His Shy Assistant Drunk-Texted “Come Get Me”—10 Minutes Later, the Millionaire Was at Her Door

Norah’s heart stopped.

“Delete them.”

Leo: “Already printed and framed 1 for my desk.”

“I’m moving to Alaska.”

Mara: “Honey, you’re not going anywhere because you have to go to work in 2 hours and face the man who carried you in his arms yesterday.”

Leo: “And who probably put you in bed.”

Leo: “And left a note.”

“How do you know about the note?”

Leo: “I know everything, Norah. I am the all-seeing eye.”

Mara: “He stayed at the bar until midnight collecting witness statements.”

Norah dropped the phone and stared at the ceiling, calculating how many bus hours it would take to get to Canada and whether she could survive as a hermit in a forest cabin without ever looking Julian Cross in the eyes again.

He knew. He knew exactly what she thought of him in a suit.

She could not flee, so she dragged herself to the shower and let the hot water punish her for her sins.

Norah wore sunglasses inside the building because fluorescent light was her enemy and because if she could not see people clearly, maybe they could not see her shame clearly either. It was flawed logic, but it was all she had. She carried a triple-shot coffee that cost $10 and intended to drink it like medicine, because technically it was. She wore her most modest gray cardigan over a white blouse with a collar up to her neck, as if extreme modesty could cancel out Friday’s messages.

Leo intercepted her before she reached the elevators, his smile absolutely demonic.

“The legend herself,” he practically shouted.

3 people turned to look.

“Stop,” Norah hissed, low and desperate.

“Bridal style, Norah,” Leo continued relentlessly, walking beside her toward the elevators. “Bridal style. You were carried like a romcom heroine by the hottest and richest man in Manhattan.”

“I hate you.”

There was no venom in her voice because it was true. Everything he said was horrible, documented truth.

“Julian’s been here since 7,” Leo said.

That made Norah stop in the middle of the lobby.

“And he’s in a good mood, Norah. Like actually good mood.”

“Good,” Norah repeated.

Julian Cross did not have moods. Julian Cross had varying states of seriousness, ranging from extremely serious to frighteningly serious.

“Smiling,” Leo said, eyes gleaming with premium-grade gossip. “Smiling, Norah. Showing teeth. The whole thing. Owen almost had a heart attack.”

“That’s impossible.”

“See for yourself. He asked for you as soon as he arrived. Told me to let him know when you showed up. So technically, I should be notifying him now. But I’m warning you first because I like you and you deserve 10 seconds to prepare emotionally.”

Panic hit Norah in waves, hot and cold at the same time. She gripped the coffee like it was an anchor.

“He asked for me?”

“With first and last name,” Leo confirmed. “Actually, he said Norah in a different way. Like soft. I can’t explain it, but Owen gets it. You need to talk to Owen.”

No, she definitely did not need to talk to Owen. Owen was Julian’s best friend, probably knew everything, and would look at her in a way that confirmed her life was over and everyone knew.

“Breathe,” Leo said, putting a hand on her shoulder in a surprisingly gentle gesture. “You’re going to survive. And honestly, I think you’re going to like what happens next.”

Norah had no idea what he meant and did not have time to ask because the elevator arrived. She got in and pressed the button for the 20th floor with trembling fingers. Her sunglasses stayed firmly on her face, even though she looked ridiculous. Her coffee remained hot in her hand. Her heart beat so hard she was sure it was visible through her blouse.

Julian’s office door was intimidating, dark mahogany with a silver plaque that said CEO in elegant letters. Norah stood in front of it for exactly 30 seconds, gathering courage, trying to convince her lungs to function normally, rehearsing what she would say.

All she could think was that she was sorry for being pathetic, drunk, and inappropriate.

She gave up rehearsing and knocked, light and timid.

“Come in.”

His voice came clearly through the solid wood, and her hand turned the doorknob before she could reconsider her entire existence.

Julian was behind the desk, but not the way he normally was. He had removed his jacket and was wearing only a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing forearms that should have been illegal. His tie was loose. A strand of hair had fallen over his forehead as if he had run a hand through it absently.

And he was smiling.

