Chapter 2 Chaotic Morning 2

It was supposed to be a normal morning, if such a thing existed in the life of a CEO one scandal away from losing everything....

Nathaniel's Pov

The sound of a grand piano playing Bach's Prelude in C Major cut through the silence of the penthouse.

I sighed into my thousand -thread-count sheets,"Why the hell did I set an alarm?"

That was when I remembered, the board meeting, I had an interview, and the goddamn merger. I banged a hand on my phone, silencing the music, my head hurt from last night's scotch, a 25-year-old Macallan that cost more than most people's cars, had been a mistake.

So had the argument with my ex-wife at midnight, and so had the second scotch.

I dragged himself out of bed, my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows mocking me, I could see them dark circles, stubble that was just past the point of looking intentional, the kind of exhaustion that no amount of money could fix.

The shower was a goddamn traitor.

One second, the water was perfect, boiling, just how I liked it, and the next, it turned ice-cold without warning.

I cursed, jerking back and slipping on the marble tile, but I caught myself on the glass door, heart pounding.

"This is how I die, I would die naked, hungover, and pissed off." I finished my shower in record time, teeth chattering.

My closet was an organized masterpiece, rows of custom-tailored suits, Italian leather shoes, watches that could fund a small country.

But the one tie I needed, the navy Hermès that actually made me look like I gave a shit, was gone.

"Elise!" I barked, storming into the hallway.

My housekeeper appeared instantly, her expression carefully neutral, "Mr. Sterling?"

"Where the hell is my navy tie?"

She blinked. "You... donated it, sir."

What?

Then it hit me.

Last month at the charity gala, I was drunk on champagne and self-loathing, tossing half my wardrobe into a donation bin while muttering about "reinvention."

I exhaled through his nose.

"Right."

I grabbed the second-best option, a silver-gray number that almost worked, I and knotted it with more aggression than strictly necessary.

My personal chef, Marcel, had left my usual espresso on the counter.

I took one sip and nearly spat it out.

"What is this?"

Marcel poked his head out of the kitchen,"Your usual, sir."

"No, it's not."

Marcel hesitated. "I... may have switched to decaf. Doctor's orders."

I stared at him. "Whose doctor?"

"Yours."

A beat of silence.

Then I set the cup down with deliberate calm. "Marcel."

"Yes, sir?"

"Never do that again."

My phone rang just as I was stepping into the elevator, and of course it was Richard Graves, my business partner and perpetual thorn in his side.

"Nathaniel. We need to talk."

Fantastic.

"About?"

"The merger, the board is concerned."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, "They're always concerned."

"This is different, they think you're distracted."

Oh yes I am.

"I'll handle it," I snapped.

"You had better, or we're voting you out."

The line went dead.

I resisted the urge to throw his phone across the lobby.

My driver, Felix, was waiting outside.

"Morning, sir."

I mumbled in response.

The city uncleared past as Felix navigated the morning traffic with practiced ease, I scrolled through emails, each one more irritating than the last, they were mostly meeting requests, budget complaints, or another passive-aggressive note from HR about my "management style."

Then, bang.

The car jerked violently.

My head cracked up, "What the hell?"

Felix winced,"Flat tire, sir."

Of course it's flat tire

I checked my watch, it's already 8:05, and I only had twenty-five minutes to get to the office before the board meeting, and then one hour before the interview with her.

The girl with the too-big portfolio and the nervous smile, the one HR had insisted on, some fresh grad with a "unique perspective." as if I had time for this.

I stepped out of the car, ignoring Felix's apologies, and hailed a cab like a common mortal.

The elevator doors slid open to Sterling & Graves' pristine 40th-floor lobby.

My assistant, Lydia, was already waiting, her tablet clutched in a death grip.

"Sir, the board is..."

"I know."

"Also, your 9:30 interview candidate..."

"Reschedule her."

Lydia hesitated, "She's already on her way."

I didn't have the energy to argue.

"Fine, but keep it short" I said.

I strode into the boardroom, bracing myself for battle.

The board meeting was a disaster.

Half the directors wanted me out, while the other half just wanted to complain.

And then, knock knock.

Lydia peeked in, her face pale. "Sir, your 9:30 is here."

I squeezed my jaw, "Now?"

Lydia nodded, "And, uh... you might want to see this."

I excused myself with a growl and stepped into the hallway.

And there she was.

The candidate.

My candidate.

Covered in coffee stains, clutching a crumpled portfolio, and smelling faintly of dog shit.

Our eyes met.

Hers were wide with horror.

Mine were dead inside.

This day just got so much worse.