The morning unfolded quietly. The Volkov office pulsed with its usual sharp professionalism, the hum of printers and clicking of heels filling the sterile air. Erin moved about the space with her usual calm poise, greeting the front desk clerks with a warm smile and seamlessly making her way to the executive suite. She looked crisp, collected—like she belonged there, even though this was only her first day.
Xander was already seated behind his desk. He barely glanced up from the document he was reviewing. Xander had barely said a word since they'd arrived at the office this morning. He sat behind his desk with that usual air of cool detachment, flipping through reports that didn't really need his attention, while Erin sat at the assistant's quarters across the room with transparent glass completing every single meaningless task he threw her way.
"Print the merger reports and arrange them in order of dates. Don't mix the confidential ones with the shared reports," he said tonelessly.
She blinked once but gave a slight nod. "Of course."
"Alphabetize these folders."
"Already done."
"Staple the invoices from last quarter."
"Done and labeled."
"Refill the pens."
She raised a brow but didn't even sigh. "Black, blue, and red ink? Or do you have a preference for ink type, too?"
He didn't answer. Just watched as she efficiently opened the supply drawer and completed the task in under a minute.
He was trying to frustrate her. That much was obvious. But Erin met every micro-challenge with cool composure and a flicker of amusement in her gaze that almost looked like pity. And that irritated him more than anything.
Across the room, Erin worked silently at the corner desk, her head slightly bent, eyes scanning a document she had no business finishing so quickly. He'd given her useless tasks all morning—data transfers that no one cared about, organizing folders by shade of color, and sorting emails she wasn't even authorized to send.
She did them all. Not just with mechanical precision but with a polished calmness that annoyed him.
She wasn't supposed to be this calm.
And she definitely wasn't supposed to be this good.
Xander leaned back, watching her over steepled fingers. The crisp white blouse she wore had a neatness to it. She even managed to make professionalism look mildly attractive. No flirting. No giggles. No hungry eyes.
Just… poise.
"Is there a problem with the task, Miss Lane?" he finally asked, his voice cutting the silence like the edge of a blade.
She looked up, her face unbothered. "Finished ten minutes ago, sir."
Of course she had.
She entered, slid the file onto his desk and stepped back with that same collected look. He hated how unreadable she was. Most people, especially new hires, danced around him with some trace of fear or fascination. She, however, didn't flinch.
"What about the supply inventory from yesterday's memo?"
"Done."
"Client responses?"
"Sorted, categorized, and labeled—color-coded too, just in case."
He raised an eyebrow. "Trying to impress me?"
"No," she replied, coolly. "Just doing my job. Isn't that what you asked for?"
The edge in her tone was so subtle, it would've gone unnoticed by anyone else. But Xander noticed.
He stood, walked slowly around the desk, and leaned beside her. "You always this efficient?"
"Only when people expect me to fail."
He tilted his head, intrigued despite himself. "Confident, aren't you?"
"I'm professional," she corrected. "There's a difference."
A pause lingered between them. She went back to arranging files, like he wasn't still watching her.
Xander studied her face—there was something he couldn't put his finger on. Erin Lane wasn't just disciplined; she was prepared. Like a woman with an agenda she didn't plan to share.
He should've been suspicious.
He was.
But he was also… curious.
Xander watched her from the corner of his eye as she came back to the office to place the neatly arranged files in the drawer. She was efficient—frustratingly so. It should've annoyed her. That was the point.
But she never snapped. Never rolled her eyes or muttered under her breath.
She wasn't like the others.
The women his mother pushed in his direction were always so eager to please. Simpering, flirtatious, overly polished. They never really worked. Not like Erin did. Not with that effortless precision, like she didn't even have to think about it. As though efficiency was woven into her bones.
But more than that—she hadn't once tried to seduce him. No soft-voiced compliments. No lingering touches. No glances meant to linger on his mouth or his jawline. Nothing.
And that somehow bothered him.
He leaned back in his chair, watching her from beneath hooded eyes as she rechecked the documents on his other assistant's tablet.
"You haven't flirted with me," he said abruptly.
She looked up, blinked. "Sorry?"
"You haven't flirted with me once since you got here."
"Am I supposed to?"
He narrowed his eyes, suddenly unsure why he even brought it up. "Most women do."
Erin set the tablet down and walked over to the desk, arms folded loosely over her chest. "Well, I'm not most women."
"So I've noticed."
"Good." She leaned on the edge of the desk, just enough to be eye-level with him. Her expression was unreadable. "Why? Is it bothering you?"
"No, it's not." he said too quickly. Then added, more carefully, "Just curious on your expectations."
She tilted her head slightly. "You want to know my type."
"That's not what I said."
"But that's what you meant."
Xander stared at her. She stared back. Calm. Cool. Collected.
Finally, he said, "Fine. What's your type?"
Erin straightened up, no longer leaning on the desk. "I don't care about appearances."
"Really?"
"Really." Her tone was flat but not dismissive. Just factual. "What matters is what's underneath."
"What, like hearts and guts?"
She snorted. "No. Integrity. Patience. Intelligence. Loyalty. I value what can't be seen at first glance.Things that don't wrinkle with age."
He raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like you're describing a golden retriever."
She smirked. "Better than a wolf in a suit."
His eyes glinted. He wasn't used to being talked to like that. Not by someone under him in rank, especially not a woman who worked directly for him. Yet here she was, cutting through his defenses like they were paper.
"So what," he said coolly with a tinge of disbelief in his tone, "I'm guessing I'm not you type?"
Erin walked around the desk now, slowly, circling until she was beside his chair. She leaned down slightly, eyes studying him with exaggerated scrutiny. He stiffened but didn't move.
She clicked her tongue, pretending to assess him. Then, voice deliberately casual, she said, "Are you offering yourself?"
Xander blinked. "What? No."
The response came out sharper than he intended. Immediate. Defensive. Too fast.
Erin grinned, then stepped back with a small laugh. "Didn't think so."
She grabbed her bag from the coat rack, tossed a glance over her shoulder, and said, "I'll take my leave, Mr. Volkov. If you need me I'll be at the assistant's quarters right across your room."
And just like that, she was gone.
Xander stared at the empty doorway for a full minute, jaw clenched.
Why the hell did she get under his skin so easily?