BLURRED LINES

The elevator doors slid open with a muted chime, revealing the thirty-fourth floor of Voss Technologies. Polished marble floors reflected the ceiling's recessed lights, and the quiet hum of productivity buzzed just beneath the surface. It was sleek, minimal, powerful-just like the man who owned it all.

Noah Reyes smoothed his shirt, adjusted the skinny tie he borrowed from his roommate, and stepped forward. His worn leather shoes squeaked against the marble, betraying his nerves. He approached the receptionist, who looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine-impeccably dressed, barely blinking behind her thin-rimmed glasses.

"I'm here for the executive assistant interview," Noah said, hoping his voice didn't crack.

She gave him a once-over, then tapped something on her tablet. "You're early. That's... rare. Take a seat, Mr. Reyes. Mr. Voss will see you shortly."

Noah nodded and moved to the waiting area. He sat stiffly on a modern couch that looked more like sculpture than furniture. His heartbeat pulsed in his ears. He wasn't supposed to be here-not really. He'd applied for the job half-seriously, never expecting a callback. He was a Communications major from Queens College, not Harvard. He had zero corporate experience. But desperation made people bold.

His phone buzzed. A text from his sister, Sofia:

"Did he call you in? Don't mess this up. Rent is due."

He sighed and tucked the phone away. No pressure.

Just then, the receptionist's voice pierced the air.

"Mr. Voss will see you now."

Noah stood quickly, nearly tripping over the stupid art-deco coffee table. He followed the receptionist through a set of double glass doors into a large corner office that looked out over Manhattan. The view was breathtaking, but the man behind the desk was even more so.

Ethan Voss stood when Noah entered. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His hair was dark, swept back neatly, and his sharp jawline looked like it had been sculpted out of granite. But it was his eyes-cool, unreadable steel-gray-that held Noah frozen in place.

"Mr. Reyes," Ethan said, voice calm and precise. "Have a seat."

Noah did, clutching his portfolio like a shield.

"I reviewed your resume," Ethan began, glancing down at a sleek tablet. "You're young. No corporate background. A handful of internships. Yet you're applying for a position that requires managing my entire calendar, travel logistics, high-profile communications, and confidential documents."

Noah swallowed. "Yes."

There was a pause.

Ethan leaned back slightly. "Why?"

"I need the job," Noah answered bluntly, then quickly added, "But I'm also capable. I learn fast, I work harder than anyone you've met, and I don't crack under pressure."

A flicker of amusement-very slight-touched Ethan's face. "That's a bold claim."

Noah exhaled. "I've worked two jobs since I was sixteen. I took night classes to finish my degree. I've dealt with difficult clients in a law office who screamed at me over parking spaces. I'm not afraid of stress."