CH 1-10

Summary

In high school, Macy Rivers was the “Queen of Pranks” who made the nerdy Roman Blackwood’s life a living hell. Ten years later, now the CEO, Roman hasn’t forgotten her face—and he’s determined to turn the tables when the fate made her his personal assistant. As the two engage in a comedic office war, they realize the thin line between childhood rivalry and adult attraction.

Chapter 1

The hallways of St. Jude’s High School always smelled of floor wax and over-perfumed teenagers, but today, near the senior lockers, there was a different scent in the air: the sweet, metallic tang of an impending disaster.

Macy Rivers crouched behind a corner, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She adjusted her grip on her phone, her thumb hovering over the camera button. Beside her, Sophie was practically vibrating with anxiety, her eyes darting toward the end of the corridor.

“Macy, seriously, we shouldn’t be doing this,” Sophie whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant drone of a history teacher’s lecture coming from a nearby classroom. “He’s a senior. He’s like… actually smart. What if he catches us?”

“Shhh!” Macy hissed, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “Sophie, he deserves it. You be quiet or he’ll hear us before the trap even springs. This is justice.”

“Justice for what? A spilled beaker?”

“It was my brand new, limited-edition Barbie bag, Sophie!” Macy’s whisper took on a tragic edge. “The strap is permanently stained. He looked me right in the eye and didn’t even apologize! He just pushed his glasses up his nose and mumbled something about ‘chemical reactions.’ Well, I’m about to show him a chemical reaction.”

At that moment, the heavy double doors at the end of the hall swung open. A tall, lanky figure trudged toward the lockers. To the rest of the school, he was the quiet kid who won every math competition. To Macy, he was “Rowie,” the boy with the round, wire-rimmed glasses and the silver teeth clips that seemed to catch every ray of light. He looked like a complete nerd—the kind of person who would definitely accidentally ruin a girl’s favorite bag and not realize the social crime he had committed.

He stopped at locker 402. He looked tired, his shoulders slumped under a backpack that was clearly too heavy. Macy held her breath. Do it. Open it, she willed him.

He turned the dial. Click. Click. Click.

The locker door swung open. For a split second, there was a soft, mechanical hiss. Roman leaned forward, squinting to see why a small box was taped to the top shelf.

PUFF.

A cloud of vibrant, neon-green powder exploded directly into his face. It wasn’t just powder; it was infused with a concentrated “stink bomb” liquid that Macy had bought from a joke shop downtown. The smell of rotten eggs and wet dog instantly filled the corridor.

Roman froze. He didn’t scream. He didn’t fall. He just stood there, his glasses completely obscured by green soot, looking like a very confused, very skinny goblin.

“Now!” Macy chirped, jumping out from behind the wall.

Click! Click! Click! She snapped three photos in rapid succession, her laughter echoing through the empty hall. “Oh, Rowie! You look like a cute, thin Hulk! Or maybe a very moldy piece of cheese!”

Just then, the bell rang. The silence of the hallway was shattered as hundreds of students poured out of their classrooms. Within seconds, a crowd had gathered. The laughter was instantaneous. A group of varsity players walked by, pointing and howling, while the girls whispered and giggled behind their hands.

He didn’t move. He took off his glasses, wiping a smear of green off the lens with a finger, revealing eyes that looked surprisingly calm despite the humiliation. He looked directly at Macy. He didn’t look angry; he looked like he was making a mental note.

“Come on, Sophie!” Macy laughed, grabbing her friend’s arm and dragging her away. “My work here is done!”

Later that afternoon, sitting in the back of their final period class, Sophie looked pale. “I think you should give that guy a break, Macy. That was… a lot. The smell is still in the carpet.”

“No way,” Macy said, doodling a little crown on her notebook. “I’ll make his life hell for that bag. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Macy, that was an accident! He tripped! But you? This is like the fifth prank this month. The salt in his coffee, the ‘Kick Me’ sign, the glitter in his textbook… I don’t even know how many times you’ve done this.”

“It’s only the fifth time,” Macy corrected, leaning back. Sophie sighed, “And besides, thank God it’s his last year. He graduates in two months. He’ll go off to some nerd college and never have to see a ‘devil’ like you again.”

Macy flashed a devilish smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Since it’s only two months, I should really step it up. I want to do something he will never forget for the rest of his life.”

Sophie sighed, shaking her head. “You’re going to regret this, Macy. One day, the universe is going to catch up to you. This kind of behavior isn’t acceptable.”

Macy just laughed, a winning, confident sound. “Well, for my behavior, I’ll live like a queen. Just watch me.”

Ten Years Later!!!

“Welcome to the Queen’s Cafe! What would you like to order today? We have a lovely seasonal muffin!”

Macy Rivers beamed at the customer, though her feet felt like they were being crushed by lead weights. Her “Queen” lifestyle hadn’t exactly panned out. At twenty-eight, she wasn’t wearing a crown; she was wearing a stained green apron and a name tag that was currently lopsided.

The customer, a woman in a suit that cost more than Macy’s monthly rent, sighed impatiently. “I’ll have a Latte. But listen closely: I want a hint of cinnamon. Just a hint. Do not overwhelm the beans.”

“Of course, ma’am! One ‘hinted’ latte coming right up!” Macy chirped. She was still talkative—perhaps too much so. As she steamed the milk, she chatted away. “You know, cinnamon is actually great for the metabolism. I read this article once that said if you smell it, you actually become 10% more productive, which is probably why you’re in such a rush to get to work—”

“The coffee, please,” the woman snapped.

Macy flinched and handed it over. A few minutes later, the woman marched back to the counter, slamming the cup down.

“Lady, I asked for a hint of cinnamon, not a cinnamon latte itself! This is disgusting. It’s like drinking a candle!”

Macy’s face went scarlet. “Oh! I am so sorry, ma’am! I must have gotten carried away while I was talking. Let me change that for you immediately!”

She scrambled to remake the drink, her hands shaking slightly. To smooth things over, she slid a complimentary chocolate chip cookie across the counter. “On the house! See you again soon, ma’am!”

The woman grabbed the coffee and the cookie, huffing, “I doubt that,” before storming out.

Macy let out a long, shaky breath and sank into a chair behind the counter. She felt defeated. The “Queen” was currently a servant to the caffeine-addicted masses of the city.

“Next time you mess up an order, I’ll definitely fire you, Macy.”

Macy jumped to her feet, nearly knocking over a display of biscotti. “Mr. Moore! Hello! I… I am so sorry. I’m trying my best, really.”

Mr. Moore, the owner of the cafe, looked at her with a mixture of pity and frustration. He wasn’t a mean man, but he ran a tight ship. “Macy, look at me. You’re a people person. You talk more than any three employees combined. But you’re a terrible barista.”

He leaned against the counter. “I think you should look for a real job that suits you. You have experience as a Personal Assistant, don’t you? Why don’t you look for something like that again?”

Macy’s shoulders slumped. “I know. But my last company shut down because the CEO was a crook who left us with high debts. I need to take care of my mother, Mr. Moore. Her medical bills aren’t getting any smaller. I have to work something in the meantime.”

She pulled her phone out of her apron pocket. “I’ve applied for dozens of jobs. No response. I even asked my college friend, Claire, to look for openings at the big tech firm she works for. But so far… nothing.”

Another customer walked in, the bell chiming above the door.

Mr. Moore leaned in and whispered, “Do not mess this one up, Macy. One more complaint and the apron stays off.”

“Got it. No talking. Just pouring,” Macy whispered back.

She turned to the new customer with a practiced, fake smile. “Welcome to Queen’s Cafe! What can I get started for you?”

Chapter 2

The walk home felt longer than usual. The neon lights of the city blurred into streaks of tired yellow and red as Macy dragged her feet toward the outskirts of the district. Her apartment was tucked into a weathered brick building that had seen better decades. It was a space so small that “cozy” was a generous term—two cramped bedrooms, a kitchen that barely fit a toaster, and a living room where the floorboards groaned in protest at every step.

This apartment had been their sanctuary ever since her father passed away in a tragic accident four years ago. His absence was a hole in the house that no amount of Macy’s chatter could ever truly fill. Now, it was just her and her mother, Beatrice.

Macy took a deep breath, smoothing out her apron-wrinkled shirt and forcing a bright smile onto her face. She pushed the door open. The air inside smelled of lavender and stale medicine.

