At twenty-six, Maeve is a seasoned executive assistant who has seen it all. To her, celebrities are all the same-demanding, disconnected, and entirely predictable; just the same person over and over again in different fonts. But when she lands a high-stakes job working for THEE Michael Jackson, her cynical expectations are immediately turned upside down.
After a chaotic, late arrival to his estate in her petal pink dress, Michael greets her not with a reprimand, but with a soft voice, a glass of water, and a disarming gentleness. Yet, beneath his shy smiles and giggles, there is an undeniable, quiet authority. As Maeve navigates the intense demands of his world, the professional boundaries between the legendary, mature superstar and his grounded young assistant begin to blur. What starts as a strict working relationship slowly blossoms into an undeniable, deep connection.
NOTE
Please be advised this story is written for audiences 18+. Feel free to comment any thoughts as I drop chapters.
𝑆𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑛—𝐴 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒 ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱
𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠: This story includes Bad era Michael, vampires, and midnight ballerinas. Please be advised this story is written for audiences 18+. Feel free to comment any thoughts as I drop chapters.
— WITH L-O-V-E,
@loves2tour
—𝐵𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓 𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦
To the world, she is "Siren"—the most captivating and sought-after dancer at the city's most exclusive underground club. But in the shadows, she is Alexis Laurent, a lethal vampire belonging to the powerful House of Laurent. Her family runs the club for one specific reason: to use their hypnotic allure to entrance men into willingly giving up their blood. For centuries, Alexis has effortlessly separated her feelings from her prey. Many men have desperately wanted her, but they are all just food. None have ever come close to claiming her cold, guarded heart.
Until Michael walks into her club.
Radiating a gritty, dark magnetism, Michael is instantly mesmerized by Siren. He begins booking her for private dances, but to Alexis’s complete confusion, he never actually wants a dance. Instead, he spends a fortune just paying for her time so he can talk to her, determined to break through her icy exterior and get to know the real woman behind the stage name.
Alexis tries her best not to take him seriously. He is too innocent, too beautifully human for her dark world. But when she attempts to use her vampire compulsion on him, it fails. There is something profoundly different about Michael's energy—a pure, creative shield that renders her powers useless. Even worse, his unwavering attention and the undeniable, electric chemistry between them does the one thing Alexis fears most: it makes her feel truly alive.
As Michael slowly chips away at her walls, pulling her out of the shadows for secret, late-night dates, Alexis realizes she is falling for the very human she was supposed to drain. But the House of Laurent does not tolerate weakness. As her family grows suspicious of her refusal to entrance him, Alexis must decide if she is willing to risk her immortal life to protect the man who sees right through her... the man who is already writing a song called Dirty Diana about the dangerous girl he can't stay away from.
The heavy, intoxicating silence of the master suite was broken by the sound of Maeve’s soft, breathless moans.
Sunlight poured through the large bedroom windows, but Maeve’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut as she rode a devastating wave of morning pleasure. She had barely managed to catch her breath from their intense session the night before, but Michael had woken her up with a relentless, driving hunger.
He was positioned perfectly between her bare legs, his large hands gripping her hips with an unyielding, bruising strength. "Look at me," he demanded, his voice thick with sleep and raw arousal.
Maeve’s eyes fluttered open, instantly locking onto his dark, burning gaze. She was completely bare beneath him, her warm, naturally rich complexion flushed with a deep, radiant heat as he set a punishing, deliberate pace. Every deep thrust was a physical reminder that she had been thoroughly claimed. He drove into her slick heat effortlessly, watching with a dark, predatory satisfaction as her composure entirely unraveled.
"Michael—please," she gasped out, her nails digging into his broad shoulders as the tension coiled tightly in her stomach.
"You're doing so beautifully for me," his normally gentle, velvety murmur vibrated deeply in his chest even as he ruthlessly pushed her closer to the edge. "Let go for me, Maeve."
With one final, impossibly deep thrust, Maeve shattered, crying out his name as her body clenched tightly around his thick length. Hearing her submit to him pushed Michael over the edge. He groaned loudly, his chest heaving as he finally allowed himself to heavily climax deep inside her for a second time, completely unapologetic about marking her as his own.
As his breathing slowly steadied, Michael collapsed against her, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her neck. He pulled her flush against his side, wrapping a strong arm around her waist.
For a long moment, they just lay there in the quiet aftermath. Maeve rested her head against his chest, completely overwhelmed by how drastically her life had shifted. Before taking this position, she had been highly cynical, convinced that meeting an elite celebrity was as trivial as choosing a new shade of polish. She had assumed that a global superstar of his massive caliber would just be a carbon copy of the other arrogant executives she had managed, just hiding behind a different name. Instead, the man holding her was fiercely protective, incredibly dominant, and completely devoted to ravishing her.
"What is going on in that beautiful mind of yours?" Michael murmured, his thumb drawing slow, lazy circles on her bare hip.
Maeve tilted her head up to look at him. "I was just thinking about my apartment. About... Jordan's things being there. All of my clothes are still at the condo."
