Maxine Mason stared blankly after Braxton Payne as he walked away, the lounge door swinging shut behind him. The click of his leather soles echoed down the hall, fading slowly into silence. He was furious.

The realization hit her like a jolt, and Maxine shot to her feet, grabbed her coat, and hurried for the door. But when her hand hit the frame, she froze, uncertainty locking her in place. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d wanted? Braxton keeping his distance from her?

Square her shoulders, she turned back, straightened the meeting schedule, and laid it neatly on Braxton’s desk before heading straight for Fiona’s apartment. For three days straight, every conversation between them had been strictly business. Even when their eyes accidentally locked, they both looked away on instinct, just like a couple in the middle of a fight.

Maxine knew better than anyone what this was—Braxton’s little power play. He was waiting for her to cave, to make the first move. The weight of it crushed her. In just one week, she’d dropped eleven pounds, her face sharpening noticeably. Fiona, sick with worry, insisted she take a break to clear her head.

It just so happened to be the first weekend in forever Braxton hadn’t dumped work on her, so Maxine agreed. They took advantage of the gorgeous clear weather to go hiking on the nearby trails. Fiona badgered her into dozens of selfies, and when Maxine spotted her rare bright smile in the shots, she picked a couple to post to Instagram.

They’d barely made it back down the mountain when Braxton’s name popped up on Maxine’s phone. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Why was he calling her on a day off? Was something wrong?

Fiona peeked at the caller ID and huffed, "Don’t pick up. Work calls on weekends are never good news—they just want to bleed you dry."

"But what if it’s an office emergency…" Maxine reasoned, and answered the call anyway, under Fiona’s disapproving glare.

Braxton’s voice rolled deep and addictive through the line. "Come to my place when you’re done."

The request caught her completely off guard. "Is something wrong?"

"If you’re well enough to go hiking with Fiona, I assume you’re feeling better. So why would there be a problem?" he said, like it was the most normal request in the world.

Maxine got it immediately. This wasn’t about work. He was just impatient to yank control back now that she was on her feet again. Refusing wasn’t on the table, but she’d been told to rest and take it easy while she recovered. She thought for a second, then answered soft and steady, "Alright. But I’ve been craving a drink. Will Mr. Payne indulge me?"

"When have I ever treated a drink like a luxury around me?" he chuckled low.

After hanging up, Fiona frowned with worry. "You’re actually going? Your health isn’t something to mess around with."

She wasn’t wrong—even today’s hike had required multiple stops to keep Maxine from overdoing it.

Maxine squeezed her friend’s shoulder, smiling to reassure her. "Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing."

---

Night fell, and San Francisco’s skyline blazed to life as Maxine arrived right on time at Braxton’s hilltop villa. Inside, the coffee table was stacked full of liquor bottles. Braxton, loose in a plush cashmere bathrobe, was reclined in an armchair, his dark eyes glassy with alcohol as he watched her.

Spotting the half-empty whiskey bottle already on the table, Maxine felt a tiny flicker of relief. When Braxton had a little drink in him, he was always easier to handle. Getting him to drink a little more wouldn’t take much work.

Maxine settled smoothly onto his lap, lifting a glass with a slow, easy smile, "Couldn’t wait for me, huh, Mr. Payne?"

She took a small sip, then leaned in to press the rim to his lips, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Braxton drank it down.

One bottle after another emptied out after that. By the fourth, his usual sharp, focused gaze was foggy, though his arms still curled tight around her waist on instinct.

Maxine had only ever sipped at the edge of her drinks, so her head was still perfectly clear. She cracked open a new bottle and fed him sips straight from the neck.

Three more bottles later, Braxton’s arms went limp. He slumped heavy against her, out cold. She called his name a few times, but got nothing back.

Relieved, she carefully slid out from under him, grabbed a couple of blankets from the linen closet, draped one over him, and wrapped the other around herself. She’d planned to stay just long enough to make sure he was really out, then leave.

Somehow, she ended up asleep on the couch.

Her breathing was soft and slow, the blanket slipping down her shoulders as she shifted in her sleep. A well-defined, calloused hand caught it before it could fall all the way, tucking it back tight around her.

The man who was supposed to be dead drunk stared down at her with dark, searching eyes, and murmured low, "What the hell are you playing at?"

