The bathroom mirrors reflect five faces of myself to me, showing me exactly how flushed I am after that encounter with Mr. Drake.

I know somewhere that I am crossing my lines more than necessary by challenging my boss one night before my workday. So far, from our two conversations, I have managed to figure out that Ethan Drake has five different kinds of scowls.

Unfortunately, they all look the same, and they are all present on his face all the time.

This man has managed to make me more nervous in a span of twelve hours than I have been my whole life. Heck! I wasn't even nervous when I lost my virginity to Braden Taylor in 10th grade.

I sigh at the mirror and then turn the tap on to wash my face. I don't care about my makeup anymore, and if I keep myself adjusted, I will end up drinking some more, and a hangover isn't a good thing early in the morning of your first day at work. If I look worse, I will feel more comfortable leaving.

The cool water releases some tension in my nerves, and when I lift my head back up, my makeup is mostly washed away, bringing my many freckles visible to the eyes. Everything has been washed out except for the waterproof eyeliner.

Thank Walmart for that, too.

Releasing a sigh, I open the door to the washroom to step out. Loud music greets my ears, and I see people being even more drunk and crazier than they were when I left the floor.

I look at the crowd to search for Tia and see her making out with a guy on the dance floor. From here, he looks kind of cute, and I don't want to interfere with her make-out session. Grinning at her luck, I take out my phone and type a quick message to her before sending it.

He's cute. Great catch.

I'm going home.

As I put my phone back into my bag, someone collides with me pretty hard, sending me crashing against a nearby wall. I see spots for seconds as my vision darkens.

"Hey, watch out!" I yell, holding my head as it spins.

The person who collided with me turns. He looks big, old, and completely drunk. He even has his saliva dripping down his mouth to his beard, and is carrying a bottle in his hand.

It's disgusting.

"Fucking bitch! Standing...in the way," he growls at me and steps forward.

I instantly back against the wall when he steps closer and extends an arm to grab me.

"Hey! Move away!" I try to walk past him, but he blocks my way and brings his smelly, drunken face close to my own.

His hands are on my arms, hooking into my neckline as he tries to tear it open.

"You'll do for tonight," he slurs, dripping booze down his mouth.

I try to reach for my sling bag, where I always carry pepper spray, but his body pushing against mine leaves me without space. My arm is crammed between his body and the wall, and the pressure of his weight knocks the breath out of my lungs.

I don't even realize when I start to cry, but as I push against his chest hard, I find fat tears moving down my cheeks.

"Let me go!" I sob, crying against his assaults.

No one seems to be coming to my rescue. Everyone is drunk, and it is late, and my best friend is lost in kissing. No, this can't be happening. I can't be getting raped in the middle of a party.

As the man reaches for the hem of my skirt to push it up, a hand slaps on his T-shirt, pulling him off me in one swift force.

I gasp, feeling the relief of his body being lifted from me before my sight clears, and I see the person who saved me.

Ethan Drake pushes the guy against another wall, and as I watch, his fist comes up, hitting the man hard against his cheek. The force is so strong that the man falls to the floor, slurping and becoming unconscious within a second.

"Oh my God!" I exclaim, unable to believe that someone's one punch can have so much power.

I look up at Mr. Drake as he releases his hold from the guy's T-shirt and corrects the creases in his suit like a gentleman. A few drunken people who had been paying attention to the scene cheer at him before walking off.

He turns to me, and I find his strong gaze keeping me rooted in place.

"Miss Lucas, are you okay?" he asks, taking a step toward me.

"Yeah...I think I am," as I speak the words, my head hurts, and the floor beneath my feet rocks.

I stumble, falling, but his arms catch me, and before I can stop him, Mr. Drake is scooping me up in his arms swiftly.

"Hold on, Miss Lucas. Seems like you have got a concussion. Would you like me to take you to the hospital?"

I don't know what he expects me to answer because my brain has completely stopped functioning. From here, I can only see his deep eyes gazing into mine with concern and the feel of his hand under my bare knees. The skin burns so much at the heat of his contact that it feels like I would be left with an imprint of his hand tomorrow.

My arms are around his neck, and I am unconsciously staring at his lips.

"Miss Lucas?" His deep voice knocks me back to my senses, and I look around us to see the floor completely packed.

No one is paying attention to either of us or to the man who is knocked out flat on the floor.