“Mom? I’m home!”

She walked into her mother’s bedroom. Beatrice was propped up against a mountain of pillows, her skin pale, her breathing shallow. The heart condition was a silent thief, stealing her energy day by day while they waited for a transplant that felt like a distant, expensive dream.

“Hey, butterfly,” Beatrice said, her voice raspy. “How was your day?”

Macy sat on the edge of the bed, gripping her mother’s hand. “Oh, it was fantastic, Mom! We were swamped. I think half the city decided they needed a latte today. I was a machine behind that counter.”

Beatrice smiled, though she saw the exhaustion in her daughter’s eyes. “That’s my girl. Always moving.”

Macy leaned over to the nightstand, her eyes scanning the orange plastic pill bottles. She did a quick mental count. “Did you take your tablets today?”

Beatrice nodded. Macy’s heart sank; there was only a week’s worth of medicine left. She surreptitiously pulled her phone from her pocket and opened her banking app.

Balance: $2.43.

The number felt like a physical blow.

“The landlord, Mr. Mason, stopped by today,” Beatrice said softly, looking at her lap. “He said the utility bills and the rent are overdue. He asked for the payment in two days, Macy.”

Macy didn’t let her smile flicker, though her stomach did a somersault. “Don’t you worry about Mr. Mason. He’s just a grumpy old man who likes to hear himself talk. I’ve got it handled. Look, I brought some light sandwiches and fruit from the cafe. Let’s eat together.”

That night, the silence of the apartment was deafening. Macy lay in her small bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw spreadsheets of debt. She checked her email on her cracked phone screen for the hundredth time. Inbox: Empty. No job offers. No interviews.

Maybe I can take a night shift cleaning offices, she thought, her eyes burning. Or walk dogs in the morning before the cafe opens. She prayed then, a silent, desperate plea. Please, just one break. One miracle.

The next morning at the cafe started with the usual chaotic rush, but the weight in Macy’s chest hadn’t lifted. As the crowd thinned, she leaned against the espresso machine, her head thumping.

“You’re doing better today, Macy,” Mr. Moore said, wiping down a table nearby. “Fewer spills. More focus.”

“I have to, Mr. Moore,” Macy sighed, her voice cracking slightly. “I have rent due, my mom’s meds are running out, and the transplant fund is… well, it’s non-existent. I need to save every penny.”

Mr. Moore softened. “Hang in there. Sometimes, a miracle happens when you least expect it.”

At that moment, her phone buzzed. It was Sophie. Macy’s face lit up as she stepped into the back room to answer. “Sophie! Hey!”

“Macy, I’m at your house,” Sophie’s voice was urgent. “I came to check on your mom, and your landlord was there. He was literally shouting at her, Macy. It was awful.”

The blood drained from Macy’s face. “Is she okay? Is he still there?”

“He’s gone. And Macy… don’t kill me, but I paid him. I covered the back rent and the utilities for this month. You don’t owe that man a cent right now.”

Macy felt a wave of relief so intense she had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing. “Sophie… I can’t… I’ll pay you back, I swear. As soon as I get my paycheck—”

“Stop. Just get your life together first,” Sophie said kindly. “But try not to let it get that bad next month, okay? We’ll talk this weekend.”

As Macy hung up, she felt a surge of renewed hope. She looked up at the ceiling of the dingy breakroom. Okay, God. Thank you for Sophie. But I still need a real job. Either create a new position or fire someone so I can take their place!

Across the city, in the glass-and-steel monolith known as Blackwood Industries, Roman Blackwood was doing exactly that.

The CEO’s office was a masterpiece of cold, modern minimalism. Roman sat behind a desk made of dark obsidian, his white dress shirt crisp, his eyes like flint, jawline that could cut glass and a gaze that made senior VPs tremble.

A man named Jacob stood across from him, sweating through his expensive suit.

“You’re fired, Jacob,” Roman said, his deep voice dangerously low.

“Sir, please! I was just—”

“You were attempting to sell our encrypted server protocols to Magnus Tech,” Roman interrupted, sliding a folder across the desk. “I’ve known for three weeks. I was simply waiting for you to actually transfer the file so I could catch you in a federal crime.”

“Mr. Blackwood, I have a family! I’ll never do it again!”

Roman leaned forward, the shadows of the skyscraper’s eaves falling across his face. “I am being generous by letting you walk out of here instead of leaving in handcuffs. If I hear your name in this industry again, I will ruin you. Get out.”

As Jacob stumbled out of the office, Roman pressed his intercom. “Claire? Jacob is gone. I need an immediate replacement. Someone who isn’t a snake.”

“I’ll start the search, sir,” Claire’s voice crackled back. “But your schedule is packed. I’ll handle the temporary logistics.”

“Make it fast,” Roman muttered, rubbing his temples. He hated incompetence.

Back at the cafe, Macy was refilling the coffee bean hopper when her phone chimed again. It was a call from Claire.

“Macy! Are you sitting down?” Claire sounded breathless. “A spot just opened up. The CEO’s Personal Assistant was fired ten minutes ago. I already put your name in. He’s in a hurry to fill the role, so if you come in tomorrow at 10:00 AM, you’ve basically got the job.”

Macy nearly dropped the bag of beans. “Tomorrow? 10:00 AM? Claire, are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Wear your best formals. If you get this, Macy, all your money problems are over. The salary is insane.”

Macy let out a squeal of pure joy, jumping up and down in the tiny kitchen. “I’ll be there! I’ll be early! Oh my god, Claire, thank you!”

She hung up and looked at the sky through the small cafe window. “Thank you! You heard me! A miracle!”

She felt like the luckiest girl in the world. She imagined a kind, elderly CEO who would appreciate her hard work and her gift for gab. She imagined paying for her mother’s surgery and finally living a debt free life.

But as she danced around the coffee shop, she had no idea that the “miracle” she was celebrating is going to change her life completely. Let’s see whether it leads her to heaven or to hell.

Chapter 3

The morning sun felt like a spotlight on Macy’s insecurities. She stood before her cracked bedroom mirror, smoothing out the wrinkles in a navy blazer she hadn’t worn since her final college internship. It was slightly tight in the shoulders and smelled faintly of mothballs, but it was the most “corporate” thing she owned.

“You look like a professional, Macy. A high-earning, debt-paying professional,” she whispered to her reflection.

Her phone chimed. It was a message from Mr. Moore: Good luck today. Don’t talk their ears off. You’ve got this. Macy smiled, tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and kissed her mother’s forehead before heading out. The bus ride to the financial district felt like a journey to another planet. As she approached the Blackwood Industries headquarters, she had to crane her neck back so far it hurt just to see the top of the building. It was a monolith of glass that seemed to reflect the entire city’s wealth.

If I get this job, Mom gets her heart, she thought, her determination hardening. I’ll be the best PA in history. I’ll be so efficient they’ll wonder how they ever lived without me.

The lobby was a cathedral of white marble. A sleek receptionist directed her to the eleventh floor with a practiced, robotic smile. When the elevator doors slid open, Macy felt the air get thinner—and more expensive.

Claire was waiting for her near a row of designer chairs. “Macy! You look great. A little… vintage… but great!”

“Is it that obvious?” Macy hissed, tugging at her blazer. “Claire, tell me the truth. Will I get it? I need this more than I need oxygen.”

“It’s in your hands, Macy,” Claire said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But I’m warning you: the CEO is a perfectionist. He’s brilliant, but he doesn’t do ‘small talk.’ So, please, for the love of everything holy, don’t speak too much. Just answer the questions. The company is desperate for someone with your experience, so you’re already halfway there.”

“Is he very strict?” Macy asked, her palms beginning to sweat. “And… how old is he? Is he like, fifty or sixty? Does he have a favorite type of tea? Should I look him in the eye or is he a ‘stare at the floor’ kind of boss?”

Before Claire could answer, a woman in a sharp suit stepped out. “Ms. Rivers? Mr. Blackwood will see you now.”

Claire gave her a thumbs-up. “Go girl. You can do it.”

Macy walked toward the massive mahogany doors at the end of the hall. She didn’t look at the nameplate. She didn’t check the gold lettering. She just knocked, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

“Come in,” a deep, melodic voice commanded.