Since the second bottle, Braxton had known something was off. But he’d played along anyway, curious what her game was.

When he “passed out” and heard her moving around, he’d cracked one eye open, half-expecting her to pull something crazy—she knew nearly all of his deepest business secrets, after all.

But all she’d done was cover him up and curl up on the couch. Warmth wrapped around his chest, and then the apartment went quiet.

When Braxton woke, he found Maxine asleep right there on his couch, her face soft and peaceful. Had she gone through all this trouble just to get him drunk so she could nap?

As he studied her serene, almost childlike face, something in his chest softened. He gently lifted her into his arms, carried her to his king-sized bed, and she murmured something soft in her sleep.

He froze, thinking he’d woken her, but she just snuggled deeper into his chest, still dead to the world.

Hmm. Something was different about Maxine. Before, even the slightest sound would have her jolting awake, ready to jump and do whatever he needed. Now she hadn’t even stirred when he carried her across the house. Had she been that exhausted lately? Or was she still recovering, worn thin from being sick?

A hundred different thoughts spun through his head, but in the end he just pulled her closer against him, flipped off the lights, and went to sleep.

The next morning, Maxine woke up with a jolt. When she spotted Braxton’s sleeping profile next to her, she slipped out of bed as quiet as a mouse. The mess of empty bottles caught her eye, and a twist of guilt pricked her stomach.

Braxton wouldn’t figure out she’d gotten him drunk on purpose, would he?

After freshening up and saying goodbye to his housekeeper, she hurried out, eager to avoid any awkward questions from Braxton on her way into the office.

By the time she got to the bullpen, the whispers had already started.

"Did you hear? Everyone’s saying Maxine is actually Payne’s mistress."

"So it’s true? I always wondered how she landed that position with no real experience. Tsk."

"Well, duh. Secretaries always end up sleeping with the boss…"

The gossip got meaner by the second.

Maxine walked in with a hard face, her cold gaze sweeping over the huddle of gossiping coworkers. "This is an office, not a coffee shop for idle chatter. Mr. Payne and I have no such relationship, and if I hear any more of these rumors, I’ll be sending this straight to HR to handle."

The coworkers exchanged awkward, guilty glances and went dead silent.

Just then, Braxton walked through the door, catching the last line of her denial. His jaw tightened, and his face went dark.

A quick exchange later, the two of them walked into the room, and every gossiping colleague went rigid, holding their breath to see what would happen next.

Maxine Mason stayed perfectly composed, offering a polite, "Good morning, Mr. Payne."

Braxton Payne’s gaze drifted over Maxine, his voice ice-cold when he answered: "Get that project plan on my desk ASAP."

With that detached, untouchable air of authority, he brushed right past her, his stiff posture screaming don’t get close.

A sharp little twinge pinched Maxine’s chest, but her face stayed blank. "Yes, sir."

Out of old habit, she moved to follow him up to the executive floor, but just as she reached the elevator, the doors slid shut—cutting off her view of that unforgiving scowl of his. Stunned for half a second, she turned to head for the staff elevator instead.

The same coworkers who’d been gossiping about her two minutes earlier crowded in after her. They crowded closer on purpose, staring her down the whole time.

Maxine backed up until she was trapped in the corner, her suit rumpled, the documents in her hand crinkled at the edges.

The executive suite was on a private restricted floor. When the elevator doors opened, Maxine stared up the long, intimidating staircase, drew a deep breath, and started climbing. Her stilettos felt like fancy little torture devices, every step a struggle.

High heels were a luxury she couldn’t afford anymore. Climbing these stairs every day would be brutal enough, even more so with the baby growing inside her.

By the time she reached the suite, a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her face.

Braxton’s eyes lingered on her rosy, flushed lips for a beat. His Adam’s apple bobbed, then he glanced away and instructed her coolly, "I reviewed today’s schedule. Have Erin handle it. If you’ve got nothing pressing, you can work out of the general assistant’s office downstairs."

Surprise flickered in Maxine’s eyes, and she glanced automatically at her old desk by his door. She didn’t push for answers, just complied. "Alright."

She grabbed a box from the supply closet and packed her things in silence. It was so stuffed that when she tried to lift it, it felt clumsy, unbalanced, way too heavy.

Braxton noticed, and spoke up quietly, "Those are company files. No need to strain yourself. You can just grab what you need when you need it."

