster. Be creative."
Hana looked increasingly concerned.
"Also, you will be available for after-hours work as needed. And," he added, as an afterthought, "if I ever have to attend a wedding, funeral, or corporate gala, you will be in charge of small talk so I don't have to pretend to care."
Hana stared.
Katsuki closed the folder with finality. "That's all."
She exhaled slowly. "Aye aye, boss man."
Katsuki barely looked up. "Sukehiro."
"Yeah?"
"Call me 'boss man' again, and you're fired."
Hana grinned, saccharine sweet. "Alright, mi'lord."