The office was vast. A plush sofa area sat to the left, but her eyes were drawn to the far end of the room. Behind a desk that looked like it cost more than her apartment sat a man. He didn’t look up. His face was obscured by a thick manila folder he was reviewing.

“Sit,” he gestured with a fountain pen.

Macy sat, perched on the edge of the leather chair, clutching her bag to her chest like a shield.

“Your work experience is… adequate,” the man said, his voice smooth but cold. “The previous firm you worked for spoke highly of your logistics management. Tell me, Ms. Rivers, what exactly did you do for your previous CEO?”

Macy took a breath, trying to channel her professional persona. “Well, sir, I handled all client relations, accompanied the CEO on international travel, and managed a complex three-tier scheduling system. I pride myself on being three steps ahead of my superior’s needs.”

As she spoke, the man shifted the file. He had reached the bottom of her resume—the education section. St. Jude’s High School. The pen in his hand stopped moving. Slowly, agonizingly, he lowered the folder.

Roman spoke, but his tone had changed. It was no longer professional; it was mocking.

“You forgot to include some of your more… creative experiences on this resume, Ms. Rivers.”

Macy blinked, her brain short-circuiting. “I… I beg your pardon?”

“For instance,” Roman leaned back, crossing his arms over his expensive suit jacket. “You didn’t list your proficiency in salt-to-coffee ratios. Or your expertise in the chemical composition of green-powder stink bombs. And I see no mention of your high-speed application of ‘Kick Me’ signs to senior uniforms.”

Macy’s jaw dropped. The talkative girl inside her, the one she had tried to suppress, came roaring out. “Oh my god! How—how did you know those things? Wait…” She looked down at the nameplate on the desk. ROMAN BLACKWOOD.

Before she could process the shock, Macy’s voice died in her throat. The man sitting across from her wasn’t fifty. He wasn’t sixty. He was young, impossibly handsome, and possessed a pair of dark eyes that were currently burning holes through her soul. Gone were the round glasses. Gone were the silver braces. In their place was a sharp, sculpted face and a smirking mouth that she recognized from a hundred teenage nightmares.

She looked back at him, her eyes wide with horror. Roman pulled the file down completely, glaring at her with a look that was half-fury and half-amusement.

“So, Ms. Macy Rivers,” Roman said, his voice dripping with irony. “Nice to meet you again. Or is it ‘not nice’ to meet me? After all, I’m just a ‘moldy piece of cheese,’ right?”

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush her. Macy felt the blood drain from her limbs. This wasn’t a job interview; it was a trial. Without thinking, she slowly stood up, her face turning a bright, frantic red. She didn’t even try to apologize. She just turned to flee.

BAM!

Roman’s hand slammed onto the desk, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room. Macy jerked to a halt, frozen mid-step.

“Take your bag,” Roman said, his voice like ice. “And leave.”

Macy grabbed her bag so hard the strap nearly snapped and bolted out the door. She practically ran back to the waiting area, where Claire was still standing.

“Macy! That was fast! Did you get it?”

“I’m not getting this job, Claire,” Macy gasped, her voice defeated. “Never in a million years.”

“What? Why? Your experience is a perfect match!”

“It’s not about the experience,” Macy whispered, leaning against the wall as the world spun. “It’s about your CEO. I’ll never match with him. He’s… he’s the Hulk, Claire. The Hulk has a memory like an elephant!”

Before Claire could ask what on earth she was talking about, the office door opened. The staffer called Claire inside. Claire asked Macy to wait and went inside. Macy stood there, her mind racing. I have to leave. I have to find another job. I have to tell Mom—no, I can’t tell Mom I lost the miracle because I put green powder on a billionaire ten years ago.

Five minutes later, Claire came running out of the office. She didn’t look upset—she looked ecstatic. She threw her arms around Macy, hugging her tightly.

“You got it! I don’t know what you said in there, but he told me to hire you immediately! I’ll bring you the paperwork. You start tomorrow at 8:00 AM sharp!”

Macy stood like a statue, her heart sinking into her shoes. “Wait… he hired me? After he told me to leave?”

“He said you were the ‘only candidate with the specific history he was looking for,’” Claire chirped, already heading back to grab the forms.

Macy stood in the middle of the expensive hallway, caught between a scream of relief and a sob of panic. She needed the money. She needed the insurance. But she knew Roman Blackwood. He wasn’t hiring a PA; he was hiring a victim.

Just then, the elevator pinged. Roman walked out, flanked by two assistants. As he passed Macy, he slowed down. He didn’t look at the others. He looked directly at her, his lips curling into a slow, devilish smile that promised a very long, very difficult year.

He didn’t say a word as he stepped into the elevator and the doors slid shut.

Macy gripped her bag, her knuckles white. “Okay, Macy,” she whispered to herself. “It’s very clear. It is officially time to panic.”

Chapter 4

The afternoon sun was streaming through the windows of the coffee shop where Macy was finishing her final shift, but it felt like a cold spotlight. Macy sat at a small corner table, her chin resting in her hands, staring blankly at her empty latte mug. Claire sat across from her, looking confused, while Sophie—having just received an urgent “911” text from Macy, she burst through the door.

Claire waved Sophie over. Sophie hurried to the table, her brow furrowed with concern. “Macy? What happened? Your text sounded like you’d witnessed a crime.”

Macy didn’t look up. She just muttered, “I got the job, Sophie. I’m the new PA of CEO at Blackwood Industries.”

Sophie’s face split into a wide grin. She pulled out a chair and sat down. “Macy! That’s incredible news! Why do you look like you’re waiting for a funeral? This is what we prayed for! No more grumpy landlords, no more $2 bank balances. You should be screaming with joy!”

Macy didn’t scream. She groaned.

Sophie looked at Claire for help. “What’s wrong with her? Did they tell her she has to work twenty hours a day? Is the coffee there bad?”

Claire leaned forward, her voice hushed. “The problem isn’t the hours, Sophie. It’s the CEO. Mr. Roman Blackwood.”

What’s the big deal about the CEO?” Sophie asked, confused by Macy’s pale face. Macy looked at her with wide, panicked eyes. Sophie, think. Roman. St. Jude’s High. Does the name Roman Blackwood really not ring a bell?

Sophie froze. Her eyes went wide as the name processed. “Roman… Blackwood?” She looked back at Macy, her mouth falling open. “Wait a minute. The Roman? Round glasses, teeth clips, neon-green Hulk powder Roman?”

Macy nodded weakly. “The very one. Except now he’s six-foot-two, looks like a supermodel, and owns half the city. And yes, Sophie… he definitely knows who I am.”

Sophie leaned back, a look of pure, horrified realization dawning on her face. “Oh, you poor, poor girl. I told you, Macy. Ten years ago, in that hallway, I told you that one day the universe would catch up to you. I believe my exact words were ‘you’ll regret this.’ Well, look at that—Karma didn’t just bite you, she hired you!”

“It’s not making me feel any better!” Macy hissed, finally looking up. “He looked at me like I was a bug he wanted to squash with a very expensive Italian leather shoe. He told me to leave! He literally kicked me out of his office, and then five minutes later, he told Claire to hire me anyway. Why would he do that unless he’s planning something terrible?”

Claire tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. You guys actually bullied Roman Blackwood? Do you have any idea who his father was? The founder of this entire empire?”

“In high school, ‘Blackwood Industries’ wasn’t a household name,” Macy defended herself, her talkativeness starting to bubble up. “He was just the quiet nerd who sat in the front of chemistry. I thought his dad worked in… I don’t know, insurance? How was I supposed to know he was a billionaire-in-waiting?”

“His family kept a very low profile until about five years ago when Roman took over and turned the tech world upside down,” Claire explained. “He’s a genius, Macy. But he’s also my friend. I’ve known him professionally and personally for three years. He’s strict, yes. He demands perfection. But personally? He’s actually a softie. I honestly think he hired you because he wants to be professional. Maybe he wants to show you he’s the bigger person.”

Sophie snorted. “Or maybe he wants to show her exactly how much salt he can put in her coffee. Macy, if I were you, I’d check my chair for glue every single morning.”

Macy buried her face in her arms. “I’m doomed. I’m going to be fired on my first day, aren’t I?”