The mere mention of the careless boy who had bought her off with diamonds caused a sudden, aggressive shift in Michael's demeanor. The relaxed post-coital warmth in his eyes sharpened into a cold, territorial authority. He pulled her flush against his body, his grip on her waist tightening possessively.
"You are not going back there," Michael stated, his tone carrying a firm gravity that left absolutely no room for debate.
"Michael, I have to," Maeve reasoned gently, though her body betrayed her as she arched into his warm touch. "My whole life is in that condo."
"Then we will bring your life here," he replied effortlessly, his gaze dropping to her swollen lips. "I will not have you returning to an empty apartment where he might try to confront you when he returns from his little ski trip. I am sending my security team to pack your belongings this afternoon."
Maeve blinked, completely taken aback by his absolute authority over her life. "You want to send the security guards? The same ones who laughed at my frantic, embarrassing sprint up your massive driveway on my very first day?" she teased lightly, a small, shy smile playing on her lips.
A genuine, breathtaking smile broke across Michael's handsome face. "They were very impressed, I'll have you know," he chuckled softly. "I still admire how you managed that athletic feat in stilettos.
His amusement slowly faded back into a deeply sincere, magnetic intensity. He shifted his weight, hovering over her bare body once again. "I am entirely serious, Maeve. The moment you showed up in that delicate blush-colored outfit, completely out of breath, my only instinct was to soothe your nerves with a drink and ensure you were taken care of. I permanently solved your commuting issues because I wanted you safe. I am not about to stop taking care of you now."
He leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep, consuming kiss that instantly sent a fresh wave of electric heat straight to her core.
"You will stay in the guest wing until we can design a space for you properly," Michael instructed, his soft-spoken dominance completely melting her remaining defenses. "But make no mistake. You are moving in. I want you right here in my bed, where I can do whatever I want to you, and ensure you are treated with the exact devotion you deserve."
Maeve stared up at him, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. "Okay," she whispered, fully surrendering to his unyielding control. "Yes, Michael."
"Good girl," he murmured fiercely. Jordan was entirely erased, her past burdens were permanently handled, and there was absolutely no denying that she was exactly where she belonged.
The relocation was executed with military precision. True to his word, Michael’s security team arrived at Maeve's condo that very afternoon, swiftly packing away her entire life into custom garment bags and sleek boxes. They didn't leave a single trace of her behind. By the time evening fell, her clothes were perfectly organized in the massive closets of the estate, and the painful chapter of her life involving Jordan was supposedly closed forever.
For the next two months, Maeve lived in an absolute, intoxicating dream.
She seamlessly balanced her role as Michael's executive assistant during the day and his completely devoted lover by night. He was an incredibly demanding boss, but behind closed doors, his intense physical worship and fierce protectiveness made her feel entirely invincible.
However, the bubble of their secluded sanctuary was about to be tested. Michael was scheduled for a massive international performance in London. The itinerary had been set for weeks: they were supposed to fly out together on his private jet on Friday morning, turning the business trip into a lavish, intimate getaway.
But on Wednesday afternoon, the careful control Michael had established was abruptly shattered.
Maeve had taken her designated SUV into the city to pick up a few specific travel items. As she stepped out of the high-end boutique, flanked by one of her guards, a familiar, desperate voice called out her name.
Jordan stepped out from the shadow of the adjacent building, looking disheveled and frantic. The security guard immediately stepped between them, placing a heavy, threatening hand on Jordan's chest to stop his advance. But Jordan didn't back down, pleading loudly with Maeve over the guard's shoulder. He begged for just five minutes of her time, claiming he couldn't move on with his life until he properly explained his side of the Aspen trip and got the closure he desperately needed.
Shaken by the ambush, Maeve didn't say a word. She simply got into the SUV and had the driver speed back to the estate.
When she found Michael in his study later that evening, he was reviewing stage blueprints. The heavy mahogany room felt warm and inviting, but a knot of anxiety twisted tightly in Maeve's stomach.
"Michael?" she began softly, closing the heavy doors behind her.
He looked up, his dark eyes instantly softening at the sight of her. "There's my beautiful girl," he murmured, his velvet voice wrapping around her like a warm blanket. "Is everything packed for Friday?"
"Yes, but... something happened in the city today," she admitted hesitantly, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her blouse. She took a deep breath and explained the ambush outside the boutique. "Jordan wants closure. And... honestly, Michael, I'm starting to think that if I just give him five minutes to speak his piece over the phone, he might finally stop trying to track me down."
The temperature in the room plummeted instantly.
Michael slowly set his pen down on the desk. The warm, affectionate man who had just greeted her vanished, entirely replaced by a cold, territorial authority. He stood up, his towering frame casting a long shadow as he took a slow, deliberate step toward her.
"You want to entertain the boy who publicly humiliated you," Michael stated, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet register.
"No, I don't want to entertain him," Maeve corrected quickly, her heart hammering against her ribs as Michael closed the distance between them. "I just want him to leave me alone. If five minutes of closure gets him to back off—"
"Absolutely not," Michael interrupted, backing her smoothly against the heavy wooden door. He placed a hand on the wood just beside her head, completely trapping her in his space. "I have established a very clear boundary regarding your safety, Maeve. Interacting with him violates that rule."