"No, thanks..." I blurt, my voice sounding lazily drunk. My cheeks flush in embarrassment. "I'd like to go home, please. Would you call me a taxi?"

I request him as if it is a casual favor from a stranger and not from someone who is literally in his arms. My mind is too dizzy to ask him to put me down right now. Don't know what other morons I will end up encountering if he does.

Mr. Drake looks at me darkly and then he adjusts me in his arms, such that my head is lying on his shoulder. With a strong flex of his muscles, he begins walking while I shamelessly lie as a caterpillar in a cocoon. My hold around his neck tightens, bringing me close to his musky scent of beer and sandalwood.

He walks us out of the bar, but instead of calling for a taxi, he begins to carry me towards a car.

An Audi

"Umm...Mr. Drake?" I murmur against his shoulder.

"Yes?" he asks, continuing to maintain that scowl.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Depends on where you live, Miss Lucas."

"Where do I live?"

He stops in front of his car at my question and raises an amused eyebrow at me. Even from this angle, the eyebrow looks angry.

Very very angry

"Miss Lucas..." he speaks calmly. "You've managed to get under my skin in the last twelve hours by insulting me, making fun of me, challenging me, and now getting wounded. Do you wish to piss off any further while you're literally in my arms?"

I press my lips to a thin line. What a rude man!

Shut up, Cynthia. This rude man is taking you home.

"I didn't ask you to carry me."

"It was either this or leaving you there to be trampled on by drunken feet. Would you have preferred that, Miss Lucas?"

"No," I huff. "Take me home."

I see him muttering something to himself as he pulls open the door to the passenger seat of his car. With his strong hands, he puts me inside, and his knuckles brush over the sliver of exposed skin of my belly when my crop top hitches up. We both inhale a breath, me out of awkwardness, him, I have no idea why.

He hooks the seat belt around my torso. Shutting the door, he walks around the car, opens the other side, and gets in. As he starts the engine, he takes another look at me, and his frown deepens.

He is either disgusted or troubled. I do believe it is the first. I look hideous.

"Which way?" he asks.

"Drive straight," I say, and then mumble the rest of the address as I lay my head back in the seat, closing my eyes.

The hum of the engine soothes me a little as he drives the car, and soon, I get lost in dreams with the quiet groan of the air coming through the open windows luring me in.

I open my eyes when the car stops with a jerk. Looking at Mr. Drake, I observe him as he gets out of the car and walks around to my side. I watch like a helpless child as he opens the door and stands there, still frowning at me.

"Will you walk or do I have to carry you again?" he grumbles the question out, taking a look at his watch.

I don't know what's gotten into me, but I end up smiling at him and lifting my hands in the air like a child.

"Carry me up, please."

My boss's eyes widen, his eyebrows raising as he takes my posture in. His face changes color for a second, turning a shade pink, but it doesn't miss my eyes.

"Should have taken you to the hospital," he murmurs. "You must have hit that head pretty hard."

He leans down to release my seatbelt. Hooking his arms under my knees and back, he picks me up into his arms again, and I lay my head on his strong shoulder. I swear, this man is made of hot muscles I would like to lick someday.

"Apartment 250," I tell him as he shuts the door and walks towards the elevator of our apartment building.

He keeps his hold on me tight as the elevator shuts and then opens again after some time, bringing my floor into view. I point towards my apartment when he steps out and hear him grumble something again as he walks towards it.

Absent-mindedly, I pull the key out of my sling bag and open the door for him. Mr. Drake enters the apartment and walks to the couch in the hall. He doesn't speak a word as he drops me flat on it.

The moment the soft cushion greets me, I twist and turn, feeling sleepy.

"When will your friend be back?" he asks as he takes hold of my feet and starts opening my heels with gentle fingers.

His touch is warm, making my toes tingle.

"She won't be back," I whisper, eyes shutting slowly. "She got a cute guy. She's going to get banged tonight."

I don't even flush as I speak the words. I hear a soft laugh and look to find Mr. Drake chuckling to himself.

So he does laugh.

"You've no control over that tongue, do you?"

I turn to the ceiling, smiling softly and then wider.

"No," I answer as Mr. Drake gets up and starts to unbutton his suit. "What are you doing?"

I suddenly become anxious, but don't find the strength to say something more as sleep starts to get me deep. He just shakes his head as he gets his sturdy arms out of the suit.

He leans down and places the suit over my body, smiling softly.