“Actually,” Claire interrupted, trying to pivot to a brighter subject, “since we’re talking about the office… Sophie, I was looking at your resume last night. We have an opening in the finance department. Given that you’re much more… uh… sane than Macy, would you be interested in joining the company too? You’d be on a different floor, but you’d be in the same building.”

Sophie’s eyes lit up. “Are you serious? I’ve been looking for a way out of my current firm! And since Roman probably doesn’t even remember me—I was always the one hiding in the background trying to stop Macy—I won’t have a target on my back.”

“Perfect,” Claire smiled. “I’ll mail you the details tonight. It’ll be great to have the us together, even if one of us is currently a marked woman.”

Macy looked between her two friends. A small spark of hope returned. “Wait… Claire, if I start tomorrow, when do I get paid? I told my landlord I’d have the money soon, and I owe Sophie for the rent…”

“You’re actually in luck,” Claire said, checking her watch. “The payroll cycle closes this Friday. Since you’re starting at the beginning of the week, you’ll get your first prorated check and your signing bonus by next Friday.”

Macy felt a massive weight lift off her shoulders. “Next week? I can actually pay you back next week, Sophie! And I can buy Mom’s heart medication without shaking when I hand over my debit card.”

“See?” Sophie said, reaching over to squeeze Macy’s hand. “It’s not all bad. And hey, I’ll be joining the office soon. I’ll be your backup. If he tries to lock you in a supply closet, I’ll come find you.”

Claire stood up, smoothing her skirt. “Okay, my coffee break is officially over. Macy, 8:00 AM sharp tomorrow. Do not be late. Roman hates tardiness even more than he hates… well, green powder. Sophie, check your email. I’ll see you both soon!”

After Claire left, Macy and Sophie shared a long hug outside the cafe. “You can do this, Macy,” Sophie whispered. “Just keep your head down and your mouth shut.

“I’ll try,” Macy promised.

When Macy got home, the small apartment felt different. She went straight to her mother’s room and shared the news—the edited version. She told Beatrice about the beautiful building, the high salary, and the “old school friend” who was the CEO. She watched the color return to her mother’s face as they talked about a future where they didn’t have to worry about the lights being turned off.

But later that night, as Macy lay in bed, the silence felt heavy. Her stomach was tied in a knot that no amount of positive thinking could undo. She thought about the way Roman had looked at her—that slow, devilish smile that said he hadn’t forgotten a single second of high school.

Is this the end of my problems? she wondered, staring at the shadows on her ceiling. Or am I just walking into a much more expensive version of hell?

She set her alarm for 6:30 AM, closed her eyes, and prayed that for the first time in her life, she wouldn’t have anything to say when she saw Roman Blackwood.

Chapter 5

Macy arrived at the Blackwood Industries lobby at 7:45 AM, fifteen minutes early. She had spent the morning practicing her “Professional Face” in the bathroom mirror, repeating the mantra: Do not talk. Do not prank. Just survive.

Claire met her by the elevators, looking sharp in a grey suit. “All the best, girl. You’ve got this,” Claire whispered, giving her a supportive squeeze on the arm. “Just remember: he’s a shark, but you’re a survivor.”

Macy took a deep breath and stepped into the CEO’s sanctuary. The office felt even larger today, filled with the scent of expensive cologne and cold air conditioning. Roman was already behind his desk, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking devastatingly focused.

“Good morning, Sir,” Macy said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her stomach.

Roman looked up. A slow, teasing smile played on his lips—the kind of smile that made Macy wonder if he had spent all night thinking of ways to make her run. “Very good morning, Ms. Rivers. I’m glad to see you value punctuality. It’s a trait your high school self lacked.”

Macy bit her tongue. Rule number one: Don’t snap back.

“You have two workstations,” Roman continued, gesturing toward a sleek, modern desk tucked into the corner of his vast office. “This is your primary spot. You will work here so you are available the second I need you. However, when I have private meetings, you will relocate to the station outside. Claire will brief you on benefits, but for now… we have work.”

As if on cue, there was a knock. Claire entered, but she wasn’t alone. She was pushing a heavy trolley stacked with massive, overflowing binders. She unloaded them onto Macy’s new desk in a mountain of paper that nearly obscured Macy’s view of the room.

“Your first task,” Roman said, leaning back. “These files are from our secondary record rooms. Each one has a checklist. If a document is missing, you must find the digital copy, print it, and file it. We have an audit next month, so I’m sure you’ll agree this is vital.”

Macy looked at the mountain and felt a small sense of relief. Organizing? I can do that. It’s boring, but it’s not impossible.

“However,” Roman added, his voice dropping an octave. “These are just the files from one corner of the room. We have two entire record rooms, and I want everything digitized and filed within two weeks. I’m sure you can handle a little paper, right?”

The panic returned, cold and sharp. Two weeks? That’s thousands of pages! But she forced a nod. “I’ll start immediately, Sir.”

“Not so fast,” Roman said as she turned to her desk. “Priority first. I’ve emailed you a list of overseas clients. I need virtual meetings scheduled with all of them. If any of them insist on in-person visits, schedule them for next month, but cross-reference my calendar first. I don’t tolerate double-booking.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And Macy?”

She paused, her hand on the back of her chair.

“Do you see the coffee machine over there?” He pointed to a high-end espresso maker across the room. “I like my coffee hot, fresh, and frequent. Whenever I ask, you bring it.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Good. Now… I’ll have one now. One teaspoon of sugar. And Macy?” He looked her dead in the eye. “Make sure it’s sugar. Not salt.”

Macy’s face burned. He was never going to let it go. She prepared the coffee, her hands trembling slightly, and set it on his desk. He took a sip, his eyes never leaving hers, and gave a satisfied hum. “Proceed.”

Macy sat at her computer and opened her email. Her heart nearly stopped. The “list” wasn’t a few clients; it was 140 contacts spanning three different time zones.

For the next three hours, Macy was a whirlwind of activity. She was a talker by nature, and she used that to her advantage on the phone, charm-bombing clients into accepting the time slots she needed. By 12:00 PM, against all odds, the schedules were set.

Roman watched her from the corner of his eye. He saw the way she handled a difficult client from London, her voice staying sweet even when the man was being rude. He was impressed, though his face remained a mask of cool indifference. He didn’t offer a single “well done.” Instead, he just checked his watch.

At 12:05 PM, a message popped up from Claire: Cafeteria. Now. Lunch is on me.

Macy practically fell into the chair opposite Claire in the cafeteria. “I’m dying, Claire. I haven’t even touched the files yet. I’ve spent three hours on the phone with people who have very thick accents and very bad tempers.”

Claire winced. “140 clients? Usually, we give a new PA three days to handle that list. Roman is definitely seeking his revenge. New joiners normally spend their first day reading the handbook and drinking tea.”

“I knew it,” Macy groaned, shoving a forkful of salad into her mouth. “He’s trying to break me. But I need that paycheck. My mom’s meds depend on me not throwing a stapler at his handsome head.”

“Wait, did you say handsome?” Claire teased.

“I said ‘head’! Just ‘head’!” Macy corrected, her cheeks flushing. “Look at the time, it’s 12:30. I have to go.”

The afternoon was a blur of physical labor. Roman had forbidden her from using the small printer in his office for “bulk filing,” claiming the noise distracted his “deep thinking.” This meant that every time Macy found a missing document, she had to sprint to the printing room at the far end of the long corridor, wait for the machine, and sprint back.

In between her sprints, the intercom would buzz. “Macy, coffee.” “Macy, another coffee.” “Macy, this one is too cold. Redo it.”

By 5:00 PM, the office had grown quiet. The hum of the printers and the chatter of the staff faded as people headed home. Macy was still at her desk, her hair a mess, a smudge of ink on her cheek, surrounded by piles of paper.

Claire messaged her: Everyone’s leaving. You coming? Macy replied: I can’t. I’ve only finished half the binders for today. I’m staying back.

Ten minutes later, the shadow of a tall figure fell over her desk. Macy looked up to see Roman standing there, his blazer off, his tie loosened. He looked effortless, while she looked like she’d been through a car wash.

“How much have you finished?” he asked, his voice devoid of the teasing tone from earlier.

“Only half of this pile, Sir. I’ll stay until it’s done.”

Roman looked at her—really looked at her. He saw the exhaustion in her eyes and the way her shoulders slumped. For a split second, the cold CEO mask slipped, replaced by something unreadable.