"Michael, you're being unreasonable," she whispered, her breath hitching at his overwhelming proximity. "Are you really that jealous of a five-minute phone call?"
A dark, wicked scoff left Michael's lips. He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his dark eyes burning with an intense, possessive fire. "You mistake my protectiveness for insecurity," he murmured fiercely. "I don't care if other men look at you, Maeve. When we go out, I see the way they stare at your gorgeous skin and your beautiful curves. It actually turns me on. I love knowing that no matter how much they crave you, you belong entirely to me. But Jordan is not just a man looking at you. He is a reckless liability. He ambushed you in public today."
He reached up, his large hand firmly but gently gripping her chin, forcing her to look directly into his blazing eyes.
"From the very first day you stepped foot on my property—frantic, flustered, and reliant on a last-minute cab—my only instinct was to permanently remove the things that cause you panic," Michael reminded her, his thumb brushing possessively over her lower lip. "I promised you that you would never have to worry about your safety again. And now, you are willingly asking to put yourself back into a volatile situation with a boy who does not respect boundaries. I will not allow you to put yourself in danger."
Maeve swallowed hard, completely mesmerized by his dominance but stubbornly holding her ground. "I am a grown woman, Michael. I can handle a conversation."
A flash of genuine frustration crossed Michael's handsome face. He absolutely hated fighting with her, and the agonizing thought of being away from her tore at his chest. But his need to establish this boundary was stronger than his desire to coddle her. She needed to understand the absolute severity of his protection.
He slowly released her chin and took a step back, the sudden loss of his body heat leaving Maeve shivering.
"If you are going to dismiss my rules and jeopardize your own safety, then I need space to think," Michael stated coldly, his jaw ticking. He picked up his desk phone, dialing his head of logistics. "Have the flight crew prep the jet. I am leaving for London tonight."
Maeve’s eyes widened in shock. "Tonight? But we're supposed to fly out together on Friday..."
Michael hung up the phone and looked at her, his expression an unyielding mask of strict authority. "I will fly out early, alone. You will stay here on the estate, where my security team can ensure that you do not make any reckless decisions regarding your ex-boyfriend."
Before she could protest, he walked past her, opening the heavy mahogany doors. "I will see you when you arrive on Friday, Maeve. Hopefully, by then, you will remember exactly who you belong to.”
Soft morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of the luxurious guest suite, pulling Maeve gently from a deep, dreamless sleep. As she slowly stretched across the massive mattress, the crisp fabric of the oversized white button-down shirt shifted against her skin, instantly enveloping her in the rich, intoxicating scent of Michael's cologne.
She pulled the collar of the shirt closer to her face, a deep blush rising to her cheeks as she realized just how incredibly intimate this felt. The dark cotton briefs still hugged her hips securely, making her feel completely wrapped in his protective presence. Waking up in his bed, wearing his clothes, was a staggering contrast to the chaotic, frantic energy of her very first morning working for him, when a canceled ride had forced her to sprint toward his estate in heels just to make it to their introductory meeting.
Today, there was absolutely no panic. She didn't have to worry about frantically checking her reflection or rushing through his doors out of breath. She was entirely safe, tucked away from the world behind the highly secure gates of his property.
Rolling onto her side, Maeve let her eyes drift to the nightstand where her phone sat, still completely powered off. The agonizing reality of Jordan's betrayal in Aspen was still waiting for her, but the crushing weight of the heartbreak felt remarkably distant this morning. Jordan had carelessly discarded her, but Michael had caught her, offering her a private sanctuary when she was at her most vulnerable.
Before accepting this role, she had been deeply cynical about high-profile individuals, assuming that encountering someone with immense fame would just feel like dealing with the exact same self-absorbed personality traits she had encountered in previous employers. She had been fully prepared for the man known globally as an icon to be completely disconnected and demanding. Instead, he had proven to be fiercely attentive, consistently stepping in to remove her burdens and prioritizing her well-being above all else.
As Maeve sat up against the headboard, the oversized shirt slipped effortlessly off one shoulder, highlighting her warm, golden brown complexion. She traced her fingers lightly over the soft cotton of the sleeve, unable to stop the dangerous, thrilling warmth fluttering in her chest.
She thought about how abruptly Michael had excused himself the night before. At the time, she had assumed he was just tired from spending the entire afternoon trying to cheer her up, but thinking back on the sudden, flustered tension in his usually calm demeanor, a new thought sparked in her mind. He had been staring at her bare legs just moments before he practically fled the room.
A small, genuine smile touched her lips. For all his commanding, effortless dominance in the boardroom, the realization that she might have genuinely rattled him last night was incredibly endearing.
Sliding out of the massive bed, Maeve knew she eventually had to turn her phone back on and face the grim reality of officially ending things with Jordan. But as she padded across the cool floorboards, completely swallowed up by Michael's shirt, all she could think about was the agonizingly appealing man waiting for her somewhere down the hall.
As Maeve padded softly out of the guest wing and into the sunlit hallway, Michael was just stepping out of his own suite, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
Michael froze mid-step, his breath completely catching in his throat.