"Have a good night, Cynthia," he whispers close to my ear. "You have a long day tomorrow."

As if my body follows his orders too, I quickly lose myself in a deep slumber.

"Is she here yet?"

Martha looks up at me from her computer. Her face turns pale as she tries to put together my words into context. She has been working for the company for twenty years now, and no matter what promotion I offer her, she is satisfied with being my personal receptionist. The woman is kind and generous beyond anything, but she is also freakishly scared of me all the time.

The few times she heard me scold my employees during meetings didn't help with that.

"Who, Mr. Drake?" she asks, pinching her eyebrows as her eyes take on a look of thoughtfulness.

"Miss Cynthia Lucas. She goes by Cynth."

Even her name has a taste on my tongue. How is that even possible?

"I don't know, Mr. Drake," Martha sighs, standing up from her chair behind the counter. "I didn't see anyone come in today, and even if she did, she won't have an ID to enter this part of the office."

Yeah, she won't. I forgot about that.

Rubbing my jaw, I look at the clock behind Martha, which reads 9 o'clock. Surprisingly, instead of feeling happy at the fact that she has managed to disappoint me by being late on the very first day itself, I find myself hoping that she will come. There is something about that girl that makes me love the way she gets on my nerves. I like playing the cat to her mouse. It would have been fun if the game had lasted longer.

Disturbed by the thoughts, I start to pace in front of my cubicle, one hand on my hip and the other caressing my stubbled chin as I keep looking at the glass doors. There is no sign of her.

"One interview and she's already got to you, brother?"

I turn at the sound of the voice. My brother, or more like my mirror, Reece, is leaning against the wall beside Martha's semi-circular counter. He is dressed in a black button-down and jeans, his one foot resting against the wall as he crosses his arms over his chest in amusement.

Unlike Cynthia's pretty face, his manages to piss me off within seconds, and the fact that he is my identical twin who looks every inch like me pisses me off even more.

"Shut up," I growl at him, taking another look at the double doors. "What are you doing here?"

"Sarah called and said that a new employee was joining. I didn't want to miss your first interaction." Reece smirks, turning to Martha. "What do you think, Martha? Won't it be a show?"

The fifty-year-old lady just shrugs, ignoring his presence as she focuses on her computer screen again.

"Leave, Reece. No one wants you here. It's too early to go pissing people off."

As I rest my hands against the steel railing, peering down to see any sign of my new assistant, my brother walks towards me leisurely, hooking one finger in a pocket of his jeans.

"Try to be warmer, brother," he says as he rests his elbow on the railing and leans against it. "Sarah also said the girl's pretty. Maybe she's the one for me."

I move my eyes to him at his words, seeing in them the absolute fun he is having while toying with me.

"She's an employee, and you'd better keep your hands off her if you wish to remain with your limbs intact," I warn him.

He looks at me gravely for some time and then begins chuckling to himself. "So was Jeannie, brother. You had no problem bending the rules for her."

I clench my fists at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. Jeannie was the one who cut off our last thread of brotherly affection for each other. I know that no matter what Reece pretends to feel, he still feels violated by that night.

Before I can reply to his taunts, the double doors open. I jerk my head towards it, sighing in relief when I spot the familiar face of Miss Lucas stepping inside. She is in plain clothes, looking as professional as any of my other assistants. But unlike them, I find myself completely taken over by her look.

Wearing a deep red pencil skirt and a white blouse, she has her hair down in smooth waves, the length of them reaching her waist. Her lips are a deep red, the same color she wore yesterday during the interview. For someone I am supposed to despise, she is making my job rather difficult.

In her hands, she carries a Starbucks cup, a folder, and a large handbag. She stops when she sees us standing before her, her doe-wide eyes moving between my brother and me. She looks confused about which one is her boss, I guess.

"Miss Lucas," I say gravely with a voice I know she would relate to no one but me. "You're late."

Miss Lucas looks at me from Reece, her eyes twinkling with recognition.

"Good morning, Mr. Drake." She beams at me, walking three steps until she is craning her neck to look at my face. "Here's your coffee and here's your schedule for today."

She hands me the Starbucks cup and opens the folder. Her hands shake as she balances the file on one palm, flipping through it hurriedly. From the corner of my eye, I see my brother's eyes ludicrously moving down her body. He notices me watching and throws in a smirk.

"Miss Lucas..." I clear my throat, making our new employee gaze up at me from the folder.

"Yes, Mr. Drake?"