“Enough,” he said. “The cleaning crew needs access to the desk. Put the current files in the drawer and leave. You can resume tomorrow.”

Macy blinked. “But you said—”

“I said leave, Ms. Rivers. That’s an order from your boss.” He turned on his heel and headed for the private elevator. “And Macy? Tomorrow, try to be faster. I don’t pay for ‘almost finished.’”

Macy waited until the elevator doors closed before she let out a long, ragged sigh. She packed her bag, her muscles aching. She called Claire as she walked to the exit. “I’m coming down. And Claire? Tell Sophie she was right. Karma isn’t just a bitch—it’s a CEO who drinks way too much coffee.”

As she walked out into the cool evening air, Macy felt a strange mix of emotions. She was exhausted, yes. She was being punished, definitely. But as she thought of Roman’s face when he told her to go home, she realized something.

The war had just begun, but Macy wasn’t ready to abdicate just yet.

Chapter 6

Macy returned home that evening with a spring in her step that hadn’t been there in years. The exhaustion was still there, buzzing in her legs, but the weight of the world felt lighter.

“Mom! You won’t believe it,” Macy chirped as she set a bag of fresh groceries on the tiny kitchen table. “The CEO was practically speechless by the end of the day. I finished a week’s worth of scheduling in three hours. I think I’m actually… good at this?”

Beatrice smiled from her armchair, looking more vibrant just from seeing Macy’s excitement. “I never doubted you, butterfly. You always did have a way of getting people to do what you wanted just by talking to them.”

“And the best part?” Macy sat on the floor by her mother’s feet. “I checked the employee handbook Claire gave me. Your routine checkups and heart monitoring? Covered. Zero co-pay. We can go to the specialist uptown now.”

As Macy tucked herself into bed that night, she felt a rare sense of peace. She stared at the ceiling, not with anxiety, but with a plan. Okay, Macy. Roman might be a bit of a jerk, but he’s a professional jerk. He saw how hard I worked today. The pranks are probably beneath him now. He’s a billionaire; he doesn’t have time for schoolyard games. I can survive this. I might even thrive.

The next morning, Macy arrived at the office with her head held high. She was ready to conquer the record room files. However, the moment she stepped into the CEO’s suite, Roman greeted her with a look that was more “mischievous” than “managerial.”

“Ms. Rivers,” he said, tapping a pen against his chin. “I have a few private guests coming in this morning. High-level consultants. I need you to relocate to the outer workstation for the next hour. I’ll intercom you when we need refreshments.”

“Of course, Sir,” Macy said, gathering her laptop. She felt a bit relieved to be out of his direct line of sight for a while.

About ten minutes later, two men walked past her desk. They were dressed in sharp, casual-luxury blazers and were laughing loudly. One was tall and athletic, the other had a sharp, scholarly look. As they opened Roman’s door, she caught a snippet of their greeting.

“Hey man! Look at this place! You really are the King of the Castle now, aren’t you?”

The door clicked shut, muffling their laughter. Macy shrugged and dove into her spreadsheets. Half an hour later, the intercom buzzed. “Macy, three coffees. Black for Julian, cream for Sebastian, and my usual.”

Macy prepared the tray with precision. She balanced the cups and nudged the door open with her shoulder. As she moved around the coffee table to serve the guests, she felt their eyes on her. It wasn’t the usual “CEO-to-PA” look. It was a look of deep, confused recognition.

Julian, the athletic one, tilted his head, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. Sebastian, the one with glasses, squinted at her as she handed him his cream. Macy gave them a polite, tight smile and scurried back out to her desk.

Inside the office, the silence was broken the second the door latched.

“No way,” Julian whispered, leaning forward. “Roman… tell me that wasn’t who I think it was.”

Sebastian set his coffee down with a clink. “Macy Rivers? The girl who turned you into a neon-green goblin in front of the entire school?”

Roman leaned back in his leather chair, a small, unreadable smile playing on his lips. “The one and only. She’s my new PA.”

“Does she know who you are?” Julian asked, his eyes wide.

“She does now,” Roman said. “And she’s just as talkative as she was back then. Some things never change.”

Julian burst out laughing, hitting the arm of the sofa. “I can’t believe it! You actually hired her. I remember back in school, we all used to wonder why you never fought back. She’d put salt in your locker or glue your shoes to the floor, and you’d just… sit there. We thought you were a saint.”

Sebastian smirked, looking at Roman knowingly. “We knew the truth, though. You liked her. You’ve liked her since tenth-grade geometry. Is that why you hired her, Rome? Are the old feelings still there?”

Roman shifted in his chair, his expression cooling slightly, though the spark in his eyes remained. “That was a lifetime ago, Seb. I was a nerd with braces and she was… well, she was Macy. I don’t know if ‘feelings’ is the right word. Let’s just say I have a very long memory.”

“You’re glowing, man,” Julian teased. “Since she started yesterday, you look less like a robot and more like a human being. It’s good for you.”

“Enough about my hiring choices,” Roman deflected, leaning forward to look at a file Julian had brought. “Tell me about the commerce project.”

The conversation shifted to business. Julian, who worked closely with the Department of Commerce, revealed that he had secured a high-level meeting for Roman with the Secretary of Commerce. It was a massive government contract—the kind that would cement Blackwood Industries as a national titan.

“There is one thing, though,” Sebastian added as they prepared to leave. “Have you heard from Christy?”

The atmosphere in the room turned icy. Roman’s jaw tightened. “We broke up years ago. I’m not interested in hearing her name.”

“She’s been calling us, Roman,” Julian said gently. “Trying to get to you. She’s not taking the ‘silence’ well.”

“Don’t give her my details,” Roman said firmly. “I’m done with the drama.”

After his friends left, Roman called Macy back into the office. She looked refreshed, her notebook ready.

“Next Thursday, we are meeting the Secretary of Commerce,” Roman said, his voice back to its professional, “CEO” clip. “This is the most important meeting of the year. I’ve emailed you the briefing. I want a full presentation prepared, along with three pages of talking points. Can you handle that?”

Macy’s heart soared. The Secretary of Commerce? This was real, high-level work. “Absolutely, Sir. I won’t let you down. I’ll have a draft for you by Monday.”

“Good,” Roman said. “You can work from your desk in here for the rest of the afternoon.”

Macy went to her corner, her mind racing with ideas for the presentation. She felt a surge of pride. She was finally being treated like a professional. She reached down to open her top drawer to grab her favorite pen—the one she used for “important” notes.

As her fingers curled under the handle and pulled, she felt something… wrong.

It was soft. Cold. And incredibly sticky.

“Ew! Oh, gross!” Macy yelped, pulling her hand back. A long, pink, translucent string of chewed-up bubblegum stretched from her fingertips to the underside of the drawer handle. It was stuck in the crevices of her skin, smelling faintly of artificial strawberry.

She looked up, horrified.

Roman was sitting at his desk, perfectly calm. He wasn’t looking at his computer. He was looking directly at her. As she watched, he blew a large, pink bubble with the gum in his mouth.

POP.

He winked at her—a quick, devastatingly handsome, and incredibly annoying wink.

Macy looked at her sticky hand, then back at her boss, who was now hidden behind his monitor again, pretending to work. The “professional” peace treaty had lasted exactly four hours.

“Oh No, it is on,” Macy whispered to herself, grabbing a tissue to scrub at the pink slime.

Chapter 7

The corporate cafeteria was a sea of sleek suits and low-calorie salads, but Macy’s table was the only one vibrating with suppressed laughter. Claire was currently clutching her stomach, a piece of lettuce halfway to her mouth, as she wheezed at the story of the chewing gum incident.

“I can’t… I literally cannot breathe!” Claire choked out. “The most powerful tech CEO in the tri-state area… actually put chewed gum under a drawer handle? It’s so petty! It’s so high school!”

Macy didn’t share the enthusiasm. She was vigorously scrubbing her right palm with a wet napkin for the tenth time. “It’s not hilarious, Claire! It’s disgusting. I had to use half a bottle of rubbing alcohol to get the stickiness off. I looked like a crazy person at my desk.”

