Who Is Mr. Prince's Next Girl?

I felt something prodding my back while I was sound asleep.

It must be my cat. Half-asleep, I swatted the air lazily. “Nico, get off me!”

But instead of getting lost, the "cat" gave me a sharp kick.

“What the hell!” I sat up angrily, fully awake this time.

Standing in front of me, looking utterly unimpressed, was none other than Julian Grey. Oh no! I had spent the night in Julian’s living room after cleaning up his mess last night.

Julian’s carpet was softer than my own bed, but that fact was hardly a comfort as I scrambled to stand. Plastering on my most apologetic smile, I greeted him nervously, “Mr. Grey!”

Julian crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow. “Nico?”

My heart sank into my stomach.

Few people knew that Julian’s mother used to call him Nico as a childhood nickname—a fact I had stumbled upon purely by accident during one of her rare visits.

To make matters worse, my cat back home, Nico, was a crazy little troublemaker I’d named after my boss as a form of revenge.

Why? Well, after Julian tore apart one of my reports in front of the entire staff, I figured it was only fair. Naming my cat Nico gave me a weird sense of satisfaction. At home, I could boss Nico around.

“Nico, fetch my slippers!”

“Nico, stop scratching the couch!”

“Nico, go eat your food and stop begging!”

It was petty, but it made me feel better.

And now? Now, I’d accidentally let that slip.

I smiled nervously. “Did I say something in my sleep?”

Julian looked at me blankly. “Did you tell me to ‘get off’ in your dream?”

I could feel sweat beading on the back of my neck. “Um, well, I do have a cat named Nico at home. It keeps me on my toes so I can stay sharp and serve you better, Mr. Grey.”

Julian stepped closer, leaning into my personal space. He was a head taller than me, and this was the closest we’d been since that drunken kiss the night before.

His eyes, framed by absurdly long lashes, were locked on mine.

I froze, unable to think clearly. Was it illegal to want to kiss your boss even after he’d made your life hell?

Just as my mind began to spiral, Julian’s voice broke through. “Olivia, you look ridiculous when you lie.”

I blinked.

“If you want to keep working for me,” he continued, his tone sharp, “try being honest. I don’t care if you hate me, as long as you do your job.”

He straightened and began walking past me toward his massive bathroom, leaving me standing there speechless.

“And for the record,” he added over his shoulder, “I don’t like you either.”

I stared after him, mouth agape.

What did he mean he didn’t like me? How dare he?

Everyone knew I was the most trusted personal assistant in his life. The Olivia Hayes, indispensable to the great Julian Grey.

And yet here he was, casually stating he didn’t like me at all. The audacity!

Still fuming, I turned to the task at hand: cleaning up after myself. I vacuumed the carpet where I’d slept no less than eight times. Then, I headed into his room to tidy up.

By the time Julian emerged from his absurdly luxurious bathroom, I had his room spotless. The windows gleamed, the table was perfectly polished, and the bed looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel.

It didn’t matter if Julian Grey didn’t like me. What mattered was that he needed me.

Julian’s gaze swept the room, his face impassive. But I could tell by the slight relaxation of his brow that he was pleased with my work.

“Why are you still here?” he asked.

Taking a deep breath, I replied carefully, “Mr. Grey, I took care of you all night. I’m not feeling great today. May I take a day to rest at home?”

Julian nodded. “Sure. Take a sick day. But you’ll get a pay cut for it.”

My hands curled into fists as I fought the urge to throttle him.

Screw you, Julian Grey!