The morning light poured through the large corridor windows, perfectly illuminating her effortless beauty. The crisp, oversized white button-down shirt draped casually off her shoulder, offering an intoxicating glimpse of her radiant, golden brown complexion. His dark, observant eyes slowly traced the length of her bare legs, instantly locking onto the dark waistband of his cotton briefs resting securely on her hips.
All the feral, heavy frustration he had battled in his bedroom the night before came rushing back with a fierce, possessive vengeance. The sight of her standing in his home, completely swallowed up by his clothing and carrying the faint scent of his cologne, ignited a deep, primal heat in his gut that instantly threatened his gentlemanly composure. He gripped his coffee mug tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white as he fought to keep his physical reaction in check.
He couldn't help but marvel at the staggering contrast between this serene, intimate morning and their very first encounter. He remembered how she had been forced to sprint out of the door and rely on a last-minute taxi just to make it to their introductory meeting. He had watched her on the security monitors, hightailing it all the way up his massive driveway in her heels. Back then, she had been so overcome with embarrassment that he immediately had to guide her to the kitchen and offer her a calming glass of water.
But here, standing in the quiet safety of his private hallway, there was absolutely no panic. She wasn't an overwhelmed assistant scrambling to apologize for her tardiness. Instead, stripped of her professional attire and the beautiful petal pink dress she had worn on her first day, she looked entirely relaxed and devastatingly sexy. He had promised her weeks ago that he didn't want her to have to worry about transportation, but right now, all he wanted to do was permanently remove every other burden from her life, including her careless boyfriend.
A dangerous, thrilling tension hung in the air as Michael finally closed the distance between them. A soft voice flowed from his lips, his tone completely stripped of his usual guarded professionalism and replaced by a deep, undeniable magnetism.
"Good morning, Maeve," Michael murmured, his towering frame casting a warm, protective shadow over her. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes with a quiet, burning intensity. "I see you found something comfortable to wear."
Maeve’s breath hitched. Standing before her, Michael was a staggering departure from the impeccably tailored global icon she was used to managing. He was dressed simply in a pair of loose, dark cotton sweatpants that hung low on his hips, and a soft, unbuttoned henley that revealed the defined planes of his chest. His usually flawless stage makeup was entirely absent, leaving his bare face looking incredibly handsome, raw, and irresistibly authentic. The sight of his relaxed morning attire completely flooded her system with a heavy, intoxicating heat.
"I did," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly under his heavy gaze. "Thank you for... for letting me stay here."
Michael closed the remaining distance between them, stopping mere inches away. His familiar, soothing magnetism was still there, but beneath it thrummed a fierce, unrestrained hunger.
"Maeve," his soft voice flowed into the quiet space between them, carrying an undeniably raw honesty. He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "I know this is incredibly insensitive timing. I know you only just discovered Jordan's betrayal yesterday. The gentleman in me knows I should step back and give you the space to process your grief..."
He paused, his dark eyes sweeping over the way his oversized shirt draped off her shoulder. The gentle composure he had fought so hard to maintain finally snapped.
"...But the truth is, I cannot wait another second," Michael confessed, his voice dropping into a deep, desperate gravel. "I want you. I have wanted you since the morning I watched you sprinting up my driveway, completely out of breath yet looking absolutely radiant. I am entirely captivated by you, and if it meant you would finally let me take care of you the way you deserve, I would get on my knees right here in this hallway and beg for you to give in."
Maeve stared up at him, her heart hammering violently against her ribs. Before accepting this position, she had been deeply cynical about working for high-profile celebrities, assuming that dealing with powerful people always meant enduring the exact same arrogant, self-serving personalities, just packaged in different fonts. But Michael was entirely different. He wasn't demanding her submission; he was offering his absolute devotion.
And suddenly, the lingering ghost of her relationship evaporated. Jordan had completely humiliated her. He had abandoned her to navigate a panicked morning commute where her ride fell through and forced her into a last-minute cab, and then he had bought her off with diamonds just so he could cheat in Aspen. She felt absolutely zero loyalty left for the boy who had treated her as an afterthought.
She wanted Michael just as badly as he wanted her.
As if reading the resolute surrender in her eyes, Michael didn't wait any longer. He lowered his head, planting a firm, passionate kiss directly on her lips.
Maeve immediately accepted the gesture, melting against his solid chest. Her hands instinctively flew up, tangling in the soft hairs at the nape of his neck as she kissed him back with a desperate, pent-up fervor. The collision of their mouths was electric. Michael let out a low, feral groan, wrapping his large hands around her waist and effortlessly lifting her off the ground.
She wrapped her bare legs around his waist as he carried her back into the guest suite, kicking the heavy mahogany door shut behind them.
He pressed her back against the cool wood of the door, his kisses growing increasingly intense, dominant, and demanding. The man who had gently offered her a glass of water when her cheeks were flushed red on her first day was entirely gone, replaced by a fiercely possessive lover who was determined to claim what was his. His hands roamed hungrily over the curves hidden beneath his oversized shirt, his body silently reveling in the fact that she was wearing his clothes instead of the beautiful dresses she usually favored.