Not a small, polite smile. A real smile that reached his gray eyes and made little crinkles appear at the corners.

Norah’s brain stopped functioning because Julian Cross did not smile.

Except he was smiling at her now.

“Good morning, Norah.”

He said her name differently from before. Softer, almost intimate.

“Mr. Cross, I’m so sorry for—”

She started, but he raised a hand, and she stopped automatically because apparently her body responded to him without consulting her brain.

“Stop.”

“But I—”

“How’s your head?” he asked.

The genuine concern in his voice completely disarmed her.

“Horrible,” she answered honestly, because lying seemed impossible when he looked like that.

“Did the aspirin help?”

“Yes. Thank you for everything. For coming to get me and taking me home and for not letting me sleep on the street or wherever I would have ended up if—”

“Norah.”

He interrupted again and stood, coming around the desk, approaching. Suddenly he was too close and not close enough at the same time.

“You would never, ever be on the street. Not while I know where you are.”

The air between them seemed denser. Norah took 1 instinctive step back because proximity to Julian Cross was dangerous for her mental sanity.

“I will never behave unprofessionally again,” she said firmly, or tried to. Her voice came out shaky.

“So no drinking again?” he asked.

There was something in his voice, something playful she had never heard before.

“Never,” she confirmed vehemently.

“Shame,” he said casually, returning to the desk, leaning against the edge and crossing his arms in a way that made the muscles beneath his shirt very obvious.

“What?”

Her brain was not processing correctly.

“I liked them,” Julian said, looking directly at her.

The small smile returned.

The world either stopped spinning or spun faster. She could not tell.

“You liked them.”

“Especially the part about the suits.”

The way he said suits had a weight it should not have had, a suggestion that made her face heat instantly.

“Inappropriately gorgeous was particularly descriptive.”

“I’m going to resign,” Norah announced, because that was clearly the only rational solution.

He laughed, a real, short laugh that resonated in his chest.

“You’re not.”

“I have to.”

“This is completely forgotten,” he interrupted. “If you want.”

A pause. Heavy silence. His eyes on hers.

“Or,” he continued, voice lower now, more dangerous, “we can talk about it.”

“Talk about what?”

Her heart raced in a way that had nothing to do with the hangover.

“Why you texted me,” Julian said, pushing away from the desk and taking a step toward her. “Not Mara.”

“It was an accident,” Norah practically shouted, defensive.

“Was it?”

There was a challenge in his eyes that made something tighten in her stomach.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he said simply.

The way he said it suggested he did not believe her at all.

Then he went back behind the desk, picked up a folder, and added almost casually, “But for the record—”

He stopped and looked at her again.

“You look beautiful too.”

The world froze.

“What?” was all she could say.

“Not in a suit,” Julian continued, returning his attention to the papers as if he had not just completely destroyed her reality. “You don’t wear suits. But those—”

He made a vague gesture with his hand.

“Little cardigans you like.”

He had noticed. The cardigans.

Julian Cross, CEO of Cross Global, a man with dozens of employees and millions of dollars to manage, had specifically noticed the clothes she wore.

“And very—”

He looked up again. The way he examined her made her feel exposed, even fully clothed.

“Distracting.”

Norah could not breathe. She had literally forgotten how.

Julian smiled again, small and devastating.

“Meeting in 20 minutes,” he said, voice returning to a professional tone, though with a layer beneath it that had not been there before. “Bring coffee. And maybe the sunglasses. Looks like you need them.”

It was pure provocation.

Her face was on fire when she left the office without saying anything, because speaking required brain capacity that had completely abandoned her.

Norah was carrying documents Julian had asked for when she heard a crystalline feminine voice before she saw the woman.

“Julian, darling, we need to talk about the charity event.”

Isabelle Lauron.

Julian’s ex-fiancée. Heiress to some European fortune. Owner of legs that seemed never to end and a face that belonged on magazine covers.

She stood in the hallway wearing a red dress that probably cost more than Norah’s annual salary. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. When she saw Norah approaching with a stack of papers and a gray cardigan, she simply stopped.