"You're late," I repeat.

She blinks, her eyes flickering to my brother again before settling on me.

"I'm not, Mr. Drake," she says, shutting the file as she stands with her determination firm on her face. "You must be mistaken."

I take a look at my watch and lift my wrist to show her what I am seeing.

"It's nine o'clock, Miss Lucas. You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes earlier."

She narrows her eyebrows, her full lips twisting to a soft frown.

"I was half an hour early, Mr. Drake. I came even before you did," she informs. "I didn't have the ID, so they stopped me at the gate and then stopped me again from entering here. After confirming with your manager, Mr. Khan, I was told to start my task asap by bringing you your coffee and entering your schedule neatly in this file. Only then was I allowed to enter here."

We all stand in silence. Even Martha's clicking on the keyboard stops as she stares at the girl while lifting her glasses over her nose. I do the same, adjusting my glasses and then trying hard to maintain my scowl at her.

"You should have sent Khan to inform me of your arrival, Miss Lucas, instead of being so irresponsible."

"Irresponsible?" She repeats in disbelief. "Did you really expect me to fight with your manager on my first day itself? What kind of reputation would I have had if I didn't give him the respect he deserves for working with someone like you?"

"Someone like me?"

"Yes," she begins. "Managing an obnoxious, unpleasant, and absolutely self-possessed billionaire must be quite the task for him every day. By the way you behave with people, you need to...oh wait a minute..." She stops and turns to my brother before continuing. "Mr. Drake, I suppose you're one too...Does the company policy state anything against voicing our opinions against our bosses?"

Reece looks at me with a wry smile before he focuses his attention on her.

"Nothing of that sort, Miss Lucas. May I introduce myself, however?" He takes a step towards her and extends his hand for her to shake. "I'm Reece Drake. I'm the twin of this jerk here. I hope you and I will get to see more of each other."

My nerves flare when I see Miss Lucas blush before she takes his hand and gives a shake.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Drake."

"Just Reece will do," he corrects her. "I myself am an employee of my brother. I'm the draftsperson."

"Oh." Miss Lucas looks impressed, not bothering that my brother hasn't let go of her hand still. "In that case, you can call me Cynthia, too. That's my name."

Reece smiles. "Nice to meet you, Cynthia."

As they stare at each other, I am left even more irritated than before.

"Enough." I break the abysmal conversation, pulling my brother back by his arm and letting him let go of Miss Lucas's hand. "Follow me, Cynthia. Let me give you a tour."

She murmurs an apology to Reece as she struts after me. I open the door to my office and hold it open until she steps in. Giving my brother one last glare, I shut the door behind us.

Facing Miss Lucas, I find her holding her folder against her chest as she looks around the room. From here, I can't help but follow the light from the glass wall behind when it shines over the curve of her bare legs. Her skin looks so soft, impeccably perfect. My eyes scan their movement upward, taking in her wide hips and waist until they move towards her breasts. But before I can lose myself in admiring them, she clears her throat, making me look at her face instead.

Embarrassed at having been caught checking her out, I rub the back of my neck hastily.

"Over here..." I walk past her to the other door, which opens to her own cubicle. "Have a look."

As I stand holding the automatic door wide open for her, Miss Lucas stares at the space between my body and the space left for her to enter. She swallows a gulp as she proceeds toward me, turning to the side and sliding against my body to enter the room instead of asking me to move away.

While she slides between me and the door, her chest brushing over my shirt, my free hand curls into a fist, and I bite my bottom lip, trying to ignore the need to touch her.

Damn. I'm attracted to this woman too fucking much.

The attraction has only grown since last night. If she were any other woman, I would have made the first move by now and had her between my sheets as I fucked her into oblivion. I feel the rush of blood to my cock just as a vivid imagination of Miss Lucas naked between my sheets entices me.

"Mr. Drake?"

I break out of the imagination when she clears her throat again, only to find her already inside her small L-shaped cubicle. It is a plain room with no furniture other than her desk and a succulent plant beside the door. I hope she finds it comfortable. My last assistant had many useless complaints, one of which was why the color of the walls wasn't purple.

"Is everything to your liking?" I ask her, still standing outside.

If I enter, the space between us would diminish, and right now, I feel horny enough to not make her uncomfortable with the sight of my bulging front.

"Yeah, it's nice," she replies and then places her bag and folder on the desk. "You left something at my apartment yesterday, Mr. Drake."

