Chapter 5 His Office, His Rules

(Malia's POV)

I didn't expect the call.

Not this soon.

I was sitting at Ivy's breakfast table, still in my robe, sipping lukewarm coffee and trying to pretend I hadn't spent the entire night tossing and turning with Kieth's voice stuck in my head, when my phone lit up with a private number.

I almost didn't answer.

But then I did.

"Hello?"

"Miss Green," came the smooth, unmistakable voice on the other end. "This is Kieth Williams."

His tone was casual, emotionless.

"I'd like to meet. Today. My office. Noon."

No room for negotiation.

"I-uh-yes. Of course."

He ended the call without a goodbye.

I stared at the screen for several seconds after the line went dead, my heart hammering.

"What?" Ivy asked as she came into the kitchen, munching on an apple.

I looked up at her slowly.

"He just called."

Her eyes widened. "Kieth?"

I nodded. "He wants to meet. Today."

She blinked. "Already?"

"He said noon. No explanation."

Ivy set the apple down. "That's fast. Too fast."

"Should I be worried?"

"You should be prepared," she said, moving into crisis mode. "You need to dress like you belong in that office but also like you're not trying too hard."

"Right," I murmured, already on my feet. "Because it's totally normal to be summoned by a billionaire after a thirty-second conversation."

"This is good," she said, grabbing her phone. "It means he's interested. But not romantically - not yet. He wants to read you. He's going to test you. So don't flinch."

"I'm flinching inside," I muttered.

"Then keep it inside."

⸻

By the time I arrived at his building - Apex Holdings, Williams Tower, 54th floor - I had done everything Ivy told me to do.

Hair tied back into a neat twist. Light makeup. Navy slacks. Silk white blouse tucked in, no accessories except for a watch that didn't even work anymore. I looked clean. Professional. Invisible, if I wanted to be.

The elevator ride felt so long.

The doors opened to a reception area. A single receptionist with perfectly slicked hair greeted me.

"Miss Green?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Mr. Williams is expecting you. Straight through those doors."

I walked toward the tall black doors she pointed at. When I opened them, the contrast hit me.

His office was massive, but not lavish. No gold. No art. Just cool tones, a massive window view of the city, a desk that looked too empty, and a man standing by the glass.

He didn't turn around when I entered.

I closed the door behind me.

"Mr. Williams," I said softly.

"I wanted to see if you'd actually come," he said without turning.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because most people who fake confidence can only hold it in public."

"I wasn't faking."

Now he turned.

He was in a black button-up again, no jacket. Sleeves rolled. Watch on his wrist. His face unreadable, but his eyes... sharp. Always sharp.

He gestured to the seat in front of his desk.

"Sit."

I did.

He sat across from me, lacing his fingers together. Silence stretched between us.

"I did some digging," he said finally.

I went still. "On me?"

"Of course."

I kept my breathing even. "Find anything interesting?"

"That's the strange part," he said. "You exist... but only just enough. Resume. LinkedIn. A few scattered consulting gigs. But no personal footprints. No photos. No old coworkers. No chatter."

"I like my privacy."

"So do I," he said. "But I've never met a woman who could vanish this well without training."

I smiled. "Maybe I'm just good at staying in my lane."

"Or maybe," he said slowly, "you're exactly the kind of woman people send into rooms like this."

My pulse jumped.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you don't flinch. You don't stumble. And you don't beg for attention like most people who orbit this world. You observe. You wait. That's dangerous."

"I'm not dangerous, Mr. Williams."

He leaned forward.

"That's what makes you dangerous."

I held his gaze.

"You called me here to accuse me of being a spy?" I said calmly.

"No," he replied. "I called you here to offer you a job."

That... I didn't expect.

My eyes narrowed. "A job?"

He nodded once. "There's a charity gala in Italy next month. I need someone to manage my brand presence. Handle the press. Guide the narrative."

"You already have a PR team."

"I don't trust them."

"And you trust me?"

"No," he said. "But I trust the unknown more than I trust incompetence."

I blinked.

"Let me be clear," he added. "You're not here because I believe your backstory. You're here because I want to see what you do when the spotlight turns hot."

My mind was spinning. "Why me?"

"Because you lied to me without blinking," he said. "And I respect that."

I stared at him, unsure whether I should be flattered or terrified.

"Your hotel will be arranged," he continued. "A flight will be booked. You'll be paid upfront. A week in Milan. You'll be shadowing me during the event."

"Why would I say yes?"

He stood slowly, walking toward the window again. "Because I can offer you everything you've ever wanted. Or nothing at all."

I stood too.

"And if I'm really someone dangerous?" I asked.

He turned back to me, eyes gleaming. "Then I'll find out eventually. And I'll handle it."

There was no threat in his tone.

But somehow, it still chilled me.

He walked to his desk, picked up a folder, and handed it to me.

Inside was a non-disclosure agreement, a preliminary contract, and a note written in his tight, neat script.

One lie can open ten doors. But it only takes one truth to burn them all down.

I closed the folder.

"When do we leave?"

"Monday."

⸻

I walked out of that office feeling like I had just made a deal with the devil.

And worse?

I wasn't sure I wanted to take it back.