Claire wiped a tear from her eye. “Macy, I’ve known Roman for years. He is the most serious, stoic man I’ve ever met. I’ve never seen him smile at a meeting, let alone play a prank. You’ve unlocked something in him. It’s like his inner teenager is finally getting his revenge.”

“I just don’t get it,” Claire continued, leaning in. “You told me you weren’t a habitual prankster in college. So why only Roman? Why was he your only target at St. Jude’s?”

Macy paused, her scrubbing hand slowing down. Her mind drifted back to the dusty hallways of high school. She saw Roman—skinny, quiet, always with his nose in a book. He was like a ghost that everyone ignored. But when she pranked him, he became real. He looked at her. Even if it was with a look of confusion or frustration, his eyes were on her.

“I don’t know,” Macy muttered, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “I think… I think I just wanted him to see me. It was a stupid way of seeking attention, I guess.”

Claire’s eyebrows shot up. “Macy Rivers… did you have a crush on the nerd?”

“No! Absolutely not!” Macy’s talkativeness flared up as a defense mechanism. “I was a teenager! My brain wasn’t fully developed! Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m a professional now. I’m not going to prank him back. I’m going to kill him with kindness and impress him with my brilliance on that presentation.”

“Good,” Claire said, regaining her composure. “Because I have three pieces of news that will make your professional life much better. First: the payroll cycle is complete. You’ll see your first salary and your signing bonus in your account by Tuesday morning.”

Macy felt like she could fly. “Tuesday? Oh, thank God. My landlord was starting to give me the side-eye again.”

“Second,” Claire held up two fingers. “We have hired a person to help you with the record room audit. And third the hired person is none other than…” Claire grinned. “It’s Sophie. She starts in two weeks.”

Macy let out a squeal so loud the table of accountants nearby jumped. “Sophie! In the same building and she’s going to help me with me in audit? We’re going to be unstoppable!”

Energized by the good news, Macy spent the rest of the day acting like a model employee. On Monday, she worked on the Secretary of Commerce presentation with the focus of a diamond cutter. She researched the Secretary’s previous policies, Roman’s projected tech growth, and even added a section on “Sustainable Innovation” that she knew Roman would love.

When she finally handed the tablet to Roman that afternoon, he reviewed it in silence. Macy stood by his desk, her chin tilted up in a proud pose.

“The transitions are smooth,” Roman remarked, scrolling through the slides. “The data points are accurate. And the talking points… they actually sound like something I would say. It’s good work, Macy. Truly.”

Macy beamed. “Thank you, Sir. I aim to exceed expectations.”

“I can see that,” Roman said, his voice suspiciously silky. “In fact, I think I need a celebration coffee. Could you be a dear and grab me a cup? The machine is right behind you.”

Macy felt so victorious she didn’t even mind the request. She walked to the high-end machine, humming a little tune. She hit the ‘Start’ button, expecting the rich aroma of roasted beans.

Instead, there was a violent gurgle.

SPLUTTER!

A high-pressure jet of ice-cold water, mixed with what looked like a month’s worth of old, black coffee sludge, exploded from the nozzle. Because the machine had been tampered with, the liquid didn’t go into the cup—it sprayed directly outward, dousing Macy from her neck to her waist.

Macy stood frozen. The cold liquid seeped through her white blouse, turning it a muddy, translucent brown. The smell of stale caffeine and cold dregs filled the air.

Roman turned in his chair, a look of mock horror on his face. “Oh dear. It seems you’ve pushed the wrong button, Ms. Rivers.”

Macy looked down at her ruined outfit, then back at Roman. He was fighting back a grin so large it was practically glowing.

“Well,” Roman said, standing up and grabbing his blazer. “I forgot to mention that the machine has been acting up. It’s under repair. You should probably call the service person and, of course, clean up this mess. I’m going to go get my coffee from the cafe downstairs. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He walked past her, the scent of his expensive, dry cologne trailing behind him.

Macy stood in the middle of the office, dripping. If this had been ten years ago, she would have chased him down with a bucket of glue. But the thought of her Tuesday salary held her back. One more day, Macy. Get the money first.

Claire found her five minutes later, helping her mop up with a roll of paper towels. “Macy! You smell like a trash can in a Starbucks!”

“I know, Claire. I know,” Macy sighed, wringing out the hem of her shirt.

“You need to keep a spare dress in your locker hereafter,” Claire advised. “I think Roman is just getting started. Think of all the things you did to him, Macy. He’s probably got a checklist.”

Tuesday morning arrived. Macy woke up early, her heart racing. She didn’t even care about the coffee incident anymore. Today was Payday.

She took the bus to work, her thumb hovering over her banking app. As the bus pulled up to the Blackwood Industries tower, she saw a group of junior analysts laughing by the fountain, talking about their “early morning credit” notifications.

Macy opened her app.

Current Balance: $1.27.

She refreshed the page. Current Balance: $1.27.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. She checked the transaction history. Nothing. No deposit from Blackwood Industries. No signing bonus.

She felt a hot, prickling anger rising from her chest to her throat. He could mess with her clothes. He could mess with her desk. But he was messing with her mother’s medicine. He was messing with her survival.

Macy didn’t stop at the reception. She didn’t wait for Claire. She marched straight to the eleventh floor, her heels clicking like a countdown on the marble floor. She threw open the double doors of the CEO’s office without knocking.

Chapter 8

Roman was sitting there, calmly reading the morning news, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. He looked up, his expression innocent. “Good morning, Macy. You’re looking… dry today. That’s an improvement.”

Macy slammed her hands onto his obsidian desk, leaning forward until she was inches from his face.

“I know what you did, Roman,” she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. “You can play your stupid games and you can prank me all you want. But you do not touch my paycheck. My mother needs that money.

The air in the CEO’s office was so thin it felt like it might snap. Macy stood there, her palms still pressed against the cold obsidian of Roman’s desk, her chest heaving with a mix of leftover fury and a sudden, sickening realization. She had just screamed at the man who held her entire future in his hands, and she had done it based on an assumption.

Roman sat perfectly still. He didn’t look angry; he looked disappointed, which was somehow a thousand times worse.

“Is that so, Ms. Rivers?” Roman asked, his voice a calm contrast to her fire. “Now, tell me exactly what Claire said about your paycheck.”

“She said it was processed,” Macy snapped, though her voice wavered slightly. “She said it would be in my account by Tuesday morning. Everyone else has been paid. Except me.”

Roman leaned back, his eyes searching hers. “Then if it was processed, it should be in your account.” Roman asked, “did you check with the payroll department?” Macy thought and said “No.” He sighed, a slow, weary sound, and reached for his desk phone. He dialed an internal extension and hit the speakerphone button, turning the device toward her.

The ringing was loud in the quiet room. Click.

“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood. This is the Payroll Department. How can I help you, sir?”

Roman gestured for Macy to speak. She cleared her throat, her face heating up. “Hi… this is Macy Rivers, Mr. Blackwood’s PA. I’m calling because I didn’t receive my salary today. Could you check the status?”

“Just a moment, Ms. Rivers.” The sound of typing filled the air. Macy felt Roman’s gaze on her, heavy and unreadable. “Yes, here it is. Your salary was processed last night, ma’am.”

Macy looked at Roman, her eyes flashing a ‘See?’ look. He didn’t react.

“But I didn’t receive it,” Macy said into the phone.

“Let me dig a little deeper… oh. Here it is. The payment was returned by the clearing house this morning. The error comment states: ‘Incorrect Bank Account Number.’ Could you please verify the details you entered in the employee portal?”

Macy felt the world tilt. Her hand went to her mouth. She pulled her phone out with trembling fingers and logged into the portal. Her eyes scanned the numbers she had entered during her frantic first day. There it was. A ‘7’ where a ‘1’ should have been. A simple, stupid, exhausted typo.

“I… I entered it wrong,” Macy whispered, her voice barely audible.

“What was that, ma’am?” the payroll clerk asked.

“I entered it wrong,” Macy said louder, her eyes filling with tears of sheer frustration and shame. “What should I do now? I really need that money today.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Rivers,” the voice on the other end said sympathetically. “Our policy is that failed payments are re-processed in the next cycle as arrears. You’ll see the funds in two weeks.”

Two weeks. The landlord wouldn’t wait two weeks. The pharmacy wouldn’t wait two weeks. She looked at Roman, her lip trembling, her pride completely vanished.

