A week passes and I can’t help wondering if I’ve misread Carson’s intent. As much as I wait for him to make a move, he’s nothing but professional. The work I’m doing now is much less intensive than that first day, and I don’t know if I should be grateful or not. At least I’m not wearing my feet down to the bone every day, but I feel almost…neglected. It’s not like I can run up to the handsome billionaire and demand that he continue his strange torture, just because I’m in need of attention.

Don’t get me wrong—he isn’t ignoring my existence entirely. He is assigning me the sorts of tasks you would expect for a personal assistant: fetching files, sending emails, the whole shebang.

I suppose what bothers me most of all is the lack of playful, high-stakes banter we had shared on my first day. It’s not that I’m not putting myself out there; I feel like I’ve made it almost painfully obvious what I’d like from him. He simply watches me through those all-seeing eyes, lips curved in a benign smile as he sends me to my next task.

Expecting to miss my internship in the marketing department, I’m relatively surprised at the ease in which I fall into assisting the handsome CEO. Admittedly, I feel like my talents are a bit wasted with the work I’m currently doing, but who’s to say I won’t actually learn something useful?

One troublesome issue is the constant whispering of my coworkers when I’m at Carson’s side. It seems as if everyone in the office knows something that I don’t, and I can only wonder if my desire for the CEO is more obvious than I’m aware of. Granted, I’m not totally stricken by the idea that it may be obvious. Apparently, it’s not clear enough for the man himself to notice.

Which finds me here, in my large corner office, sitting at my desk facing a window that allows the warm sunlight to filter in. The view is astounding when I find time to stare out the window, but I’m more concerned with the view inside the building. I breathe a sigh that is filled with more longing than I care to admit, forcing my eyes back onto the computer screen before me.

Idly tapping my nails on the top of the desk, I bite my lip as I try to wrangle the wild machine. My computer and I have been having our share of issues, but it’s likely because of the unfamiliar software installed on every computer in the building.

An unexpected perk of my new job is that I’m one of the few employees with permissions to add and delete files in Carson’s private network. Currently, I’m trying to find a specific file that my boss had instructed me to copy into his personal account, but he hadn’t been clear about which sub-section the file would be in. It seems like I’m going to have to scour the entire server to find this one tidbit of information.

I’ve only been through about twelve out of approximately one thousand sections, one for each employee. I’m frantically trying to locate the search feature on this particular server, but it’s like reading another language.

I’m not even entirely sure what I’m looking for. Apparently, it’s vaguely related to a Russian property deal that Carson is supposed to be finalizing in the coming days. I have no doubt that Carson can pull off the deal; he has a way with people that I could only hope to someday achieve.

Getting caught up in my infatuation with the CEO, however, won’t serve to locate this file I’m agonizingly searching for. I exhale an entirely unladylike snort through my nose, glancing towards the window for a moment. I idly click the button that will take me to the next directory, taking a moment to rest my chin in my hand.

As I move to draw my hand away from the mouse, I accidentally bump my keyboard. I jolt in surprise at the loud clacking sound, staring plaintively at the peripheral device for a moment before groaning and returning my attention to the monitor.

Wait…

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” I find myself screeching, bordering on hysteria. As I watch helplessly, the computer chugs along, deleting over ten thousand files in the directory I’ve clicked over to.

I fumble with the keyboard, trying to find a way to reverse the action. It seems I’m helpless, however, as more and more files are wiped from the system. In a panic, I grab the phone on my desk, dialing for tech support.

“Tech support, how can I help you?” a bored voice mumbles, and I can hear the clack of a keyboard in the background. As calmly as I’m able, I try to think of an un-incriminating way of finding out if there’s a way to restore the files that still in the process of being deleted.

“Yes, just a quick question. I’m new to the cloud server system, and I accidentally deleted a file from…my personal directory. Is there a way to restore it?” I ask shakily, trying to keep my voice under control.

The man on the line breathes a weary sigh, and I feel my heart plummet into my stomach.

“Well, sure. For your personal directory, it should be pretty easy to restore a file. You’d be out luck if it was one of the private directories, but good luck getting access to those,” he snickers.

I draw in a sharp breath, and hesitate for a moment before managing to find myself.

“Not that it’s of any relevance, uh, but…why wouldn’t we be able to recover a file from the private server?” I say with as much disinterest as I can muster.