"…Okay."

Wasn’t this just his way of making her life miserable?

Maxine had no ground to refuse, so she only took the essentials and carried the light load back down the stairs.

The assistant’s office was one floor below the executive suite, so working there meant she wouldn’t have to climb those stairs every time she turned around. That was a small plus.

Maxine talked herself down, pushed the anxiety aside, and pulled open the office door. Five different secretaries all looked up at once, their gazes curious and twisted with so many other emotions.

"Miss Mason? What brings you down here?"

"I’m working here now," Maxine said simply, before claiming a empty corner desk to settle into.

The other women exchanged quick glances. They could see the hesitation and giddy excitement written all over each other’s faces. A door of opportunity had just swung open for them.

Everyone in the assistant pool had always envied Maxine—she was Braxton Payne’s personal assistant, the closest spot to the king of the company. None of them expected an opening to pop up this soon.

Before long, rumors that Maxine had been demoted spread like wildfire through the office. Word was she’d ticked Braxton off bad, and he was just getting ready to push her out the door for good.

People who’d previously sucked up to her started keeping their distance, hanging back to see how it all played out. Everyone knew Maxine’s new spot was only temporary, just waiting for the final ax to fall.

Maxine didn’t let it faze her. She kept working like she always had, unfazed. The only real change was more walking and climbing. After she twisted her ankle once, she dumped the heels entirely and switched to plain flats for work.

Her first day in flats, Braxton caught her.

He glanced down at her shoes, squinting, and snapped, "So you’re not even bothering to keep up appearances anymore?"

Maxine couldn’t tell him about the pregnancy, so she stuck to her excuse: "I twisted my ankle. It still isn’t healed."

"Liar," Braxton’s face darkened. She’d run around in four-inch heels on a sprained ankle once, powered through a late-night screaming match with him without a single complaint of discomfort.

Truth was, she just didn’t care enough to pretend anymore.

Maxine said nothing.

Braxton’s voice turned ice-cold. "I kept your father, George Mason, out of prison for five whole months. And now you’re just gonna ditch me, is that it?"

After Braxton had bailed her mother out of that gambling den, Maxine never dug deeper into what was going on. She’d assumed her father had finally learned his lesson and stayed out of trouble. She had no idea Braxton had already locked him up.

Maxine’s whole body shook, but she didn’t let it show on her face.

If Braxton hated her this much, he’d probably prefer she stayed far out of his way anyway.

And besides… she wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

"Thank you, Mr. Payne. I don’t know how to repay you," she answered, her voice flat and steady, no give at all.

Braxton’s gaze got even colder, and he taunted, "Can’t repay? Then don’t bother. Forcing it is just pathetic."

What was he even playing at?

Braxton pressed the intercom button, connected straight to HR, and ordered, "Hire a new personal assistant. Demote Maxine one level."

"Got it," HR agreed hesitantly, confused out of their mind, but didn’t dare question him.

After he hung up, Braxton turned back to Maxine: "Bring everything except company files down to your new desk. Once the new assistant starts, you’ll do the full handover."

Maxine pressed her lips into a tight line, caught completely off guard by this sudden move. There hadn’t been any warning signs at all.

Or… maybe Braxton had been planning this for a long time.

She ducked her head lower, still polite, still grateful on the surface: "Thank you, Mr. Payne. I don’t have anything else left to pack. Just let me know when the new assistant gets here."

She turned to leave and pulled the door shut soft behind her—still as considerate as she’d always been.

"Thank you, Mr. Payne?" The words echoed in Braxton’s head, and he let out a bitter laugh. Was she this desperate to get away from him? Fine. He’d just have to see how far she’d really go.

The news of Maxine’s demotion spread through the company faster than wildfire. Every employee she ran into asked her about it.

People who’d sucked up to her before were torn. The other assistants, meanwhile, walked around with a mix of smug satisfaction and quiet rivalry, all watching her every move.

Maxine’s demeanor never shifted. She acted like nothing had changed at all.

In her five years working at Payne Enterprises, this was the first time she’d actually used her lunch card to eat in the company cafeteria.

She’d just sat down when someone walked past and spilled an entire bowl of hot soup right down the front of her shirt. The person fumbled out a hasty apology: "I’m so sorry, it slipped out of my hand! I’ll pay for dry cleaning, I swear."