Her blue, icy eyes scanned Norah from head to toe in less than 2 seconds, and Norah saw the exact moment Isabelle decided she was not a threat. She saw the disinterest settle in.

Then Julian came out of the conference room behind her, and everything changed.

“Norah,” he said immediately, ignoring Isabelle completely and walking toward her. “Did you bring the contracts?”

“Yes, Mr. Cross.”

Norah extended the folder, trying not to notice how Isabelle was now looking between the 2 of them with a completely different expression, calculating and sharp.

Julian took the folder, but his fingers brushed hers. By accident or design, Norah did not know. The touch lasted half a second longer than professional.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “You’re always so efficient.”

Then he smiled.

That small, private smile that had been destroying her all day.

Isabelle saw it. Of course she saw it. Women like Isabelle did not miss anything.

So she approached, voice honey mixed with poison.

“This is the famous Norah. Julian mentioned you.”

It was a lie. An absolute lie. Norah could see it in Julian’s eyes.

“Isabelle,” Julian said in warning.

But Isabelle ignored him and extended a hand with perfectly manicured nails.

“Isabelle Lauron,” she introduced herself, though Norah knew exactly who she was because everyone in the office knew. “It’s a pleasure to meet the person who keeps Julian so organized.”

The word organized sounded like an insult wrapped in silk.

Norah shook her hand briefly.

“The pleasure is mine, Miss Lauron.”

“Isabelle, please,” she insisted, though she was still examining Norah. Her eyes fixed on the cardigan, the glasses, the simple bun. Norah saw when Isabelle reached her conclusion. Saw the exact moment she decided that Julian and Norah were impossible. Saw the confidence return.

“You’re adorable, Norah. Really adorable.”

Pure condescension.

Julian took a step closer to Norah, protective and territorial.

“Isabelle was leaving,” he said.

It was not a suggestion.

“Was I?” Isabelle asked, arching a perfect eyebrow.

“You were,” he confirmed, his voice still covered in velvet.

She laughed, light and rehearsed.

“Always so direct, Julian. One of the things I loved most about you.”

She turned back to Norah.

“It was a pleasure, Norah. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

It was a threat disguised as kindness.

She left, expensive perfume trailing behind her. Norah stood with Julian beside her, feeling tension radiating from him in waves.

“She’s—” Norah started, then stopped because she did not know how to finish.

“Past,” Julian said firmly, turning to look directly at her. “Completely past.”

But the way Isabelle had looked at them, the way she smiled before leaving, told Norah that Isabelle did not believe that at all.

Julian asked Norah to get the old quarterly reports, something about growth comparison. She was in the file room, trying to reach a box on the highest shelf because, naturally, the box she needed was in the least accessible place possible. She stretched on tiptoe, fingers brushing the edge of the box, unable to grasp it.

Then she heard the door open behind her.

“Need help?”

Julian’s voice was close. Closer than it should have been.

Norah turned too quickly. Her foot slipped in the low heel she was wearing, her balance was gone, and she started to fall.

Firm hands caught her by the waist. Pulled her.

Suddenly, she was pressed against his chest, her hands braced on his shoulders to steady herself. Their faces were inches apart.

Too close. Way too close.

Not close enough.

Norah froze completely, unable to move, breathe, or think. She could only feel his warmth through the layers of clothing, the scent of masculine cologne and something that was simply him, the firmness of his hands on her waist as he held her like she was precious and fragile at once.

“You need to stop stumbling,” Julian said, voice low.

But he did not let go. Did not step away. His eyes stayed on hers, stormy gray and too intense.

“I don’t stumble,” Norah responded automatically, though her voice came out whispered and without conviction. “You just appear suddenly and startle me.”

“I startle you?”

There was something dangerous in the way he said it. A challenge.

One hand moved from her waist to her face. His fingers brushed her cheek, tucking away a strand of hair that had escaped her bun.

She should have said yes. She should have confirmed that he startled her, that everything about him startled her: the power, the intensity, the way he looked at her as if she were the only person in the world.

What came out of her mouth was completely different.

“Not the way you’re thinking.”

“And what way am I thinking?” Julian asked, his thumb now tracing the line of her jaw in a movement so slow and deliberate it made her stomach tighten.

