After my disastrous first day, I don’t have much time to dwell on Dominic Wilder—Dominic Wilder, the smoldering hot billionaire whose eyes lit my nerves and senses on fire—while I’m at the office.

For two reasons.

For one, the team at headquarters doesn’t think he’s involved in the transfer of information from his corporation to unfavorables in China. My supervisor, Milton Jeffries, specifically asked me not to concentrate my efforts above the executive level. As far as I can tell, Dominic is the only person that high up in this company. Of course, they couldn’t give me—or anyone else at the FBI—any guarantees, which is why I’m here undercover and not as part of a cooperative effort with Wilder Enterprises. It’s unorthodox for sure, but if it turns out he is involved, that’s above my pay grade.

Secondly, there’s barely enough time in the day for me to win back all the respect I lost by walking in here with a jelly doughnut smeared on my shirt. It’s a fine line. I can’t be too much of a standout, because once I’m done with this job, I want to fade out of people’s minds, leaving me free to pursue other cases. But I need to be perceived as trustworthy so that I can move up the ranks, at least a little, and gain access to the kinds of information that will tell me what I need to know.

What that information is, I’m not sure yet.

But I throw myself into my job, which is like being on an entire team of secretaries. For the first two weeks, they book me solid with the kind of minutiae that I can tell usually goes to the greenest people on staff. I double-check itineraries for executives traveling to various events and conferences and meetings around the globe. I file expense paperwork. I double-check the expense paperwork that other people file. And then I refile it.

Two weeks and one day after I start at Wilder Enterprises, I’m double-checking more double-checked expense filings, really getting into the flow, half starting to wonder if being in Executive Support is my true calling in life instead of working for the FBI, when Ms. Lillianfield’s terse voice breaks into my thoughts.

“Ms. Davis.” I swivel around in my seat, a prepared smile on my face. “Am I interrupting?”

Yeah, but if this is my big break— “Not at all. I was coming to a stopping point. What can I do for you?” I stopped saying “what’s up?” after four days at Wilder Enterprises. Ms. Lillianfield is the gatekeeper, that much is clear, and she is surprisingly old-fashioned for a woman who works for one of the world’s biggest energy companies. The slight downturn of the corners of her mouth told me she hated “what’s up,” so I scrubbed it from my vocabulary, along with “hey” and “no problem.”

She considers me for a moment or two, taking me in from head to toe. I’ve started to subtly mimic her style, which usually consists of a smart skirt suit and hair played up in a tight bun. I see a flash of approval in her eyes when she gives the bun in my own hair a cursory glance. “You’ve been doing well here.” Approval or not, her voice is still a little begrudging. I incline my head and wait. Ms. Lillianfield also doesn’t like to waste time on pleasantries like being thanked for compliments.

Another long moment of appraisal. “In view of this, I’d like to reward you with a more complex assignment.”

She sure plays her cards close to her chest. “I’d love to take on a bigger project.”

Ms. Lillianfield gives me a sharp nod. “Wonderful. I’ll send you an email in about ten minutes with all the details. Come to me if you have any questions.” Her tone indicates that if I have questions, I’m probably not cut out for whatever this assignment is.

“Thank you, Ms. Lillianfield.” By the time the words are out of my mouth, she’s already halfway back to her office.

My heart beats a little faster in my chest. This could be it—this could be the sign that I’m starting to gain a foothold here, and then I can really get moving on this case. They’d be so impressed if I came in early and under budget on this one, and there’d be no stopping my ascent at the FBI.

I fly through the rest of the expense reports and wait for the promised email to come in, tapping my foot anxiously against the industrial carpet. Marie pokes her head around the cubicle wall. “Did something happen? I heard Lillianfield in here a minute ago.”

“Waiting on a new assignment.” Her lips go into a round O, and I smile at her.

My computer pings—a new email has arrived—and I whip my head back toward the screen. It takes a second to load. “Come on, come on.”

Ms. Davis—

I’d like you to coordinate a meeting for executives Feldman, Overhiser, and Childs with the individuals listed below at some point during the Mumbai conference next week. This will need to be slotted into available openings in their schedules, confirmed with all three of their staffs, and coordinated to successful completion…

I stifle a giggle at “successful completion,” then force my face into a sober expression as I read the rest of the email.

This is it.

This has to be it, because there have been rumblings in the cubicle farm about Overhiser and Childs each posting and hiring for chief executive assistant positions in the next few weeks. There’s no way this isn’t a test to see if I’d be cut out for one of those jobs.

I can’t hide a small smile of satisfaction from appearing on my lips. Despite everything, despite the torn pantyhose and the jelly doughnut stain, I’m making headway. I’m going to untangle this thing, and I’m going to do it in record time.

A note at the bottom of the email catches my eye. Feldman, Overhiser, and Childs report directly to Mr. Wilder, who will have final approval over all negotiations made during this meeting. Please prepare a summary of the outcome and have it to him within twenty-four hours of the meeting’s conclusion.

My heart flies into my throat.

In the back of my mind, I knew that the executives at Wilder Enterprises would come into contact with Dominic Wilder. I didn’t think that making this leap would involve reaching out to him personally, even if it is entirely work-related.

He’ll see my name on the summary that I send.

I shake my head a little. It’s not going to make an impression on him. I’m undercover, for God’s sake, and dropping that box of doughnuts was the last—and only—time I need to come to his attention.

He’s probably forgotten about me already, I reassure myself, but deep down, I’m not entirely convinced.