She opens her bag and takes out a very crinkled version of my suit from it. Without looking me in the eyes, she hands it over for me to take.

I stare at the crinkled piece of fabric and then at her, unable to believe her. Hesitantly, I take the suit from her hand, dangling it before my eyes to see how it has been destroyed.

"You could have at least dry-cleaned it."

"I thought about that but..." She looks at the floor. "It's an Armani suit, and I didn't have the money to dry clean it. Besides, I didn't ask you to leave it with me. You did that yourself."

"I was making you comfortable!"

"Well..." she coos. "I'm sorry, but you shouldn't have. Thanks for helping me last night, but I can't be doing unnecessary spending until I get my salary, which you promised you would once these thirty days are over, Mr. Drake."

"You've got money for drinks at the bar but not to dry clean stuff?"

She looks offended by my question. Her nose scrunches up as she throws a disgusted glance at me.

"My roommate paid for the drinks," she answers. "Half of my stuff is borrowed from her. I spent my last savings on the apartment because-" She stops herself from blurting out the interesting part of her narrative. She shakes her head, dismissing whatever she was about to say. "Forget it, Mr. Drake. You may cut the cost of the dry cleaning from my salary next month. I won't mind."

My jaw hardens at her excuses. She has managed to disappoint me finally, but this is the kind of disappointment I can't hold against her in a professional sense.

"Take a look at your routine, Miss Lucas. You've only thirty days to call this place home."

She gives a broad grin as I release the door of her office.

"Thirty days is enough for me to redecorate it, Mr. Drake," I hear her say before the door shuts with a soft click between us.

As soon as Mr. Drake retires to his own office, I exhale a much-needed breath. Leaning against the desk, I hold a hand to my heart, feeling its fast rhythmic beats.

I would have been late, just as Mr. Drake had predicted. However, my best friend was kind enough to reach home on time, and she ended up crashing a vase near the door in a drunken state. I jumped up, and my sight fell on the clock. Muttering a string of curses, I managed to get ready as soon as possible before rushing here.

I don't even want to imagine what would have happened if I were late. Forget Mr. Drake; he would have skinned me alive.

I move my body behind the desk and take a seat on the revolving chair while shaking. I lean back in the chair and take a deep breath, shutting my eyes for a while.

My life has changed drastically in a few days. If I have to right the wrongs of my father, I have to do this job. Even if I want to or not.

I open my eyes and take a look at my surroundings. My cabin is a small L-shaped room with the walls painted in beige and white. There is a window behind my back that lets in an ample amount of light from the outside for daytime work. The room has a sweet scent and a plant by the door.

My desk has its materials properly arranged, along with a computer that is open to the company's logo. I stare at the screen blankly, a sudden kind of excitement getting my nerves.

This is my office. I have a job, and I am about to work on an expensive computer. My years of education have finally paid off.

I turn the device on and check for the files that I need to work with. Opening Mr. Drake's schedule after closing the other tabs, I scan it for an overview. The length of the table makes my eyes widen, and I keep scrolling until I reach the end, where his schedule for today is marked, but the next column is blank for me to fill in.

His job runs from 9 am to 10 pm. The schedule even consists of cells timing his gym time. For a guy with a tremendously tiring business to run, it surprises me that the man manages to find time for workouts too. He doesn't skip them, though; that I can conclude from one look at his body.

I make a note of the way his schedule is arranged, quickly memorizing his daily essentials and the format in which they are stored. Apparently, I have to keep a physical copy with me every day in his personal file before he enters the office, as Mr. Khan has asked me to do.

A sudden ringing sound makes me flinch. Looking around, I spot a tiny bell-shaped thing on my table, which is ringing like a doorbell. It is a bright, little object which is extremely shiny and twinkles in the light. Confused by its sharp ring, I searched for something that would turn it off. Finding no switch anywhere, I try to slap it shut, but it keeps on ringing. Another careful look makes me see that it is not a real bell but a device installed on my desk itself.

After speculating for a few seconds, I hear the heavy sound of footsteps coming from Mr. Drake's office. As I watch, the door opens, and my boss's scowling face pops in. He arranges his sexy glasses over his nose and looks at me sitting quietly behind the desk, then at the bell, which has now stopped ringing.

"Miss Lucas, that bell has a purpose," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I assure you I have been trying to find it, Mr. Drake," I counter curtly.