The man chuckles, and I hear his keyboard beginning to clack again.

“For security reasons, Mr. Sharpe has insisted that files on the private system be utterly and completely purged upon deletion. He’s very picky about who gets access, so I guess he figures it’s safe enough to have such a precaution in place. Not entirely sure it’s wise, considering how finicky the system is, but try telling Carson Sharpe anything. Anyway, do you need me to walk you through recovering your file?” he asks disinterestedly.

My breath comes out in shuddering gasps, and I inhale a quaking breath before I can manage a reply.

“Actually, I think I figured it out. Thanks for your help,” I say in a rush, hanging up the phone with the intense fear that he can somehow trace the call. Of course, as far as anyone else knows, everything is just fine and dandy. If I can keep my head down, maybe this whole thing will blow over.

Ha, yeah right. I just deleted the entire directory related to the Russian real estate deal. I had been able to surmise that much as I watched the server systematically destroy the files, what with the hundreds of ‘IMPORTANT!!!’ headers. The file names had been clear about what was contained within each document, and it’s with a sense of bitter irony that I realize I had just so happened to find the right directory at the entirely wrong time.

Stricken by the desire to rush out of the office with an imaginary migraine, I sink into my office chair and groan loudly. Carson has billions of dollars at his disposal, and I have no doubt that this deal would have served to line his pockets even more comfortably. This is an offense beyond being fired. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue me for every penny I have, and then have me thrown in prison. With his cash, he’d have no problem paying off the police, lawyers, anyone…I’d rot in jail for the rest of my life.

Blind fear grips me as the severity of the situation crashes into me at full force. Rotting in jail forever might be a bit of an extreme reaction, but nevertheless, I don’t want to face him when he finds out what has happened. I pull my phone from my pocket, hesitating for a long moment as I try to come up with a reasonable excuse to step out for the day. Desperate as I am, I’m almost willing to play the explosive diarrhea card.

Before I can enter the message, however, my phone vibrates and a message pops up on my lock screen. I swear my heart stops when I see that it’s a message from Carson and, expecting the worst, I swipe my screen to read it. It’s an innocuous enough message, but the simplicity of it sends a jolt of fear down my spine. He’s saying he wants to see me in his office as soon as possible.

Glancing towards the window in my office, I briefly lament the fact that I’m not desperate enough to throw myself out of it. I could, however, just escape the premises and not stop until I’m home in Colfax, sobbing on my mother’s kitchen floor. It seems to go against everything I’ve worked so hard for, but hell, everything seemed to be in the shitter at this point.

A lump rises in my throat as my phone vibrates again. Another message from Carson. Apparently this meeting he wants to arrange is urgent.

God, please strike me down now.

Irrationally, I find myself cursing the fact that I won’t be able to get the billionaire in my bed once I’m fired.

Bracing myself, I decide to face the music and deal with Carson in whatever way I am able. I have no doubt that as soon as I step into his office he’ll tear me limb from limb, but at this rate, I’m only delaying the inevitable. I stand up from my office chair, my legs feeling like jelly as I walk towards the door. A funeral march plays in my head, and it’s all I can do to not burst into tears.

The walk to Mr. Sharpe’s office seems both agonizingly long and far too short. There’s silence on the upper floor, and I realize that most of the other employees on this level have departed for their lunch break. Thoughts of him having me right there and then creep up on me unexpectedly, and I laugh almost hysterically at how inappropriate they are.

“Quit being ridiculous, Aimee,” I whisper to myself, pausing outside the door to Carson’s office. The door seems to loom over me, large and imposing. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m walking to my doom, but I’m borderline hysterical at this point. Scratch the borderline part—I’m entirely hysterical, and internally lamenting the fact that if I had just kept my mouth shut in that first meeting, I wouldn’t be in this position.

In another lifetime, I could be in my simple marketing internship, happy as a clam to have the chance of a lifetime. Now, in one fell swoop (or more precisely, with the tap of a single button) I’ve thrown my entire future into the garbage.

I can only hope that Mr. Sharpe will find enough kindness in his heart to let me down gently. He holds the power in his hands to see that I never land another job in real estate, marketing, or the entire Seattle area. God only knows how far his reach extends. I would have to move back to Colfax. Everything would be over.

Swallowing my fear, I knock lightly on the door, then grip the doorknob and step inside.