As he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jawline and pressed his lips firmly against her golden brown skin, the memory of Jordan's photos flashed in Michael's mind. A dark, territorial jealousy flared violently in his chest. He didn't just want to comfort her; he wanted to obliterate Jordan from her reality entirely.
Michael abruptly pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his chest heaving. His dark gaze was blazing with a ruthless, commanding authority that left her completely breathless.
"Where is your phone?" he demanded, his tone thick with undeniable dominance.
Maeve blinked, completely dazed by pleasure. "It's... it's off. On the nightstand."
Michael carried her over to the massive bed, gently laying her back against the pillows before reaching for the device. He powered it on, his jaw clenching as a flood of unread notifications from Jordan immediately lit up the screen.
"Call him," Michael instructed, handing the phone back to her.
"What?" Maeve whispered, her eyes widening in shock.
Michael crawled onto the bed, hovering over her with a predatory, intoxicating smirk. He leaned down, his warm breath fanning across her collarbone as he dragged his lips against her skin, making her arch into his touch.
"Call him, Maeve," Michael repeated, his soft-spoken command laced with a wicked, unapologetic possessiveness. He slid his hand beneath the hem of his oversized shirt, his long fingers trailing dangerously high up her thigh. "I want that boy to answer the phone while he is sitting in that ski lodge. I want him to hear exactly how I am pleasing you. I want him to know, without a single shadow of a doubt, that he has lost you, and you belong completely to me now.”
Maeve’s hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the overwhelming, electric anticipation coursing through her veins. Holding the phone, she pressed Jordan's contact name and set the device on the pillow right next to her ear. The line rang twice before a voice broke through the speaker.
"Maeve? Hey babe, I was just—"
Jordan didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence. Michael didn't care to hear the boy's excuses. The exact moment the call connected, Michael lowered his head, pressing his warm, demanding lips against the sensitive skin of her neck. A breathless, involuntary gasp escaped Maeve, broadcasting clearly over the open line.
"Maeve? What's going on? Are you there?" Jordan's voice crackled through the phone, sounding suddenly confused and defensive.
Michael paid the voice no mind. His dark eyes blazed with a fierce, territorial hunger. He slid his large hand beneath the hem of his oversized button-down shirt, his long fingers trailing down her stomach and effortlessly slipping beneath the waistband of his dark cotton briefs. With a practiced, dominating ease, he slid his fingers deep inside her, finding her already incredibly slick and ready for him.
Maeve's back arched violently off the mattress, a loud, breathy moan escaping her lips directly into the phone's microphone. The sheer contrast of this moment hit her intensely; before taking this job, she had cynically assumed that brushing shoulders with the elite would feel as mundane as picking out a new nail polish color, expecting to meet "the same person over and over again just in different fonts". She had believed her new employer would be "just like all the others" she had worked for in the past. Instead, "THEE MICHAEL JACKSON" was thoroughly claiming her with a raw, physical intimacy that shattered every preconceived notion she had ever held.
"Hello?! Is someone there with you?!" Jordan shouted over the line, panic and a devastating realization finally bleeding into his tone.
Hearing the desperation in the other man's voice sent a feral, heavy surge of adrenaline straight to Michael's groin. The explicit knowledge that Jordan was sitting in that ski lodge, completely helpless as he listened to Maeve surrender to another man, turned Michael on even more. He knew there was absolutely no mistaking who she belonged to now. He moved his fingers inside her with an effortless, steady rhythm, watching her beautiful golden brown skin flush with a deep, intoxicating heat.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Say my name, Maeve," a soft voice flowed from Michael's lips, his tone laced with a wicked, unapologetic command.
"Michael," she gasped out, her hands tangling into his dark hairs as her hips chased his hand. "Oh, Michael..."
"Good girl," he whispered fiercely against her jawline, his chest heaving with triumph. Jordan heard every single undeniable syllable of her pleasure.
Satisfied that the careless boy had been entirely humiliated and obliterated from her life, Michael leaned in close to the phone resting on the mattress. "She is busy," he stated, his voice radiating a cold, absolute finality.
Without waiting for a single word of response, Michael reached over and abruptly ended the call. He tossed the phone onto the floor, permanently removing her last burden just as effortlessly as he had arranged a driver to solve her transportation panic weeks ago.
With the room finally silent except for their ragged breathing, Michael hovered over her. His eyes were completely dark with unrestrained desire, the last remnants of his gentlemanly restraint gone, ready to finally do exactly as he pleased with his beautiful assistant.
With the phone discarded on the floor, the last tether to her past was permanently severed. Michael hovered over her, his dark eyes blazing with an unrestrained, feral desire. There was no more waiting, and absolutely no more polite professional distance. He positioned himself between her bare legs, parting them effortlessly. As he finally pushed deep inside her, fully claiming her as his own, a sharp, breathless gasp tore from Maeve’s throat.