He gives me a threatening glare. Holding the knob on the door tightly, he clears his throat.

"The ring of that device means you have to come to my office," he explains. "I'll excuse this for today, but next time, remember to politely ask me when you don't understand stuff."

Embarrassed at not having guessed that purpose before, I nod to him. He rolls his eyes and disappears inside his office, leaving me to follow behind him.

When I enter his office, I am greeted by the sight of dark grey walls, a black couch on one end, and Mr. Drake's white desk on the other. The glass wall behind him makes his room appear brighter and larger than mine. On close observation, I realize that it is larger than mine.

"Miss Lucas..." he begins when I reach his desk. He shoves a large number of stacked files towards me. "Search through the digital copies of these documents on your computer and update the dates to the present, then send those digitized versions to me. I need them urgently."

My jaw drops as I look at the number of files.

"All these?" I ask.

He gives a small smirk at my question and clasps his hands underneath his chin. His blue eyes spark with mischief behind his sexy rectangular-framed glasses. The look clearly says that he is playing with me.

"Why? Is it too much? Are you ready to give up?"

Annoyed by his words, I force myself to maintain a thin smile on my lips as I pick the files up, the load of them causing me to stumble a little.

"Not at all. I'll have them ready by afternoon," I tell him before starting to head back towards my office.

I try to push the door open, but it stays shut, moving only an inch before closing back. The jerk behind the desk watches me, amused at my failed attempts, before I see his handsome face break to a low chuckle.

Still laughing at me, he gets up from his seat and strides towards me to hold the door open with one hand.

"There you go, Miss Lucas." He leans against the wall beside the door, his hand holding the door open high above my head.

"Thank you, Mr. Drake," I say as I huff and proceed inside my office under his arm.

His eyes challenge me as he stares, which somehow manages to make my stomach drop because he looks like a young Clark Kent in an Armani suit. I wish he weren't so handsome. It would have made my job a lot easier.

"I need the files on my desk by lunch," he instructs once I am inside the office.

"They will be ready by then."

We stand there provoking each other with our blazing stares as he lets the door go, and it shuts on itself.

***

After spending hours breaking a sweat and burning the morning oil, I finally managed to get the task done by noon. As I walk with the files back to Mr. Drake's office, I find him already waiting for me because his gaze stays fixed on the door. Holding my head high behind the stack of files, I drop them on his desk with a thud.

"Here you are!" I declare. "All done. Is there anything else you would like me to do, Mr. Piece?"

For a moment, he just stares at me with a look so intense that I feel like he is trying to add a different meaning to my words.

"Miss Lucas," he says finally, reaching for the drawers under his desk and taking out another set of files. "Take these to the photocopier and make five copies of each. You'll find Pete downstairs. He is our resident person for this stuff."

As he pushes the files towards me, I glance at my watch.

"It's lunchtime, Mr. Drake."

"So?" He gets up from his seat and moves around his desk to come close to me. "As my assistant, your priority should be me, Miss Lucas. You're not like other employees here. It's not lunchtime for you."

He stops a foot away from me, staring me down with a slightly visible smile playing on his lips. He seems to be enjoying looking down at me from his tall height. I am 5'6 myself, which is taller than most girls I usually hang out with, but his looming height annoys me too much. It makes intimidating him without being intimidated harder.

"You..." I almost point a finger at him with the way my nerves flare at his ridiculous words, but I manage to hold my temper down.

He is doing it to piss me off. Just that. No worries.

"Yes, Mr. Drake..." I smile instead. "I understand. I'll get them done right now."

The notorious man remains unfazed as he gives me a nod. "I'll be waiting, Miss Lucas."

***

I don't find Pete at his station and have to wait for fifteen minutes with a growling stomach before I spot a middle-aged man with a bald head walking toward me at a hurried pace. Behind him, two other women follow, and they mutter something excitedly to each other.

"Miss Lucas...sorry to have made you wait. I went for lunch," the man, Pete I guess, says with panting breaths.

"No problem. It hasn't been long since I arrived. Can you make me five copies of these files for Mr. Drake? He needs them urgently."

"Yes, yes. Doing it right now."

He takes the files from me and disappears towards his cubicle. As I take a seat outside in a chair, I see the two women who followed Pete stride forward.

"Excuse me?"

I look up to find one ginger-haired head and one brunette-haired woman looking over me with huge smiles on their faces. They are both pretty and look about my age. One of them, the ginger head, is wearing a simple blouse and pants, while the other is dressed in a pink shirt and a black pencil skirt.

