CHAPTER 7

SCARLETT FOSTER

The ten o'clock board meeting went on for two excruciating hours.

I sat at the smaller side desk inside the grand conference room, my fingers flying across my laptop keyboard as I took detailed minutes. Across the long mahogany table, Caleb presided over the meeting with effortless authority. He shot down weak proposals with quiet efficiency and dismantled aggressive questions from older investors without missing a beat.

Sitting directly to his right was Julianna Vance. Every time Caleb spoke, she watched him with a proprietary gleam in her eyes, leaning in just a little too close whenever she presented her department’s slides.

I kept my head down and focused entirely on my screen. I told myself I didn't care. Julianna was a wealthy heiress, a senior board member, and part of the high-society world Caleb now belonged to. It made complete sense for her to be by his side. But every time her laughter echoed softly across the room at one of his subtle remarks, a tiny, annoying knot tied itself in my stomach.

"That concludes our agenda for today," Caleb announced, closing his leather folder. "Miss Foster will email the finalized minutes by three this afternoon."

The board members began gathering their tablet devices and leather portfolios, chatting casually as they made their way toward the exit.

I saved my document, shut down my laptop, and stacked my note pads neatly against my chest. As I stood up to leave, Julianna stepped directly into my path, a subtle, patronizing smile on her face.

"Great work keeping up with the speed of the meeting, Miss Foster," she said smoothly, resting a manicured hand on her hip. "Caleb’s previous assistant usually took twice as long to summarize the financial breakdowns. It’s nice to see he finally hired someone who knows how to type quickly."

I offered her a polite, practiced corporate smile. "Thank you, Miss Vance. I aim to be efficient."

"I'm sure you do," she replied, her voice dropping into a lower, sharper register. "Though I hope you understand that working for Caleb requires more than just fast typing. He’s navigating a very sensitive merger right now with my family’s firm. The last thing he needs is unnecessary drama from... temporary help."

The insult was wrapped in a fake polite bow, but the message was crystal clear: Know your place.

Before I could craft a sharp, professional response, Caleb’s deep voice cut through the air behind us.

"Is there something else you need from my assistant, Julianna?"

Caleb walked over, his long strides calm and deliberate. He stopped right beside me, his tall frame instantly shifting the dynamic in the room. He didn't look at Julianna; his gray eyes rested squarely on me, checking my face for any sign of distress.

Julianna’s sharp expression melted back into her soft, charming facade in a second. "Not at all, Caleb. I was just giving Miss Foster a quick compliment on her speed. We were just finishing up."

"Good. Because she has work to finish for me in my office," Caleb said flatly. He glanced down at the heavy stack of folders in my arms. "Hand those to me, Scarlett."

"I've got them, Mr. Montgomery," I said quickly, tightening my grip on the folders. "It's fine."

Without arguing, Caleb simply reached out and took the entire stack from my hands anyway, effortlessly tucked them under his arm, and placed his free hand lightly on the small of my back to guide me out of the conference room.

The touch was brief, subtle, and completely natural, but through the fabric of my thin blouse, it felt like a jolt of pure electricity. I saw Julianna’s eyes drop directly to where his hand rested on my back, her jaw tightening in a split second of pure rage before she quickly looked away.

We walked in silence down the private corridor toward the executive suite. The moment we stepped into his spacious office, I turned to him, putting a healthy three feet of distance between us.

"You don't have to carry my files, Caleb," I said, my tone a mix of mild irritation and boundary-setting. "And you definitely don't need to baby me in front of the board members. I can handle Miss Vance."

Caleb placed the stack of files neatly on his wide mahogany desk. He leaned against the edge, unbuttoning his suit jacket and looking at me with an unreadable expression.

"She was out of line," he said simply.

"She's a board member," I pointed out, crossing my arms over my chest. "And I'm your assistant. If you keep stepping in like a bodyguard every time someone makes a passive-aggressive comment, people are going to start asking questions. In fact, they probably already are."

Caleb stared at me for a long moment, the quiet room filling with an intense, heavy energy.

"Let them ask," he said, his voice quiet, steady, and dangerously calm. "I don't care what they think, Scarlett."

"Well, I do!" I retorted, stepping closer to his desk. "I need this job to survive. I finally have a stable salary and a chance to get my life back on track. I can't afford to be the center of office gossip because my boss keeps giving me special treatment."

Caleb let out a low breath, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare display of frustration. "It's not special treatment. I hate seeing people talk down to you when you're twice as smart as anyone in that boardroom."

"That's part of the corporate world, Caleb," I said, softening my tone slightly as I saw the genuine concern in his eyes. "I know how to navigate it. But I need you to let me do my job without making it look like... whatever this is."

He looked at me, his gray eyes searching my face, taking in the tired line of my shoulders. He slowly nodded, taking a deliberate step back to restore the professional space between us.

"Fine," he said quietly. "Professional. I'll tone it down."

"Thank you," I said, feeling a tiny wave of relief—mixed with an annoying, lingering ache I refused to acknowledge.

"However," Caleb added, picking up a sleek black invitation card from his desk and sliding it across the polished wood toward me. "You still have to come with me to the annual charity gala tomorrow night. As my assistant, you'll be managing the donor lists and press schedules on-site."

I picked up the heavy card. The gold foil lettering spelled out an exclusive, black-tie event at the city's most lavish estate.

"Is this strictly work?" I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Caleb held up his hands in a mock surrender, a tiny, dangerous flicker of a smirk appearing at the corner of his lips. "Strictly work, Miss Foster. The company driver will pick you up at seven."