Maxine looked up, her face completely blank. "Erin, that’s a little childish, don’t you think?"

Since her demotion, she’d put up with all kinds of petty nonsense: elevators that closed right in front of her, meetings she was never notified about that got her marked tardy, all the usual garbage she’d just swallowed quietly. But now they were stooping to direct personal attacks.

Unfazed, Maxine calmly wiped herself down with paper napkins, returned her ruined tray, and bought a new meal to go.

She was glad she’d always had the habit of keeping a spare set of clothes in her desk drawer.

When she walked back to the assistant’s office, she spotted her desk from across the room: it was soaked through with spilled coffee, all her documents ruined. Coffee dripped all over the once-clean carpet, leaving a disgusting brown stain.

There was no one around to claim it, and fighting to pull the security footage just wasn’t worth the energy. She cleaned up the mess herself, called facilities to come take care of the carpet, and headed for the bathroom to change. That plan fell apart when she pulled out her spare clothes—they were stained all over with ink, lipstick, and foundation. Completely unwearable.

She couldn’t stay in this soaked soup-stained outfit and keep working.

After weighing her options and fighting through an internal battle, Maxine made her choice. She pressed the intercom button and asked, "Mr. Payne, are you free right now?"

The line went dead silent. Maxine Mason waited on pins and needles until footsteps drew near, followed by a crisp female voice: "Mr. Payne’s at lunch right now and can’t take your call. Can I help you with anything?"

Thud. Her heart plummeted straight to her stomach.

A new executive assistant? This fast? How had she missed the news entirely?

"Hello? Are you still on the line?" The woman’s voice held a faint edge of suspicion.

"It’s fine, sorry to bother you," Maxine hung up fast and stared blankly at her desk.

Eileen strolled in at some point, a sarcastic scoff rolling off her tongue. "Still trying to pull the sympathy card with Mr. Payne? His new assistant studied in Germany. She gets along with him way better than you ever did."

Maxine’s brow furrowed slightly, but she ignored the jab and calmly cleared off her desk. She pulled out her coffee-stained clothes and headed off to find the cleaning lady.

The cleaner eyed Maxine with sympathy, taking in her disheveled state, then hesitantly offered her a brand-new cleaning uniform. "You sure you wanna wear this? I can run out and grab you a new skirt. Just wait here for me."

"No need, I’ll change and pick one up myself," Maxine didn’t want to put the cleaner out or get her dragged into this mess. She thanked her and headed for the shared employee lounge to change.

Thankfully, Payne Corp’s facilities were top of the line—the lounge restroom was fully stocked and well-kept.

Ten minutes later, Maxine stepped out in the cleaning uniform. It was a little too big, hanging loose off her frame, so she tied a double knot at the waist to cinch it.

She adjusted the outfit until it looked at least halfway presentable, then wrapped her hand around the door handle to leave. It wouldn’t budge.

Wait, what?

Maxine pressed down on the handle again, harder this time.

Clink. A rattle of chain.

Someone had locked her in from the outside!

She threw her weight against the door, but it didn’t move an inch. She went to scream for help, then suddenly remembered—she’d left her phone with the cleaning lady.

There was a critical meeting at 2:30. Yeah, she wasn’t Braxton’s right hand anymore, but she was still required to be there as part of the secretarial team.

Maxine grabbed a chair and slammed it against the lock. The door only vibrated a little, no damage done.

For the first time ever, she thought: too much quality really is a problem.

Busting down the door was out of the question, so Maxine scanned the room for another way out, her gaze landing on the lounge window. She peeked out. A twenty-story drop. No way in hell she was trying that.

As the minutes ticked by faster and faster, Maxine was stuck in that small room, helpless. Right when she was about to give up, she heard hurried footsteps sprinting down the hallway.

Maxine yelled at the top of her lungs: "Is anyone out there? Please, open the door!"

A voice called back: "Maxine? That you in there?"

"Yes! It’s me!" Maxine cried, tears springing to her eyes as she pressed herself to the crack of the door, begging. "Is that you, Ma’am? Please unlock this. I don’t know who locked me in here."

"I don’t have a key for this lock, I’ll go get tools," the cleaning lady said, eyeing the palm-sized lock before turning to leave.

