Monday arrived too quickly, sliding into Denisse's life like an uninvited guest who didn't bother to knock.
The weekend still clung to her in soft fragments. Late mornings. Quiet coffee. The rare luxury of not checking her phone every five minutes. As she sat at her desk now, the office felt sharper by comparison, brighter, colder, more awake than she was ready for.
She placed her bag down carefully, lining up her tablet, documents, and planner with practiced precision. The faint hum of computers waking up filled the air, accompanied by the distant sound of elevators and muffled footsteps down the hall. Everything was exactly as it should be.
Almost.
Denisse glanced at the clock on her screen.
7:55 a.m.
Five minutes before official working hours.
Her eyes drifted, almost on instinct, toward the short stretch of space leading directly to the CEO's office.
Empty.
A small crease formed between her brows. Lesley Ashford was many things. Brilliant. Charismatic. Occasionally infuriating. But late without notice? That was new.
Denisse tried not to think too much of it. Maybe traffic. Maybe a last-minute call. Maybe she was already inside, and Denisse had simply missed her arrival.
When the clock clicked over to 8:00 a.m., the sound seemed louder than usual.
Denisse stood.
Her heels echoed softly against the polished floor as she walked toward the CEO's office, straightening her blouse out of habit. She paused in front of the door, lifted her hand, and knocked gently.
"Ms. Ashford?" she called, her voice calm and professional.
Silence.
She waited a beat, then another. The air felt strangely still. Denisse turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The office was empty.
The large desk stood untouched. The chair neatly pushed in. No jacket draped over the back. No coffee cup. No sign that Lesley had been there at all.
A flicker of unease passed through her.
Denisse closed the door and returned to her desk, already pulling out her phone. She dialed Lesley's number.
Ring.
Ring.
No answer.
She tried again. And again.
Still nothing.
Her lips pressed together as irritation began to edge out concern. She leaned back in her chair, phone resting against her ear.
"Is this how a CEO behaves?" she muttered under her breath. "Not even leaving a notice if she's coming in late?"
She ended the call and stared at her screen for a moment, torn between annoyance and something quieter. Something she didn't want to name.
As she reached into her bag to put her phone away, her fingers brushed against smooth paper.
She froze.
Slowly, Denisse pulled it out.
A paper card.
She stared at it, memory unfolding without permission.
Mrs. Ashford emerged from the CEO's office with an expression that lingered somewhere between relief and fond concern.
Denisse, seated just outside at her desk, noticed immediately. She rose to her feet, posture straight but relaxed, offering a polite smile that came easily after years of practice.
"Will you be heading out now, ma'am?" she asked.
Mrs. Ashford adjusted the strap of her handbag and nodded. "Yes. I've already taken up enough of her time for one morning."
Her gaze drifted back to the office door, as if she could still see her daughter inside, then returned to Denisse. Her eyes softened, studying her a little longer than necessary.
"I'm counting on you," she said quietly.
Denisse blinked. "On me, ma'am?"
"You're her assistant," Mrs. Ashford said gently. "Which means you see her before anyone else does. You know when she's tired. When she's pushing herself too hard."
Denisse felt something warm settle in her chest. "I'll look after her," she said without hesitation.
Mrs. Ashford smiled at that, the kind of smile that suggested she had already known the answer. She reached into her bag, fingers brushing past lipstick and keys, before pulling out a small, folded paper card.
She pressed it gently into Denisse's palm.
"For emergencies," she said.
Denisse glanced down, then unfolded it carefully. A handwritten number stared back at her.
"This is...?" she asked, though she already suspected.
"The pin code to Lesley's place," Mrs. Ashford replied lightly. "Just in case."
Denisse's eyes widened slightly. "Oh—ma'am, I don't know if that's appropriate."
Mrs. Ashford leaned in just a bit, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "If Lesley ever calls you late at night," she said, "insisting she's perfectly sober while clearly not, I'd rather it be you who brings her home."
A soft laugh escaped Denisse before she could stop it. She pictured it all too clearly.
"I trust you," Mrs. Ashford continued, her tone warm. "You already take care of her at the office. This just... extends the job description."
Denisse swallowed, cheeks warming. "I'll only use it if it's necessary."
"Oh, of course," Mrs. Ashford said, smiling. Then her eyes sparkled. "Though if you end up staying longer than planned one day, at least you won't be locked out."
