Love on Paper: A Billionaire love story

CHAPTER 1

***ALEX***

“Let’s get married,” Nathan said, looking straight into my eyes as though he meant it. Well, for a moment there, I did wish he did. But the circumstances that led us here to this conversation, sure enough, made it clear to me in my mind that we’re two worlds apart.

I stood there lost for words and my voice, not because I was surprised by the outburst, but because I did wish those words were truly meant.

“I’m sorry?” I said it in the most subtle tone, more like a whisper. The files in my hands felt too heavy to hold, my heels, usually my armor against the corporate battlefield, now seemed too delicate to support me. But I held his gaze, searching for the joke in his eyes that never came.

“Let’s get married, Alex,” he said again, his gaze not leaving mine. “I need a bride, and you need a home.”

His words, so blunt and devoid of romance, pierced through the fantasy I had allowed myself to indulge in. Was this all I was to him? A convenient solution to his problem?

“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember telling you I was homeless, Mr. Bennett; I’m very much not homeless,” I replied, now finding my voice and balance.

“For now...” he said, in a mutter, almost as though he was talking to himself and not to me, but I shook it off. Now I felt insulted; he’s my boss, yes, and I’m just a secretary; he’d made that clear since day 1 when I started working here.

Shaking out of my thoughts, I knew I had to get out there; the atmosphere was uncomfortable already. “This is the file for the list of possible companies we could support, sir,” I said, his gaze leaving mine, and he turned to the files I had placed on the table.

“If that will be all, sir, I’d like to take my leave,” I added, without sparing me a moment, he raised his hand to signal my exit, and I, without thinking twice, turned and left.

Striding to my office, just a whisper away from his, I couldn’t help but let my mind race. The richest under-30 CEO in New York City had just asked me—his secretary—to be his bride. Was he rehearsing his proposal for someone else? Was this some kind of twisted joke meant to amuse him?

But no, Nathan Bennett was not a man known for humor. His smiles were as rare as rain in a desert, his laughter nonexistent. He was a fortress of solitude, an enigma wrapped in the trappings of wealth and power.

I settled into my chair, the soft leather embracing me like an old friend. The clock on my computer screen blinked, the numbers reminding me that the world outside these walls was still turning, oblivious to the storm brewing in the ivory tower of Bennett Enterprises.

It was well past closing time, the office now a ghost town of silent cubicles and darkened screens. I should have been home by now, but this job was my lifeline—the golden ticket I clung to with both hands. With only a high school diploma to my name, opportunities like this didn’t come knocking often.

A sigh escaped me as I leaned back, my gaze drifting to the cityscape beyond the window. The twinkling lights seemed to mock me with their carefree dance. I remembered the day I had walked into this building, a bundle of nerves and hope, ready to take on the world. Little did I know, the world would take on me.

“Number 17?” The call echoed through the waiting area, snapping me back to reality. I rose from the hard plastic chair, my number—a temporary identity—now up for scrutiny. The brunette at the reception desk nodded in my direction, her voice a mix of boredom and formality. “You’re up.”

Stepping into the interview room, I was enveloped by an air of austerity. The space was minimalist, the white furniture stark against the dark carpet, every piece meticulously chosen for its aesthetic rather than comfort. The interviewer’s chair was turned away from me, his attention seemingly captured by the sprawling cityscape visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall.

The silence stretched as I stood there, the seconds ticking by, each one heavy with anticipation. Then, with a fluid motion, the chair swiveled, and I found myself face-to-face with the man who held my future in his hands.

He was striking, his features chiseled from marble, his presence commanding the room like a deity from ancient myths. His eyes, a deep blue reminiscent of the ocean’s heart, held a tranquility that belied the turmoil they stirred within me.

“You can take your seat,” he said, his voice smooth and captivating, a siren’s call that resonated in the depths of my being.

“Thank you,” I managed, my voice a soft contrast to his commanding tone. I took my seat, the leather cool against my skin, his gaze an unspoken challenge as it followed my every move.

He flipped through the pages of my résumé, his expression unreadable, a master of detachment. “You don’t meet the criteria, Miss Campbell,” he stated, his words clinical, devoid of empathy. Lifting his eyes to mine, he delivered the final blow, “So why should we hire you? Sorry, why should we even consider your application to begin with?”

His question hung in the air, a gauntlet thrown down. I drew in a deep breath, my mind racing. This was it—the moment to prove my worth, to show that I was more than the sum of my qualifications, or lack thereof.

“If I may, sir,” I began, my voice a mix of determination and trepidation, “I believe the role of a personal secretary transcends mere qualifications. The company’s success rests on the CEO’s shoulders, and by extension, on those who support him.” I paused, gauging his reaction, but his face remained an impassive mask, a professional veneer that was impenetrable.