Chapter 1 The Reluctant Assistant

# Chapter 1: The Reluctant Assistant

I never wanted my father's empire. Not like this. Not with strings attached and vultures circling overhead, waiting for me to fail.

The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my new office, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood. I drummed my fingers on the glossy desk—my desk now—and stared at the stack of reports I'd been avoiding since yesterday.

Reynolds Biotech Subsidiary. A company hemorrhaging money for the last three quarters. A company my father had suddenly decided I should manage.

"Ms. Winters?" My new secretary's voice came through the intercom. "Your father's representative is here to see you."

I pressed the button. "Send them in."

The door opened, and I expected another one of my father's gray-suited sharks. Instead, a young man walked in, clutching a leather portfolio to his chest like a shield. He had soft brown hair that fell just above intelligent green eyes, and a hesitant smile that seemed almost apologetic.

"Ms. Winters," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Evan Mitchell. Your father sent me to assist with the transition."

I didn't take his hand. "You mean babysit me."

His cheeks flushed slightly as he lowered his arm. "I'm here to help in whatever capacity you need."

"What I need is for my father to trust me to run this company without supervision." I gestured to the chair across from me. "But since that's not happening, sit down, Mr. Mitchell."

He sat, his posture perfect but somehow still conveying discomfort. Too innocent for Richard Winters' inner circle. Which made him either very new or very dangerous.

"So," I said, leaning back in my chair, "what exactly are your qualifications for 'assisting' me?"

"I've been with Winters Enterprises for three years. MBA from Harvard. I've worked directly under your father for the past year in corporate strategy." He spoke with precision, but his eyes darted around the room, never quite meeting mine for long.

"And what did you do to get exiled to my little corner of hell?"

His eyes widened slightly. "It's not an exile, Ms. Winters. It's an opportunity—"

"To spy on me for my father," I finished for him.

Evan swallowed visibly. "I'm here to provide support and insight."

I studied him—his expensive but conservative suit, his carefully neutral expression, the way his fingers tightened imperceptibly around his portfolio when I challenged him. He was either an excellent actor or genuinely intimidated by me. Either way, I could use that.

"The board meeting starts in twenty minutes," I said, standing abruptly. "Let's see how supportive you really are."

---

The boardroom buzzed with tension when I walked in, Evan trailing behind me like a shadow. Eight pairs of eyes tracked our movement—most curious, some hostile. These were my father's people, not mine.

"Gentlemen," I said, taking my place at the head of the table. "Let's not waste time. The subsidiary is failing, and we need to decide whether to salvage it or sell it off for parts."

Marcus Greene, CFO and my father's oldest ally, cleared his throat. "With all due respect, Ms. Winters, your father had specific plans for this division."

"My father isn't here," I replied coolly. "And he put me in charge, which means my plans take precedence now."

Greene's jaw tightened. "The R&D department has three promising projects that could—"

"That could take years to develop and more capital than we're prepared to invest," I interrupted, sliding reports across the table. "I've reviewed the numbers. We're bleeding money on speculative research with minimal return potential."

For the next hour, I outlined my strategy: streamline operations, cut the least promising research projects, and refocus on the two products closest to market. With each point, the tension in the room grew thicker.

Throughout it all, Evan sat silently beside me, occasionally sliding relevant documents my way before I even asked for them. He was efficient, I'd give him that.

"This is reckless," Greene finally said. "You're dismantling years of work."

"I'm saving a sinking ship," I countered. "Unless you'd prefer to explain to my father why his subsidiary went bankrupt under your guidance?"

The meeting ended with reluctant agreement to implement my initial changes, though I could feel the resistance simmering beneath the surface. As the board members filed out, I caught Greene whispering to Evan, who nodded slightly before returning to my side.

When the room cleared, I turned to him. "What did Greene tell you?"

Evan blinked. "He just asked if I'd settled into my new office."

"Liar," I said softly. "But that's fine. I expect nothing less from my father's spy."

I gathered my papers, watching his reaction from the corner of my eye. His discomfort was evident, but there was something else—a quiet determination that hadn't been there when he first walked into my office.

"You did well in there," he said suddenly. "They weren't expecting someone so prepared."

"Disappointed?"

"Impressed, actually." His voice had lost some of its earlier hesitancy.

I smiled thinly. "Don't worry, Mr. Mitchell. I'm sure you'll find plenty to report back to my father soon enough."

As we walked back to my office, I made my decision. If my father wanted to place a watchdog at my side, I'd show him exactly how dangerous that could be. Evan Mitchell might look harmless, but he was still my father's tool—and I intended to break him or remake him into mine.

---

The day dragged on with meetings and calls. By evening, most of the staff had left, but I noticed Evan was still at his desk outside my office, typing diligently on his laptop.

I watched him through the glass wall separating our spaces. There was something almost endearing about his focus, the way he occasionally pushed his hair back from his forehead or frowned slightly at whatever he was working on.

Dangerous thoughts. I needed to remember why he was here.

I pressed the intercom. "Mr. Mitchell, come in here please."

He appeared moments later, notepad in hand. "Yes, Ms. Winters?"

"Everyone else has gone home," I said, gesturing to the darkened office beyond. "Why are you still here?"

"I wanted to finish the analysis you requested," he replied. "And I thought you might need assistance with tomorrow's presentation."

I stood and walked around my desk until I was standing directly in front of him. "Stay late tonight."

His brow furrowed slightly. "Of course. What do you need me to work on?"

"I need you to serve me," I said, my voice deliberately ambiguous.

The flush that spread across his face was instantaneous. His lips parted, but no words came out.

I stepped closer, close enough to smell his cologne—something subtle and expensive. "You know why you're really here, don't you, Evan?"

He swallowed hard. "To assist you with the subsidiary."

I leaned in, my lips almost brushing his ear. "You know you were sent to seduce me, right?" I whispered. "So why not play the part?"

When I pulled back, his eyes were wide, his breathing shallow. He didn't deny it. Didn't walk away.

"I'll be in my office until nine," I said, returning to my desk. "You can decide what kind of assistant you want to be."

After he left, I sat back in my chair, satisfaction curling through me. The look on his face had been worth it—confusion, desire, and most importantly, fear. Good. Let him report that back to my father.

I worked for another hour before deciding to call it a night. The office was silent as I gathered my things, no sign of Evan. Perhaps he'd fled after our little confrontation. Disappointing, but not surprising.

As I reached for my desk lamp, my fingers brushed against something unfamiliar beneath the edge of my desk. I paused, then carefully felt along the surface until I found it—a small, round object adhered to the underside.

A listening device. Professionally installed, nearly undetectable.

So that's how it was going to be.

I smiled to myself as I left it in place and turned out the lights. Evan Mitchell wasn't just a spy; he was more devious than I'd given him credit for. This game just got more interesting.

Let him listen. Let him report back. I'd show my father—and his little spy—exactly who they were dealing with.

The game had begun.

Is this first chapter satisfactory?