Denisse's breath stuttered. Heat rushed to her face, unmistakable this time. "Ma'am," she said softly, embarrassed and amused all at once.
Mrs. Ashford laughed, clearly delighted. "Relax, dear. I'm teasing. Mostly."
She squeezed Denisse's hand gently before stepping away, leaving the keycard behind.
As Mrs. Ashford walked toward the elevator, Denisse stood there for a moment, the card resting in her palm, feeling far too personal for something so small.
She told herself it was just responsibility.
Just part of being Lesley Ashford's assistant.
But her heartbeat refused to slow, and the warmth in her cheeks lingered long after Mrs. Ashford was gone.
The memory dissolved, leaving Denisse standing in the present, the folded card resting lightly in her hand.
She let out a breath through her nose and shook her head.
"God, Lesley," she muttered, sliding the paper back into her bag. "You should pay me double for checking every possible place you could be."
Annoyance slid in, familiar and almost comfortable. This was typical. Unreachable. Inconsiderate. Exactly the kind of thing Lesley would pull without thinking of the ripple effect.
Denisse snapped her bag shut, the sound sharper than needed.
Still, she checked her phone once more before standing. No missed calls. No messages.
She ignored the faint tightening in her chest and stood, gathering her things with brisk efficiency. If Lesley wanted to be irresponsible, that was on her. Denisse was not worried. She was simply doing her job.
The office felt unusually quiet as she walked toward the exit, the click of her heels sharp against the floor. Too quiet. She pushed the thought away.
Late without notice. No answer. No explanation.
Unprofessional. That was all.
And yet her steps didn't slow, and she didn't hesitate before leaving the building.
Whatever mess Lesley had gotten herself into, Denisse would deal with it.
Not because she cared.
Because someone had to.
...Is that so? Her chest tightened for a fleeting second, and she shook her head.
-
The taxi rolled to a smooth stop in front of a sleek, high-end modern residence tucked behind tall hedges and discreet lighting. Glass, steel, and stone reflected the late morning sun in clean, confident lines. The kind of house that didn't announce its wealth loudly. It didn't have to.
Denisse stepped out, the door closing behind her with a dull thud. The taxi pulled away almost immediately, its engine fading down the private road and leaving her alone in the sudden quiet.
She stood there for a moment, bag slung over her shoulder, taking it all in.
So this is where she lives.
The house felt... very Lesley. Polished. Expensive.
Denisse approached the front door, her steps slowing despite herself. Her fingers brushed against the folded paper in her bag before she pulled it out, unfolding it carefully. The handwritten pin stared back at her.
She inhaled once, then keyed in the numbers on the sleek security knob.
The device responded instantly. A soft click. Smooth. Efficient.
The door unlocked.
Denisse blinked, impressed despite her mood. "Wow," she murmured. "Seeing our product work in person is... actually amazing."
She shook her head at herself and stepped inside.
The living room greeted her with quiet elegance. High ceilings. Neutral tones. Floor-to-ceiling windows that let light spill across polished surfaces. It was immaculate. Too immaculate.
"Ms. Ashford?" she called.
Her voice echoed faintly.
No answer.
Denisse moved farther in, heels muted against the floor, and made her way into the kitchen. She stopped short, eyes widening before she could stop herself.
"Oh my god," she whispered.
The appliances gleamed like something pulled straight from a cooking show. A La Cornue range sat proudly at the center, all polished brass and authority. Everything looked untouched, pristine, almost ceremonial.
Denisse's brow lifted, a smirk tugging at her lips. "With all these expensive toys... can she really cook?" she muttered under her breath. Her gaze swept over the gleaming ovens, the mixers, and the impossibly precise gadgets. "I mean, sure... she manages a restaurant, but that doesn't necessarily mean she can actually cook."
She shook her head slightly, letting out a soft, sarcastic sigh. "I just hope your owner actually uses you from time to time," she added quietly, as if addressing the appliances themselves.
A faint, amused smile lingered on her face, but she shook it off. Focus. You're not here to critique a kitchen—you're here to find Lesley.
Taking a deep breath, she turned away from the appliances, letting her gaze sweep the rest of the room. Silence stretched around her, almost too perfect, too polished. She called out again, louder this time, forcing her voice to carry.
"Ms. Ashford?"
Still nothing.
A faint unease nudged at her, unwelcome but persistent. She headed upstairs, the house growing quieter with every step. The hallway was lined with framed photographs and abstract art, but she barely noticed them.
