I stalked out of Augustus's office, heels striking the marble with enough force to announce my mood.
The assistant desk—my desk—waited like a taunt. I dropped my handbag onto its surface harder than necessary, the Hermès leather slapping against polished wood.
The elevator ride down felt like descending into enemy territory.
Sixty-eighth floor.
The doors opened onto the executive lounge, and I stepped into a space that looked more like a tech startup's wet dream than a break room.
Sleek countertops. Minimalist pendant lighting. A wall of gleaming coffee equipment that could've funded a small country's GDP.
I approached the nearest machine—some Italian monstrosity with more buttons than my last car—and stared at the interface.
Touch screen. Pods arranged in a wooden carousel. Reusable mugs lined up with military precision, each labeled "Executives Only" in tasteful serif font.
I'd never made coffee in my life.
Staff at the Harper estate handled that. Hotel concierges. Starbucks baristas who knew my order before I opened my mouth.
I glanced at my phone. Could I order delivery? Have someone bring it up?
No.
That would get back to Augustus within minutes. Vanessa probably had spies on every floor.
I grabbed one of the pristine mugs and opened the pod carousel.
Dozens of options. Colombian. Ethiopian. French roast. Something called "Midnight Intensity."
Which one was black?
Weren't they all technically black?
I selected a dark pod at random, slotted it into the machine, and jabbed at the touch screen.
The machine whirred to life.
Steam hissed. I reached for the mug—
Pain lanced across my knuckles as scalding water sprayed from a nozzle I hadn't noticed.
"Shit!"
I yanked my hand back, shaking it as the machine continued its violent gurgling.
Milk frothed from somewhere. A second stream joined the first, flooding the drip tray and pooling across the counter.
"Oh my god, stop—"
"Um."
I spun.
A young woman in a sensible blazer stood frozen near the doorway, clutching a tablet to her chest like a shield. Her ID badge read Jane Smith, Marketing Intern.
"You need to—" She hurried over, reaching past me to slap a button I'd completely missed.
The machine fell silent.
Milk dripped onto the floor.
"That one's the frother," she explained gently, as if speaking to a small child. "And, uh… this pod?" She plucked my selection from the machine. "Decaf."
My face burned hotter than my scalded hand.
"Mr. Evans has his own blend." She opened a drawer I hadn't seen, revealing pristine rows of custom pods stamped with AE.
"He has his own roast?"
Jane smiled, already loading the correct pod into the machine.
"Mr. Evans has very specific preferences."
She showed me the controls—a simple sequence I'd somehow transformed into chaos.
"Press here, wait for the light, then press this button. That's it."
Coffee streamed into the mug. Perfect. Controlled. No explosions.
"Thank you." I grabbed paper towels, dabbing at the counter. "I feel like an idiot."
"Don't. This machine is ridiculous." She handed me the filled mug. "You're really pretty, by the way. Like, magazine pretty."
I blinked.
"You must be Mr. Evans's new assistant? Everyone's been talking about it downstairs."
"Is that obvious?"
"He's never had one before. Like, ever." Jane leaned against the counter. "Vanessa runs everything for him. The fact that he hired someone…"
She trailed off, studying me with open curiosity.
"Actually, I'm—"
"It's kind of a big deal," she continued. "Half the office is placing bets on how long you'll last."
Heat crept up my neck.
"What's the over-under?"
"Two weeks." Jane grinned. "But I think you'll surprise them."
I glanced at the coffee, now cooling in my hands.
"What about you?" I shifted the mug carefully. "What are you betting on?"
Jane's smile turned sheepish. "Oh, I'm just an intern. I don't get to place bets."
"Interns aren't allowed opinions?"
"Interns aren't allowed much of anything." She shrugged, but her eyes held warmth. "We mostly just watch from the sidelines and try not to mess up."
I studied her—the sensible blazer, the earnest expression, the tablet clutched like armor. She reminded me of myself before I'd learned to weaponize confidence.
Before I'd traded genuine for glossy.
"Well." I adjusted my grip on the mug. "Thanks for saving me from destroying Augustus's sacred coffee machine."
"Anytime." Jane stepped back toward the doorway. "Good luck up there."
"I'll need it."
She disappeared into the corridor, leaving me alone with my perfectly brewed coffee and bruised pride.
I checked my reflection in the chrome machine. Lipstick still flawless. Hair still perfect.
No one would know I'd just been rescued by an intern.
I squared my shoulders and headed for the elevator.
Augustus was waiting.
The elevator ascended, and I allowed myself a small smile of victory.
Coffee acquired. Crisis averted. First task completed without Augustus witnessing my humiliating incompetence.
I studied the dark liquid through the mug's rim. Perfect temperature. No spillage. Jane had saved me, but Augustus would never know.
This was fine. I could do this.
Six months of fetching coffee and filing paperwork, and then my parents would see I'd survived. Proved myself capable of following through.
And once I handled the small tasks flawlessly, Augustus would have to give me real work. Strategic projects. Client meetings. Things that actually used my brain and education.
He'd see I wasn't just the spoiled heiress everyone whispered about.
The elevator chimed.
Seventieth floor.
I stepped forward as the doors slid open—
And collided directly into a wall of expensive wool and solid muscle.
The mug slipped from my fingers before I could react.
Hot coffee exploded across my chest, soaking through silk and Armani tailoring in an instant.
Burning liquid cascaded down my front, splashing onto polished leather shoes.
"Careful—"
Augustus stood frozen, his white shirt now decorated with spreading brown stains, steam rising from the fabric.
I stared at the disaster, my carefully constructed composure dissolving as fast as the coffee spreading across the marble floor.
His gaze dropped to the mess, then lifted to my face.
"I see you found the coffee," he said evenly.
My cheeks flamed hotter than the liquid seeping through my bra.