A flicker of urgency crossed Maxine’s face, and she stopped her. "Ma’am, go to the 22nd floor, room B2203. Tell them I’m stuck in the 20th floor lounge."

The 22nd floor was where the meeting was being held.

The cleaner, who knew the building like the back of her hand, nodded and hurried off.

Minutes later, the sound of rushed, overlapping footsteps approached. The chain clattered, the door swung open, and a tall woman stood in the frame, with a smug-looking Eileen trailing right behind her.

"Maxine, the executives are already starting the meeting. Why are you still holed up here?" the tall woman demanded.

Maxine sized her up silently. This had to be the new executive assistant.

When Maxine didn’t answer, the woman assumed she had no clue who she was. She raked Maxine from head to toe, smirked at the cleaning uniform, and introduced herself with arrogance. "I’m Holly Quinn, Mr. Payne’s executive assistant."

"Nice to meet you, Holly," Maxine greeted politely, gratitude in her tone. "Thanks for getting me out. I just need to go change my clothes."

Holly stepped forward smoothly, blocking her path. "No time. Do you want to embarrass Mr. Payne in front of the board?"

With all the executives in there—several of whom already had it out for Braxton—this meeting couldn’t afford any mistakes.

Eileen chimed in, mocking. "Yeah, wearing that raggedy cleaning uniform? That’s how you embarrass him."

Hearing that, the cleaning lady bowed her head in shame.

Maxine’s eyebrow lifted. She looked straight at Holly. "Give me five minutes."

She turned back inside, grabbed a pocket knife, and started altering the uniform against the reflection of the glass. The top turned into a sleek off-the-shoulder blouse, the mismatched buttons looking like an intentional, trendy touch. The pants became high-slit casual trousers, the gathered waistband tucked neatly under the blouse to cinch her figure.

At a glance, it looked like a one-of-a-kind custom business fit, and it cleverly hid her plain flat shoes.

She checked herself over in the mirror, then grabbed a sleek pen from her pocket and twisted her hair up into a neat, effortless bun.

When Maxine reappeared in the doorway, the whole transformation had taken exactly five minutes.

Ignoring the shocked gape on Eileen’s face, Maxine nodded at Holly. "Let’s go. We don’t want to keep Mr. Payne waiting." She turned to reassure the cleaning lady. "I’ll pay you back for the uniform. Thank you so much, Ma’am."

The cleaning lady waved her off, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips.

Curiosity flickered in Holly’s eyes, but her face stayed neutral.

The group walked back to the meeting room, and every head turned their way instantly. From across the room, Braxton Payne’s gaze locked straight on Maxine, making her feel bare—like he could see right through every trick she’d pulled.

One of the executives, looking to stir up trouble, called her out: "Mr. Payne’s assistant held up the whole meeting, made all of us wait."

Holly immediately put on a conciliatory smile. "It was just a little accident. I hope you can understand, Mr. Davis."

In a split second no one else caught, Braxton’s brow furrowed then smoothed. Why were his people bending over backwards to appease the board like that?

Maxine caught that fleeting expression and knew exactly what to do. She looked at Mr. Davis with cool poise, and explained: "I was grabbing coffee for the meeting, got stained, and accidentally locked myself in while changing. I hope Mr. Davis doesn’t hold it against a lowly assistant."

It was a quiet jab at how petty he was being for calling her out.

Holly instinctively glanced at Braxton, ready to jump in and apologize, but froze when she saw his face.

Was that… a smile on Mr. Payne’s lips?

Mr. Davis’s lip twitched, no comeback coming to mind, and he huffed and turned away.

The meeting got underway properly. Holly took Maxine’s old spot running the presentation, but halfway through, the screen suddenly went black. The board members exchanged confused glances.

Braxton’s eyes snapped straight to Holly, his calm gaze heavy with unspoken pressure. "What’s going on?"

Holly kept her face neutral, but her hands were panicking, fumbling all over the laptop.

As precious seconds ticked away, the room stayed lit only by the dim projector glow, highlighting how flustered Holly was getting.

Maxine took a deep breath, stepped up to the laptop, and fixed the issue in two seconds flat. "This power switch is easy to bump by accident. No worries."

With the problem sorted, she strolled casually back to her seat.

The meeting continued without another hitch.

Holding the remote again, Holly glanced over at Maxine, her eyes holding a new, unreadable depth.