Before taking this job, she had cynically believed that dealing with powerful men was as mundane as running a trivial errand, assuming that every elite executive she met was just a carbon copy of the last arrogant egoist she had managed. She had been entirely convinced that her famous new boss would be exactly the same. Instead, the sheer intensity of his physical devotion completely shattered her. The man who had once been so gentle and attentive to offer her a drink when she arrived flustered on her first day was now gripping her hips with a possessive, unyielding strength, setting a deep, demanding rhythm that consumed her entirely.
As the overwhelming wave of pleasure crashed over her, Maeve instinctively squeezed her eyes shut, trying to handle the intense, intoxicating stimulation.
"No," Michael stated, his tone carrying a firm, breathtaking authority. He reached up, his large fingers gently but firmly grasping her chin. "Look at me. Keep your eyes on me, Maeve. The whole time."
Completely under his spell, Maeve’s eyes fluttered open, instantly locking onto his intense, dark gaze. She followed his instructions without a single hesitation, entirely captivated by the raw, dominant man moving inside her.
He drove her with a relentless, calculated pace, learning her body with an effortless perfection. Within minutes, the tension coiled tightly in her stomach snapped. She cried out, her nails digging into his broad shoulders as she rode her first intense finish, her body clenching tightly around him.
"Good girl," he murmured, the familiar, comforting vibration of his tone rumbling deeply in his chest. He didn't give her a moment to recover before picking the pace right back up.
He was determined to completely rewire her expectations of how a man should care for her. He pushed her to the edge a second time, her naturally warm complexion flushed with a beautiful, deep heat as another wave of sheer pleasure wracked her trembling frame. She was completely his, stripped of the delicate, professional armor she had worn to their initial interview, left entirely bare, trusting, and vulnerable beneath him.
As he drove her toward the peak for a breathtaking third time, she was sobbing his name, completely overwhelmed by his physical worship. Her vision blurred as she felt herself shattering all over again.
"That's it. You're doing such a good job, Maeve," Michael praised her fiercely as her third finish ripped through her. "Good girl."
Hearing her soft cries of pure satisfaction finally pushed Michael to the absolute edge. He felt his own powerful peak rapidly approaching, the agonizing tension pooling heavily in his groin. But before he allowed himself to surrender, his grip tightened on her waist, holding her firmly in place as his dark eyes bored into hers with a burning, unyielding intensity.
"Tell me," Michael demanded, his chest heaving heavily. "Are you mine?"
"Yes," Maeve gasped out instantly, her mind completely hazy with bliss.
Michael held himself agonizingly still, hovering over her with a ruthless, commanding heat. Her simple answer wasn't enough. He needed absolute, undeniable submission from her. "Say, 'Yes, Michael'."
"Yes, Michael," she whimpered immediately, instantly following his orders, completely desperate for him to finish what he started.
A dark, triumphant thrill surged through his veins at her perfect obedience. He slammed his hips forward one final, deep time, groaning loudly as he finally allowed himself to climax, releasing completely inside her.
As his breathing slowly steadied in the quiet room, Michael pulled back just enough to look down at her beautiful, flushed face. A slow, wicked smirk spread across his lips. He gently brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead, his voice dropping into a low, stern register that left absolutely no room for doubt.
"That's right, Maeve. You're mine.”
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
1) RUNNING LATE
2) A FRESH START (AND OPEN DOORS)
3) THE BOYFRIEND
4) THE TEST
5) CONTRAST
6) DIAMOND TEARS
7) GIVING IN
The heavy silence of the study was broken only by the sound of Maeve’s ragged breathing as she rested against Michael’s chest. Slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands sliding down her arms until his fingers brushed against the cold metal of the diamond tennis bracelet.
"Let's get these off of you," Michael murmured, his tone carrying a gentle edict that left no room for hesitation.
With practiced, careful precision, his large fingers unclasped the bracelet, letting the glittering bribe slip from her wrist. He then reached up, his warm hands brushing against her jawline as he delicately helped her remove the matching earrings. He set the expensive jewelry down on his mahogany desk, pushing it far away from them.
"I am enacting a new rule," Michael said, a playful but deadly serious edge weaving through his velvet authority. "You are absolutely forbidden from wearing his guilt trips in my presence."
A small, wet chuckle escaped Maeve's lips, the first genuine sound she had made since seeing the photos. As he wiped away her remaining tears, she realized how vastly he differed from her initial, cynical assumption that working for someone of his immense fame would just mean dealing with the same arrogant, disconnected personality in a different font. Instead of demanding she pull herself together for work, Michael stepped over to his desk phone and buzzed his head of security.
"Please clear Maeve's schedule for the rest of the day, and cancel any remaining meetings I have," he instructed smoothly. Hanging up, he turned back to her with a warm, reassuring smile. "Your shift has been officially repurposed. Come with me."
Michael led her out of the dimly lit study and into the bright afternoon sun, guiding her toward the sprawling private amusement park situated on the estate grounds. He was determined to soften the devastating blow of her boyfriend's betrayal, proving true to his earlier claim that they preferred not to maintain an entirely serious atmosphere around the property.
For the next few hours, the demanding world of an executive assistant completely faded away. Michael took her on the Ferris wheel, the carousel, and the bumper cars, his infectious laughter slowly drawing Maeve out of her heartbreak. He bought her cotton candy and won her a completely unnecessary, oversized stuffed animal at a carnival game, making it his personal mission to see her smile.
