Seduced By His Touch

CHAPTER ONE: The Ghost in the Pile

"Come in," Leo grunted. He rubbed the base of his skull, trying to massage away a headache that felt like a localized earthquake.

The door creaked. Precious, his lead secretary, walked in balancing a stack of manila folders that looked heavy enough to cause a back injury. She gave him that look again—the one people usually save for car crash survivors.

"Resumes for the PA spot, Mr. Joe," she said, dropping the pile onto his mahogany desk with a heavy thud. "I weeded out the disasters. These are the ones who actually have a shot. If you greenlight them, I'll have HR set up interviews for Thursday."

Leo leaned back, his chair groaning under his weight. "What happened to the people from yesterday?"

"Most of them couldn't handle the pace, sir," Precious said, her voice dry. "And after your last assistant walked out mid-shift because of a breakup? Yeah, I focused on 'stability' this time."

"Stability," Leo repeated with a huff. "Three years of work, then she vanishes because some guy named Trevor found a new hobby? Women, man. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t survive the office without ‘em."

Precious gave him a tight, professional smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I’m sure your soulmate-assistant is in that pile. I’ll leave you to it."

"Thanks," Leo muttered.

As the door clicked shut, he stared at the folders. He knew he was a control freak—you don't build a multi-million dollar empire from a basement laptop by being "chill." He didn't trust HR. He needed someone who wouldn't crumble the second he raised his voice.

He flipped through the first few. Mary Jackson: Good, but boring. Move to 'maybe.' The next three: Garbage. One had a two-year gap labeled "finding myself," and another thought a PA was just a fancy word for a TikTok manager.

He paused at a guy named White Queens. Solid experience. Five years in corporate. At least a guy won't quit because his girlfriend dumped him, Leo thought, tossing it into the 'yes' pile.

Then he reached the last folder. He flipped it open and the air left his lungs like he’d been punched in the gut.

Amara Denz.

"No way," he whispered. His heart started thumping against his ribs, loud and erratic. "What the f**k?"

He stared at the name. It couldn't be her. The universe wasn't that cruel. But as he looked at the attached photo, the sterile office walls seemed to bleed away, replaced by the drafty, snobbish hallways of Lyons College fifteen years ago.

He saw her. The girl with the "old money" glow. Back then, her family owned half the city. Leo? Leo was the scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks, wearing hand-me-downs that his mom tried to iron the "poor" out of.

He remembered the day he’d first snapped at her. “All that money and you bought those pants?” he’d sneered in the hall. His friends had roared with laughter. He’d felt like a king for five seconds, and like a total piece of sh*t for the rest of the day.

He had been obsessed with her. But a girl like Amara—daughter of a billionaire and a supermodel—didn't date guys who smelled like laundromat soap and desperation. So, he did the only thing a dumb, hurt teenager knew how to do: he became her nightmare. He teased her until it turned into bullying. He mocked her laugh until she stopped laughing.

The memory of their last encounter hit him hard. She had stood there, eyes glassy with tears, and asked, “Why do you hate me so much? I’ve never done anything to you.”

He hadn't had an answer then. He’d just walked away like a coward.

Leo blinked, coming back to the present. He looked at her resume again, reading the fine print he’d missed.

Sht.* The "old money" was gone. Her father’s bank had imploded in a scandal a decade ago. Lawsuits had stripped them bone-dry. Amara hadn't been living in a palace; she’d been grinding as an executive assistant in London and New York. Her references used words like 'discreet' and 'unflappable.'

"She’s applying to work for me," Leo said, the irony tasting like bitter coffee.

Did she know? His last name was common, and he’d traded his tattoos and ripped jeans for five-thousand-dollar suits. He was the powerful one now.

He hit the intercom. "Precious?"

"Yes, sir?"

"The girl at the bottom. Amara Denz. Is she free tomorrow morning? First thing."

A pause. "I can check... wait, I thought HR was handling the first round?"

"Change of plans," Leo said, his eyes locked on her photo. "I’m doing this one myself."

He cut the line and slumped into his chair. His neck was screaming again. Was this a massive ego trip? Probably. But he wanted to see her. He wanted to see if she still had that spark, or if the world had beaten it out of her the way he used to try to.

"Why do you hate me?" her memory whispered.

"I don't," Leo said to the empty, expensive room. "I never did."