"Hello," I greet both of them with a smile.

"Oh my Gosh...you must be Cynthia. The new assistant, right? It's so good to meet you. My name's Tracy, and this is Linda."

The ginger head named Tracy extends her hand for me to shake, and I take it cheerfully.

"Nice to meet you."

I shake both of their hands, and they take the two seats on either side of me, and then turn to their sides to face me. I find myself looking between the two awkwardly, waiting for them to say something.

"So Cynthia...Can I call you Cynthia?" Linda asks with a shy smile.

"Yes, sure. That's what everyone calls me," I reply.

"Okay, so...Cynthia, we don't mean to annoy you, but it's basically mine and Tracy's duty to welcome all of Mr. Drake's assistants personally to the office and ask them how they are finding the environment. It's nothing formal. Just candid talk, and we have been looking for you everywhere!"

"Oh, is it?"

"Yes," Tracy interrupts excitedly. "Do tell us how you're finding your first day. Did Mr. Drake give you lots of work? Was he rude to you, too? Did you find him tolerable?"

"Did you find him handsome?" Linda adds.

"Uh...he's tolerable," I lie to them, finding their way of questioning too funny to answer with truths. "You said all of Mr. Drake's assistants. How many have there been?"

Linda and Tracy exchange a worrisome look as if they are debating telling me the truth before turning to me with fallen smiles.

"You're the twenty-first in these two months," Linda answers.

My jaw drops at the statement. "There have been twenty assistants before me?"

"Just the narrow count. He has been running this company for eight years. You can do the calculations."

"Oh my God! Why? What happened to the rest?"

Tracy reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it with a sad look.

"We don't talk about them, Cynthia."

The look on her face is so mournful that I can't help but ask.

"Did he eat them?"

Tracy and Linds both wince and look at each other. For a second, I think I said something wrong, but soon they burst out laughing.

"Oh, Cynthia! You're hilarious!" Linda snorts, slapping my arm playfully.

I wasn't joking at all, so their laughter kind of surprises me. I chuckle too, to hide the fact that I have no idea why they thought my words to be funny. I swear, no one thinks I am funny.

Mr. Drake does looks like someone who could chew you whole and then spit your dreams and aspirations out if they don't taste good.

"Oh my God!" Tracy suddenly exclaims. "I love you. You're different from his other assistants. You actually have claws. Would you use them on him?"

"I don't know..." I drawl out. "As I said, I found him tolerable. We'll see if this works out."

"Well, if he fires you, always remember that you'll have a club exclusive to all of Mr. Drake's assistants run by the two of us. You're welcome to join anytime."

"Really? What do you guys do?"

"We hear the other assistants rant about the boss." Tracy claps her hands in a terrifying gesture of uncontrolled happiness. "It's so much fun. Do join us, Cynthia. We would love your input on stuff."

"Yes." It is Linda's turn to grab my hand now as she leans in. "Do join in. We have meetings every Friday night and Sunday mornings at Tracy's house. We have a set of rules which we will share with you when you join, and we also have dress codes and tea time! It's so much fun. Please join."

I bite back the laughter that starts to threaten my lungs at the excitement in their voices as they invite me.

"Sure. I'll think about it," I say, and they both grin at me.

"We'll be looking forward to you joining us, Cynthia."

Just then, Pete comes back with the files and a set of sheets. I get up from my chair and rush towards him as he hands me the stuff.

"I hope it's all right, Miss Lucas. Sorry for the tardiness."

"It's fine, Pete. Thank you."

"See you later, Cynthia!" Linda waves at me, and I wave back before starting to run.

My feet are fast as they carry me to the elevators, and then I press the button for Mr. Drake's floor. Once the elevator stops, I step out and run towards the glass doors, and they open to let me in after I use my card. An older lady looks up from her counter straight ahead, and the color seems to drain from her face for some reason when she sees me.

"Miss Lucas...I don't think you should..."

Her slow trail of words finds its way to silence as I push open the door to Mr. Drake's office.

"Mr. Drake, here are your...holy cow!" The startled cry leaves my mouth abruptly when my eyes fall on Mr. Drake.

He is sitting behind his desk with his suit missing, hair messy, and shirt open, displaying his bare chest, as a naked, black-haired woman sits on his lap and they both stare at me in pure mortification.