Before she could beg the clerk, Roman’s hand shot out. He pulled the phone toward him, his voice suddenly sharp and authoritative—the voice of a man who moved mountains.

“I want that salary processed and in her account within an hour,” Roman commanded.

“But sir… the policy—”

“I don’t care about the policy,” Roman interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This is an administrative priority. Move the funds manually if you have to. Do it immediately.”

“Of course, sir. Right away.”

Roman disconnected the call. The silence returned, but now it was suffocating. He didn’t look at her with a teasing smile. He didn’t mention the green powder or the coffee bath. He just looked at his laptop.

“Confirm with me once you’ve received it,” he said coldly.

“I… I am so sorry, Sir,” Macy stammered, her face burning with a shame so deep she wanted to sink through the floorboards. “I shouldn’t have… I was just so stressed about—”

“I have guests arriving shortly,” Roman said, cutting her off without looking up. “You’ll be using the outside workstation for the remainder of the day. You may go.”

Macy retreated. She moved her things to the outer desk, feeling like a kicked puppy. She updated her bank details and sent a formal apology email to payroll, but her heart wasn’t in it. An hour later, her phone buzzed. Deposit: $5,200. The salary and the bonus were there.

She typed a quick, professional text to Roman: Salary received. Thank you, Sir. And again, my apologies for the outburst.

The ‘Read’ receipt appeared instantly. But no reply came. Not a word.

Roman spent the rest of the day in meetings with his guests. When he left the office for an external site visit, he didn’t stop by her desk. He didn’t even look her way. He simply informed her via a brief intercom message that he wouldn’t be returning to the office that day.

At lunch, Macy sat with Claire, who was absolutely fuming.

“Are you insane?” Claire hissed, stabbing a cherry tomato with her fork. “You screamed at him? Over a typo you made? Macy, I told you he was professional, but he’s still the CEO! People have been fired for less than five percent of what you did this morning.”

“I know!” Macy groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I just… I saw the empty bank account and I thought of my mom, and then I thought of the gum and the coffee, and I just snapped. I thought he was playing a cruel joke on me.”

“He went to bat for you,” Claire reminded her. “He broke company policy to get you paid in an hour. Do you have any idea how much paperwork that creates for the finance team? He did that for you after you insulted him.”

“I know,” Macy whispered. “He won’t even look at me now.”

“Good,” Claire said. “Just do your work. The Secretary of Commerce meeting is tomorrow. That is the only thing that matters now. If that goes well, maybe he’ll forgive you. But for heaven’s sake, keep your mouth shut unless he asks you a question.”

The next day was the quietest day of Macy’s life. She arrived early, prepared his coffee perfectly, and set it on his desk. Roman didn’t say good morning. He didn’t ask for a refill. He didn’t even mention the presentation. He was a machine of cold efficiency, buried in his work for the big meeting.

Macy sat at her desk, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she did the final checks on the government briefing. She should have been happy. She was being left alone. No pranks. No teasing.

But as the hours ticked by, a strange ache formed in her chest. She actually missed the teasing. She missed the way his eyes would sparkle when he was about to say something annoying. This version of Roman—the distant, silent billionaire—felt like a stranger. It felt like she had finally pushed him too far and broken the only bridge they had left.

She looked through the glass partition at him. He looked tired, his brow furrowed as he studied a map of the city’s tech infrastructure. She wanted to walk in and ask him if he wanted a sandwich, or tell him a joke about the landlord, or just say… something.

But she didn’t. She just turned back to her screen, her heart heavy.

“Big day tomorrow, Macy,” she whispered to herself, trying to find her old confidence. “Focus on the work. That’s the only way back.”

As she packed her bag that evening, she realized the truth. The pranks weren’t just revenge—they were their language. And now, Roman had stopped speaking to her entirely.

Chapter 9

The morning air was crisp and smelled of rain—the kind of day that felt like it belonged to a high-stakes success story. Macy arrived at the Blackwood tower at exactly 7:00 AM, her heart pounding with a mixture of professional nerves and a desperate hope to fix the tension with Roman. She was dressed in her best charcoal suit, her hair pulled back into a sleek, efficient bun. She looked every bit the high-level executive assistant.

Near the elevators, she spotted Claire, Macy looked surprised to see her so early.

“Claire! You’re early,” Macy said, clutching a lukewarm cup of coffee. Claire said “Roman asked me to be here by 7:15. He said he had some extra work for me to handle before he leaves for the meeting.”

Macy tilted her head. “That’s strange. I have the entire briefing ready. I even double-checked the government protocols. I wonder what he needs you for?”

“I don’t know,” Claire shrugged. “Maybe he just wants a second pair of eyes. He’s been a bit… unpredictable lately. Anyway, all the best, Macy! This is your big moment. Go get ’em.”

Macy gave Claire a quick hug and headed for the CEO’s suite. Inside, Roman was already standing by the window, adjusting his cufflinks. He looked regal, a man built for boardrooms and power plays. When he saw her, his expression was neutral—the cold mask he’d worn since the payroll incident.

“Are the documents ready, Ms. Rivers?”

“Good morning, Sir. Yes, everything is packed,” Macy said, her voice professional but soft. She held out the leather-bound presentation bag. “The hard copies, the tablet, and the backup drive are all inside.”

Roman glanced at the bag. “We need one more notepad and the fountain pen from the inner desk. Get them quickly; the car is downstairs.”

Macy nodded and hurried to her workstation inside his office. She reached for the handle of the top drawer, the same one that had been plagued by gum only days before. She pulled it open, expecting to find her supplies.

PUFF.

A mechanical hiss was followed by a small, contained explosion of air. A cloud of vibrant, neon-green powder erupted from the drawer, hitting Macy square in the face. It wasn’t just powder—it was the exact same foul-smelling, stain-heavy soot from ten years ago.

Macy froze. She stood there, her mouth slightly open, coughing as the fine dust filled her lungs. It covered her eyes, her nose, and her pristine charcoal suit. The acrid smell of rotten eggs—her own signature recipe from high school—clung to her skin.

Roman didn’t laugh. He didn’t even look amused. He simply picked up his intercom. “Claire, come to my office. Now.”

When Claire walked in, she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Macy! Oh my god!”

Macy wiped a smear of green from her eyelid, her eyes red and watering from the irritant. She looked at Roman. He was standing by the door, his face a mask of cold satisfaction.

“I think we have a small problem here,” Roman said, his voice flat. “It appears Ms. Rivers has had a bit of a… domestic accident. Clearly, she cannot accompany us to meet the Secretary of Commerce looking like a cartoon character.”

He took the presentation bag from Macy’s trembling hand and handed it to Claire. “We’re late. Claire, you’re stepping in. Let’s go.”

Macy didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. The dust was in her throat, and the humiliation was in her heart.

“Go, Claire,” Macy whispered, her voice cracking as she saw her friend’s worried expression. “You’ll be late. Just… go.”

The meeting with the Secretary of Commerce was a resounding success. Thanks to Macy’s meticulous notes and Claire’s quick thinking, Blackwood Industries secured the government contract before the breakfast pastries had even gone cold.

As they sat in the back of the luxury sedan on the ride back to the office, Roman was practically radiating energy. “That went perfectly,” he remarked, looking out at the city skyline. “The growth we’ll see from this project is unprecedented. You did a good job, Claire.”

But Claire wasn’t smiling. She was staring at her lap, her hands tightly clasped.

“What’s wrong?” Roman asked, his brow furrowing. “The meeting was a victory. Why do you look like we lost?”

“I didn’t expect this from you, Roman,” Claire said, her voice low and sharp. “I’m glad we got the project. But I’m disgusted by what happened in your cabin. Do you have any idea how much Macy prepared for today? She stayed up until 2:00 AM perfecting those talking points. Why did you do that to her? Why did you hurt her like that?”

Roman’s smile vanished. “Hurt her? Claire, that ‘prank’ was her own invention. It was the exact thing she did to me at St. Jude’s. I just gave it back. It was justice.”

“Justice?” Claire turned to him, her eyes flashing with anger. “Roman, you’re a CEO. You’re a leader. Do you think ruining a professional’s biggest career moment over a high school grudge is justice? You’re ruining your own reputation. You’re acting like a bully.”

