Sienna Cole knew exactly three things when she walked into the office that morning:
1. She was not going to spill coffee.
2. She was not going to cry in the supply room like yesterday.
3. She was not going to let Julian Blake get under her skin — again.
By 9:12 a.m., she'd already failed on point three.
To be fair, Julian hadn't done anything yet.
He didn't need to.
He simply walked past her desk, muttered "You're early — good," without glancing up from his phone, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up like soldiers called to attention.
It wasn't just his voice — that low, clean tone that sounded like command and seduction had a baby.
It was his presence.
Julian Blake didn't walk. He prowled. With deliberate, powerful steps and a posture that screamed precision. His suits fit like they were tailored on his body every morning. His cologne was never overpowering, but it lingered — fresh citrus and something woodsy.
He was the kind of man who ruined expectations for everyone else.
And he knew it.
⸻
By noon, Sienna had memorized the rules of working at Blake & Co., even if no one ever said them out loud:
• Don't block the elevator when Julian is walking in.
• Don't speak unless spoken to in the executive wing.
• Don't question the calendar. It is the law.
• And most importantly, don't — under any circumstances — ask personal questions.
That last one, she'd learned the hard way.
It was a simple, innocent question. "Do you ever take a lunch break?"
Julian had looked up from his computer, raised one brow, and replied,
"Does excellence?"
She'd gone silent for the rest of the hour.
⸻
The day dragged.
Julian was in and out of meetings, leaving her behind to organize everything from client calls to document revisions, to a gift basket for a grumpy investor who apparently hated both gluten and gratitude.
By 3:00 p.m., her brain was fried.
At 3:05, her email pinged.
From: Julian Blake
Subject: My Office. Now.
She blinked.
Was he summoning her… like a medieval lord?
She took a breath, adjusted her blouse, and walked in.
⸻
Julian stood by the window with a file in hand, the skyline behind him looking as crisp and untouchable as he did. He didn't look up as she entered.
"Close the door," he said.
She did — a little harder than necessary.
"I need you to review this proposal," he said, handing her the file. "I want your notes by tomorrow."
She took it, flipping through the first page. "Isn't this the account handled by your senior strategy team?"
"It was. Now it's yours."
"Why?"
He turned then, slowly. "Because I want to see how your brain works when it isn't busy being defensive."
Sienna stiffened. "Defensive?"
"You challenge everything. It's not always a bad thing. But challenge should come from understanding, not insecurity."
Her lips parted. "Wow. That's a hell of an assumption."
His gaze didn't flinch. "Prove me wrong."
There it was again — that dare. That irritating, irresistible challenge he always seemed to toss in her direction like a gauntlet.
She hated that she wanted to rise to it.
"You'll have it by 9 a.m.," she said.
"Tonight."
She blinked. "But you said—"
"I changed my mind."
"Do you always?"
"When necessary."
"Do boundaries mean nothing to you?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Not in business. And not when excellence is on the line."
Her heart thudded faster. There was something about the way he said excellence — like it wasn't just a standard, but a seduction.
"And outside of business?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He paused. Just for a second.
The silence stretched.
Finally, he said, "Outside of business, I don't owe you answers, Ms. Cole."
That stung.
But she refused to show it.
"Noted."
She turned to leave.
"You're angry," he said.
"No," she said over her shoulder. "I'm just wondering how many people confuse control with competence."
She closed the door behind her without waiting for his reply.
⸻
That night, Sienna sat on her apartment floor, legs crossed, laptop open, hair in a messy bun. A cold cup of tea sat next to a nearly empty bowl of instant noodles.
Her eyes burned from staring at the screen, but she kept reading through the proposal — line by line, slide by slide.
It was impressive. Clean. Sharp. But not flawless.
She found three major holes in the strategy: weak localization for their Lagos rollout, a tone-deaf social ad sequence, and a sponsorship idea that risked controversy.
She added her notes, bold and unapologetic.
She didn't care if he agreed.
She wanted him to see her.
Not as the intern he once dismissed. Not as the "girl with attitude."
But as an equal.
She hit send at 11:57 p.m.
And for the first time that day… she smiled.
⸻
The next morning, her phone buzzed before her alarm even rang.
From: Julian Blake
Impressive work. Meet me in the café downstairs at 8. Dress like you belong at the table.
She stared at it for a full ten seconds.
Then whispered, "What the hell does that mean?"
⸻
By 7:59, she was downstairs, in navy slacks and a white silk blouse that Maya had once called her "Power-Bitch Uniform." She wore her curls pinned up, lipstick bold, confidence even bolder.
Julian was already there. Of course.
He sat at a corner table, black coffee in hand, flipping through a printed copy of her notes. He looked up, saw her, and — for the first time since they met — he smiled.
Not a smirk. Not a condescending curve.
A real, full smile.
"You clean up well," he said.
Sienna sat across from him. "I always did. You just didn't notice."
"I notice everything."
She ignored the warmth that shot up her spine.
"Why are we here?" she asked.
"Because," he said, setting down her file, "you were right. About the campaign holes. And because this is how I test people."
"By blindsiding them?"
"By watching how they respond."
"And?"
He sipped his coffee. "You passed."
She raised a brow. "Was there a prize?"
His eyes flicked over her, gaze lingering just a moment too long. "I don't offer rewards. Just opportunity."
"Right," she said. "Strictly business."
"Exactly."
But the way he said it… didn't feel like business at all.
A long pause settled between them.
She broke it. "Do you ever stop playing the role?"
"What role?"
"The cold, calculated CEO."
He looked at her for a long time. His voice, when he spoke, was softer than she expected.
"Do you ever stop hiding behind sarcasm?"
She blinked.
Touché.
The server brought over two more coffees. Julian passed her one without asking. She took it, careful not to let their fingers brush.
"Strictly boundaries," she said quietly.
Julian's eyes held hers.
"For now."