𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒. 𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈. 𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈.
Isabella Leighton, a 23-year-old aspiring lawyer, unexpectedly lands a job working for the most prominent CEO in New York. While she doesn't align with his lifestyle, the generous sa...
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ASHER
"I can't drive you home every day," Isabella remarked mockingly as she slipped back into her high heels, which she had cleaned while I drove her home.
I attempted to fight off the smirk that threatened to appear on my lips, but I ultimately lost the battle. The corners of my mouth lifted slightly as she repeated my words.
"Are they okay?" I asked, nodding towards her high heels.
She shrugged. "They'll be fine, I think."
I opened my door and stepped out of the car, then moved to the other side to open the door for her, offering my assistance as she got out of the car.
"Thank you, kind sir," she whispered, the cool air causing her breath to form a visible fog as she spoke.
As we entered the building, she crossed her arms and began gently rubbing them with the opposite hand, likely trying to dispel the goosebumps on her skin.
Approaching the elevator, a small piece of paper taped to the silver doors caught our attention. It read:
Elevator not in use, STAIRS ONLY.
Isabella glanced down at her shoes and let out a heavy sigh. She turned around, looking for the door to the stairs.
I stood behind her at the bottom, waiting for her to start climbing the stairs, but she just stood there, fixated on her high heels.
After a brief moment, I tucked my keys into my pocket and then slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders, effortlessly lifting her from the ground.
She let out a slight gasp, her eyes widening as she stared at me while I began to ascend the stairs with her in my arms.
"Seriously?" She whispered in a hushed tone.
I chuckled softly as we reached the second floor and set her down. "If I hadn't done that, we'd still be standing there," I quipped.
She started walking down the hallway toward her apartment, rummaging through her small bag for her keys as I stood behind her once again.
Finally, she unlocked the door, and just like the first time I had taken her home, she placed her belongings down and then returned to the door, leaning her head against it.
"Thank you again," she said with that familiar small smile, her green eyes fixed on me.
"Anytime," I replied, my gaze unwavering from hers. There was a brief silence between us, and although some silence can be uncomfortable, this one felt entirely different. It was anything but uncomfortable; it was something else entirely.