“Like fear,” Norah managed, even though every cell in her body was screaming things very different from fear. “You don’t scare me. You make me feel something else.”

His eyes darkened. His focus dropped to her mouth for a second before returning.

“What’s something else?”

Norah did not know how to answer. She did not know how to explain the way her heart raced when he was near, the way her skin tingled when he touched her, the way she lost the ability to think straight when he looked at her like this.

So she did not answer with words.

She stayed there, looking back, breathing faster, lips parted.

Julian leaned in just a little. It was almost imperceptible, but she felt it. She felt the change in the air. Felt the intention. Her body reacted instinctively, tilting upward, closing the last millimeters of distance between them.

He was going to kiss her there, in the file room, in the middle of the workday.

He was going to kiss her, and she was going to let him.

This was going to change everything.

His mouth was close enough for her to feel the heat. Close enough that it would only take 1 more centimeter. Just closing her eyes. Letting it happen.

Then the file room door opened with a loud noise.

Owen’s voice cut through the moment like a knife.

“Julian, you need to—oh.”

Norah pulled away from Julian so fast she nearly stumbled again. Her face was on fire. Her heart beat so hard she was sure everyone could hear it.

Julian released a long breath before turning to Owen with an expression that could freeze hell itself.

“Can this wait?” Julian asked, voice too controlled.

Owen looked between them, a smile slowly forming.

“Actually, it can. It can wait quite a while. It can wait until tomorrow if necessary.”

“Owen,” Julian said, clear warning in his voice.

“Leaving.”

Owen raised both hands in surrender.

“Leaving now. Completely ignore my existence. Continue what you were doing. Or almost doing. Or clearly about to do.”

He left and closed the door, but Norah heard his laughter on the other side.

She wanted to die. Simply die of embarrassment.

“Norah,” Julian started.

But she was already moving toward the door.

“I need to—the reports. You asked for the reports. I’ll get the reports.”

She was babbling and making no sense at all.

“Norah, look at me,” he asked softly.

She stopped, but did not turn.

“This can’t happen,” she said at the door. “You’re my boss, and this is completely inappropriate, and I can’t lose my job because of a moment of—”

“A moment of what?” he asked, closer behind her now.

“Weakness.”

She finished, even though the word felt wrong. Nothing about what she had felt in his arms had seemed weak.

“Look at me,” he repeated, firmer now.

Norah turned. He was there, too close again, looking at her with an intensity that made her knees weak.

“That wasn’t weakness,” Julian said, each word measured and deliberate. “And you’re not going to lose your job. Ever. Not for this. Not for anything.”

“You can’t promise that,” she said, voice small.

“I can,” he said. “And I do.”

Heavy silence stretched between them, filled with unsaid things.

Then he stepped back, creating professional distance. The way he looked at her had nothing professional about it.

“See you at 5,” he said.

He left before she could respond.

Norah was in the reception area, waiting for the elevator, trying to process everything that had happened that day, when she heard footsteps behind her. She knew without looking that it was him.

“Norah.”

She stopped and turned.

Julian stood there, jacket over his arm, tie still loose, looking tired but satisfied in a way she had never seen before.

“Mr. Cross,” she said professionally, though her entire body remembered what it had felt like to be pressed against him hours earlier.

“Next time you need a ride,” he said, pausing and taking half a step closer, “text me on purpose.”

“That’s not appropriate,” she replied, but without any conviction.

“Calling me at midnight wasn’t either. But here we are.”

“Here we are,” she repeated stupidly.

“Good night, Norah,” he said, but he did not move.

He stayed there, looking.

“Good night, Mr. Cross.”

“Julian,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Call me Julian,” he repeated, voice lower, more intense. “At least outside the office.”

The elevator arrived. The doors opened. Norah entered like an automaton, turned to look at him 1 last time, and found him still watching her with the half smile that would haunt her dreams.

The doors began to close.

Julian stepped forward, holding the door and preventing it from closing completely.

“And Norah,” he said.

“Yes?”

“About today in the file room.”

He stopped, eyes fixed on hers.