Every time she laughed, a fierce, burning heat flared in Michael’s chest. Watching the afternoon breeze sweep through her hair, he was completely captivated by her radiant complexion and effortless beauty. After his intense fantasies over the weekend, he desperately wanted to pull her into the shadows of the park and please her physically, finally showing her the absolute devotion she was clearly starved of. But his protective instincts kept him firmly grounded. He knew the most gentlemanly thing to do was to play it cool. She had just suffered a humiliating betrayal, and he refused to overwhelm her; he would give her the space she needed to grieve the relationship.
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of deep purple and gold, the vibrant energy of the park had settled into a peaceful quiet. The ride operators and daily staff had all gone home for the evening. Just as they had on her very first day, only a handful of security personnel remained on duty, trailing the pair from a respectful, entirely unobtrusive distance.
They walked side-by-side back toward the main house, the cool evening air brushing past them. Maeve clutched the oversized stuffed animal to her chest, her heart swelling with an immense, confusing gratitude. Jordan had broken her heart, but Michael had carefully stitched the pieces back together in a single afternoon.
As they approached the front driveway where her assigned SUV would normally be waiting, Michael’s steps grew noticeably slower.
His mind was racing, frantically analyzing the situation. Her shift was technically over, but a deep, protective dread settled heavily in his stomach at the thought of her leaving. He absolutely hated the idea of sending her back to an empty, silent condo. If she went home alone, she would be left to deal with her devastating feelings in isolation, staring at the walls and inevitably receiving manipulative texts from Jordan in Aspen.
Michael simply couldn't allow it. As they reached the steps of the estate, he turned to face her, his commanding presence softening into an undeniable, pleading warmth as he scrambled to formulate the perfect excuse to keep her safely tucked away within his gates for the night.
As they reached the base of the sweeping staircase leading up to the main doors of the estate, the large black SUV pulled around the circular drive, ready to take Maeve home. But as the driver shifted the vehicle into park, Michael gently placed a hand on Maeve’s arm, stopping her.
His mind had been racing, and he had finally formulated the perfect, undeniable excuse to keep her exactly where he wanted her.
"Maeve," Michael began, his soft voice carrying a gentle but firm gravity. "I have been thinking. If you return to your condo tonight, you will be entirely alone in an empty apartment, left to sit in silence with your thoughts. Furthermore... your building is accessible. If Jordan realizes he has been caught and tries to send damage-control gifts, or worse, cuts his trip short to confront you, you will have to deal with it by yourself."
Maeve looked up at him, her eyes widening slightly as the reality of his words set in. The thought of dealing with Jordan's inevitable, manipulative excuses made her stomach churn.
"Stay here tonight," Michael offered, his gaze holding hers with an intense, protective warmth. He quickly raised his hands, ensuring his tone conveyed absolute respect. "I have an entire guest wing that is currently unoccupied. You will have your own massive suite, your own bed, and complete privacy. I ask this purely as an innocent proposition—I simply want to ensure you have a safe, supportive environment tonight where absolutely no one can bother you behind my gates."
While his words were completely genuine, Michael couldn't deny the selfish thrum of his own heartbeat. The truth was, he just wanted to greedily keep as much time with her as he possibly could.
Maeve hesitated, glancing toward the waiting SUV. Before meeting him, she had assumed that dealing with someone of his immense status would mean enduring a demanding boss who viewed her only as a convenient asset. Yet here was "THEE MICHAEL JACKSON", deeply concerned about her emotional well-being and offering his highly secure home as a sanctuary. The sheer relief of not having to face her empty condo washed over her.
"Okay," she breathed out softly, offering a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson. I would really like that."
A triumphant warmth bloomed in Michael's chest. He immediately dismissed the driver and personally escorted her up to the luxurious guest wing. As he showed her the sprawling, immaculate suite she would be staying in, he noted her lack of overnight belongings.
"I will have housekeeping bring up some fresh toiletries for you," Michael murmured, lingering in the doorway. "And while I don't keep women's clothing on hand... I will leave something comfortable for you to sleep in outside your bathroom door."
Thirty minutes later, Maeve stood in the steamy, marble-tiled bathroom. After a long, restorative shower that helped wash away the exhaustion of the day, she wrapped a towel around her freshly cleansed skin and cracked open the door. Resting neatly on the edge of the massive guest bed was a crisp, oversized white button-down shirt and a pair of Michael's own dark cotton briefs.
A fierce blush rose to her cheeks as she picked up the garments. Slipping into them, the soft fabric of his shirt draped heavily over her frame, carrying the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne. The briefs hugged her hips securely, a deeply intimate reminder of exactly whose bed she was sleeping in.
As she towel-dried her hair, the sharp, relentless buzzing of her phone echoed off the nightstand.
She walked over, her heart sinking as she saw the screen lit up with half a dozen texts from Jordan.
Jordan: Hey babe, the slopes were amazing today. Miss you!
Jordan: You must be busy with work. Call me before you go to sleep?