“You don’t understand,” Roman snapped, his voice rising. “You weren’t there when my family was hiding from my father’s creditors. You didn’t see me sitting in that hallway, covered in that green filth while the whole school laughed at the ‘nerd.’ I couldn’t fight back then. I was hiding. I was hurt.”

“She was an immature kid, Roman!” Claire argued. “I’m not saying what she did was right, but look at her now. She’s struggling. She’s desperate to save her mother. And do you want to know why she picked on you back then?”

Roman paused, his jaw tight. “Because I was an easy target.”

“No,” Claire said, her voice softening but remaining firm. “Because she wanted you to look at her. Macy was always the loud, talkative girl that everyone ignored. But when she pranked you, you actually saw her. Her methods were wrong, Roman, but her goal was your attention. She had a crush on you, you idiot.”

The car fell into a deafening silence. Roman felt a sudden, sharp pang in his chest. Attention? A crush? He remembered the way Macy’s eyes used to sparkle after a prank—not with malice, but with a strange, frantic energy. He remembered the way she had looked today—shattered, green, and silent.

“She wanted my attention?” Roman whispered, his pride suddenly feeling like a heavy, leaden weight.

“Enough with these games,” Claire said. “Life is already giving her a hard time. Her mom is sick, Roman. She doesn’t need a billionaire ghost from her past adding to the burden. Please. Stop.”

Roman stared out the window for a long time. The victory of the morning felt hollow now. “Fine,” he said quietly. “No more pranks. No more revenge. I’m done.”

“Good,” Claire sighed.

At that moment, Roman’s phone chimed. He pulled it out, expecting a congratulatory email from the board. Instead, his face went pale.

“What is it?” Claire asked, her heart sinking.

“It’s a message from Macy,” Roman said, his voice strained. “She’s taking an emergency leave today. No explanation. No ‘talkative’ excuses. Just… she won’t be in.”

Chapter 10

The evening sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long, bruised shadows over the city as Claire climbed the creaking stairs to Macy’s apartment. When the door opened, she found herself face-to-face with a sight that was both heartbreaking and unintentionally hilarious. Macy’s skin was still a vibrant, mossy shade of neon green. Her hair, though washed, had a strange, stiff texture, and the faint, sulfurous smell of the “stink bomb” lingered in the air like a ghost.

“Oh, Macy,” Claire whispered, stepping inside. “I think you missed a spot. Or… several hundred spots.”

“I tried,” Macy said, her voice sounding tired. She led Claire toward her bedroom, stepping softly past the closed door where her mother, Bethany, was resting. “I scrubbed until my skin felt like it was going to peel off. It’s like Roman used some advanced, military-grade formula. He didn’t just want me green; he wanted me green for a week.”

They sat on the edge of Macy’s bed. Claire looked at her friend with eyes full of guilt. “I am so incredibly sorry, Macy. I had no idea he was planning to replace you. If I had known, I would have warned you. I wouldn’t have just stood there.”

Macy managed a small, weary smile. “It’s okay, Claire. It wasn’t your fault. Tell me… how did the meeting go? Did he get it?”

“He got it,” Claire said, her voice brightening slightly. “The Secretary of Commerce was incredibly impressed. And Macy? Your talking points were the star of the show. Roman used almost every single one of your references. Even if you weren’t there in person, your brain won us that project.”

“Good,” Macy whispered. “At least the work didn’t go to waste.”

Claire studied her friend’s face. “I’ll be honest… I thought you’d be gone by now. I thought once the car pulled away this morning, you would have packed your desk and sent a resignation letter that would set the building on fire. I’m amazed you’re taking it so calmly.”

Macy looked down at her stained hands. “I did have that idea. The second the door closed behind you both, I started typing. I was going to quit. I was going to walk out and never look back. I didn’t care about the money; I just wanted my dignity back.”

“So what changed?”

“Life changed,” Macy said, a hollow laugh escaping her. “Right as I was about to hit ‘send’ on the email, my phone rang. It was the landlord. He had come to the apartment to collect the rent early, and while he was here, my mom had a respiratory episode. She couldn’t breathe, Claire. He had to call the ambulance and admit her to the hospital.”

Claire gasped, grabbing Macy’s hand. “Is she okay?”

“She’s stable now. She’s in the other room sleeping. But that hour in the hospital was a wake-up call. When I went to the billing desk, I realized that because of the insurance benefits from Blackwood Industries, the entire emergency visit and the new nebulizer were covered. Not a single penny out of pocket. And I was able to pay the landlord with the salary Roman forced through yesterday.”

Macy looked up, her green-tinged eyes shining with a fierce, quiet resolve. “I realized then that I can live with a green face. I can live with the humiliation and the pranks. My mother’s life is worth more than my pride. I don’t care what Roman does to me hereafter. I’m staying.”

Claire felt a surge of pride for her friend. This wasn’t the flighty, talkative girl from high school; this was a woman who was fighting for her family. “You’re a warrior, Macy Rivers. But you don’t need to worry about the pranks anymore. I spoke to him in the car. I told him he was being a bully, and I think I actually managed to knock some sense into him. He realized he went too far.”

Macy’s eyebrows shot up, looking strange against the green tint. “Really? The Great Roman Blackwood actually felt bad?”

“He did,” Claire said. “But Macy… I have to ask. Now that you’ve been on the receiving end of one of his pranks… how does it feel? Honestly?”

Macy sighed, the smell of the sulfur wrinkling her nose. “It feels terrible. It’s sticky, it’s gross, and the smell makes me want to barf. He’s a monster for doing it.”

“A monster?” Claire tilted her head. “Macy, remember that you were a monster once, too. And a much more public one. Roman did this to you in his private office with only me as a witness. You did it to him in the middle of the hallway, in front of the entire senior class, and then you took photos to make sure the humiliation lasted forever. Do you have any idea what he was going through back then?”

Macy’s defensive posture slumped. “I didn’t know the details.”

Claire Said, “His dad was in debt. They were hiding from people. School was the only place he felt safe, and you turned it into a circus. You did that to your crush, Macy. It’s a bit twisted, don’t you think?”

“He wasn’t my crush!” Macy protested, her cheeks flushing a dark pink that looked purple through the green dye. “I was just taking revenge for my Barbie bag! He was a nerd, and I was… I was just seeking—”

“Attention,” Claire finished for her. “You’re glowing, Macy. And it’s not just the neon powder. Your cheeks are turning red because you know I’m right. You liked him then, and you’re starting to like the man he’s become now, even if he is a pain in the butt.”

Macy groaned, falling back onto her pillows. “It doesn’t matter. How am I supposed to go to the office tomorrow looking like Shrek’s sister? Every staff member in that building saw me leave today. They’re going to have questions.”

“They already asked me,” Claire laughed. “And Macy, your talkative nature saved you again. Apparently, you told some people it was a ‘special skin treatment’?”

“I had to say something!” Macy defended. “They were staring! I told them it was an organic, deep-pore oxygenation mask.”

“Well, stick with that,” Claire advised. “Tell them it’s a homemade herbal treatment. It’s the new trend in ‘natural’ beauty. By noon, you’ll have the marketing department asking for the recipe.”

A soft cough came from the other room. “Macy? Is that you?”

The two girls stood up and went into the living room. Bethany was awake, looking frail but peaceful. She looked at Claire and smiled. “Hi, Claire. It’s so good to see you. Thank you for helping my Macy get that job. It’s been a godsend.”

“Macy did it all herself, Bethany,” Claire said, sitting by her side. “She’s a star at the office. She even helped the CEO land a massive government project today. Everyone is very proud of her.”

Bethany beamed, then looked at her daughter. “Macy, dear… why is your face still that color? I thought you were going to wash it off before dinner.”

Claire didn’t skip a beat. “It’s a herbal treatment, Mom. Very exclusive. It’s supposed to stay on for twenty-four hours to really get the ‘glow’ started.”

Bethany squinted at Macy. “Well, I can see that it’s working. You look very vibrant, dear. You’re practically glowing.”

Macy and Claire caught each other’s eyes. The absurdity of the situation—the green face, the fake beauty treatment, and the secret war with a billionaire—finally broke the tension. They both burst into a fit of giggles, laughing until their sides ached.

Macy realized then that as long as she had her mother, her friends, and a job that kept them safe, she could handle any color the world—or Roman Blackwood—threw at her.