One door stood slightly ajar.
The bedroom.
Denisse paused. "Ms. Ashford?" she said, knocking lightly. "Are you here?"
No response.
She hesitated, then gently pushed the door open.
And froze.
Lesley lay sprawled across the bed, hair tousled, one arm flung carelessly above her head. Clothes were scattered across the floor in careless abandon. A half-empty bottle of wine lay on its side near the bed.
She was asleep.
Peaceful.
And wearing nothing but her underwear.
Denisse swallowed hard.
Her eyes betrayed her, moving slowly, traitorously. From the bare curve of Lesley's legs, to the smooth line of her waist, the rise and fall of her chest. Too intimate. Too close. Too much.
She jerked her gaze away, heat blooming across her face.
"What the hell are you doing, Denisse?" she whispered to herself. "You came here to find her. Obviously she's here. Now wake her up."
She stepped closer, heart thudding louder with every step. Leaning down, she reached out and tapped Lesley's cheek gently.
"Ms. Ashford," she said softly. "Wake up."
"Mmm..." Lesley murmured, barely stirring.
"Ms. Ashford, it's already—"
She didn't get to finish.
Suddenly, Lesley's hand closed around her wrist and tugged. Denisse stumbled, balance gone, landing on the edge of the bed with a soft gasp.
Before she could recover, Lesley wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, legs tangling instinctively, holding her there like she was something precious that might slip away.
Denisse froze.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs. Their faces were only inches apart. She could feel Lesley's breath, warm and slow. Could see every detail up close. Smooth skin. Long lashes.
And those lips.
Pink. Soft. Distractingly close.
She stared too long.
Then Lesley's eyes fluttered open.
"Ahh!" Lesley yelped, jerking back. "Denisse?!"
Denisse shot upright at the same time. "Oh my god—no—"
"What are you doing here?" Lesley demanded, then suddenly looked down at herself. Her eyes widened. "Wait. Don't tell me—" she pointed between them. "We didn't—"
"No!" Denisse blurted, scrambling backward. "God, no! Absolutely not—"
She froze mid-step, heart hammering, hands trembling slightly. Her cheeks burned, and her eyes darted around the room as if she could vanish into the walls.
Lesley stared at her, unbothered by her lack of clothing, one brow slightly raised. "Then why are you here? And how did you even get in?"
Denisse's face flamed red. She looked away, fiddling nervously with the strap of her bag.
"You... you weren't at the office. No notice. No calls..." Her voice wobbled slightly. She swallowed, forcing herself to continue. "I tried calling, but... nothing. That's why I came to find you."
Her fingers twisted nervously at the edge of her bag. "Your mother... she gave me your pin when she visited. That's... that's how I got in."
Lesley's lips curved into a small, amused smile. She leaned back against the edge of the bed, letting her gaze linger on Denisse as she shifted from foot to foot, her fingers tightening on her bag strap. "Hmm... so why are you suddenly glancing that way?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, eyes sparkling with teasing curiosity.
Denisse froze, caught in the act. Her stomach knotted, and she gripped the strap tighter, taking a tiny, awkward step backward. Her mind scrambled, clinging to her professional reasons, though they sounded flimsy even to her own ears.
Lesley chuckled softly, a warm, melodic sound that made Denisse's ears burn. "And suddenly so quiet?" she added, letting the words linger like a teasing caress. She straightened, walking toward the window with unhurried ease, bare and completely unbothered, and reached for a robe nearby, slipping it casually over her shoulders, the fabric whispering against her skin. "Didn't like what you saw?"
Denisse's mouth opened, then closed again, unable to form a proper response. She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how loud her own heartbeat seemed in the quiet, elegant room. The smell of Lesley's perfume—soft, lingering—made her stomach twist.
She took another step back, forcing herself to focus. "I... I'll wait downstairs," she said, her voice a little higher than she intended. "You have a meeting at eleven."
Her heels clicked against the polished floor, each step a reminder that no matter how much Lesley teased, flirted, or disrupted her composure, she had a job to do. Still... why did her pulse refuse to slow?
She didn't wait for a response, nearly running down the stairs, heart hammering in her chest.
Her reflection stared back at her, flustered and very much not okay.
Those lips.
So close.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head hard.
"What the hell are you even thinking," she whispered. "Forget it. Forget it. Forget it, Denisse."
But the memory lingered—the lips, the breath, the heat of being pulled close—and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about it.