He had absolutely no idea he had been caught. A fresh wave of anger completely eclipsed her sadness. She wanted nothing more than to fire back a furious text, but she knew an over-the-phone fight would only drain whatever energy she had left. She needed to do this properly. She would let him live in his blissful ignorance for now, and the second he returned from Aspen, she was going to look him dead in the eye and end it.
Without opening the messages, Maeve simply powered her phone off and tossed it onto the mattress, refusing to let him ruin the peace Michael had so carefully curated for her.
Seeking a glass of water, Maeve quietly stepped out of her suite and into the adjoining private lounge of the guest wing.
Michael was already there, leaning casually against the kitchenette counter as he poured two cups of chamomile tea. He had been impatiently hoping she would emerge and officially declare she was entirely done with Jordan. He knew she would likely need to have a final, closing conversation with the boy, but the possessive urge to claim her right now was agonizingly strong.
Hearing her soft footsteps, Michael turned around—and completely lost his breath.
All of his impatient thoughts vanished in an instant. The oversized button-down shirt swallowed her upper half, but the hem stopped mid-thigh, leaving her long, gorgeous legs completely bare. The collar rested loosely against her collarbones, offering intoxicating glimpses of her golden brown skin that was usually hidden beneath strict, tailored professional wear.
She looked effortlessly delectable, entirely vulnerable, and devastatingly sexy wearing his clothes.
"I made some tea," Michael managed to say, his soft voice catching slightly in his throat.
"Thank you," Maeve smiled shyly, padding over to the counter to accept the mug.
As she reached out, the hem of the shirt rode up just a fraction higher, revealing the dark waistband of his briefs resting against her hips.
A violent, electric jolt shot straight downward through Michael's body. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, and before he could even attempt to suppress it, a heavy, intense rush of blood flooded his groin.
He swallowed hard, his grip tightening around his ceramic mug. He tried desperately to focus on her face, but the primal, consuming urge to press her back against the marble counter and slide his hands up those bare legs was overwhelming. Against his will, his erection swelled thick and heavy against the zipper of his slacks, the sudden, noticeable bulge growing impossible to hide.
A hot wave of shyness and deep embarrassment suddenly washed over him. He was supposed to be her safe haven tonight. He was a gentleman, the man who provided permanent care and respect, yet here he was, entirely unable to control his own physical reaction to her. If she looked down and saw exactly what her presence was doing to him, she might think his innocent invitation had been a deceptive trap.
Panic flared in his chest. He couldn't let her see this.
"Actually, Maeve—" Michael interrupted abruptly, practically slamming his tea down onto the counter with a loud clatter.
Maeve jumped slightly, blinking in confusion. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes, I just..." Michael took a hasty step backward, strategically angling his body to cast himself in the shadows, keeping his hips out of her direct line of sight. His cheeks burned with a rare, flustered embarrassment. "I just realized I am suddenly incredibly exhausted. The day has caught up with me."
"Oh," she said, her voice softening with immediate understanding. He had spent his entire afternoon cheering her up. "Of course. You should get some rest."
"Yes. Rest," Michael repeated awkwardly, desperate to escape before his body betrayed him any further. "Please, make yourself at home. The security team is on standby if you need anything at all. Goodnight, Maeve."
"Goodnight, Mr. Jackson," she replied softly.
Without another word, Michael practically fled the guest lounge, retreating down the long hallway toward his own master suite. He locked his bedroom door behind him, leaning heavily against the wood with a ragged exhale, cursing himself for acting like a panicked teenager while his body throbbed with an unrelenting, desperate ache for the woman sleeping just down the hall.
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
1) RUNNING LATE
2) A FRESH START (AND OPEN DOORS)
3) THE BOYFRIEND
4) THE TEST
5) CONTRAST
6) DIAMOND TEARS
When Monday morning arrived, the sprawling halls of the estate felt electric. Michael was in a remarkably exceptional mood, still coasting on the unapologetic, triumphant high of his weekend indulgences.
He paced his private study, practically buzzing with an overly cocky confidence as he awaited Maeve's arrival. After stepping in to rescue her on Friday night, he felt absolutely certain that the stark contrast between his gentlemanly care and her boyfriend’s careless abandonment had finally opened her eyes. He had proven he wasn't just another out-of-touch, self-absorbed VIP. In Michael's mind, it was a foregone conclusion: Maeve must have spent the weekend ending things with Jordan.
However, the reality of his massive career quickly crashed down on him. From the moment the clock struck nine, Michael's schedule was a relentless, chaotic whirlwind. The quiet intimacy he had been craving was entirely swallowed up by a revolving door of record executives, legal teams, and creative directors who all desperately needed his immediate attention and final approvals.
It wasn't until nearly an hour into a tedious marketing presentation that Michael finally caught a proper glimpse of her. Maeve stepped gracefully into the conference room to distribute a revised stack of itineraries. As always, she looked flawless, her tailored professional attire perfectly complementing her radiant complexion.
But as she extended a leather-bound folder toward one of the executives, the bright morning light caught a fierce, undeniable sparkle.
Michael’s sharp gaze instantly locked onto her wrist. There, resting elegantly against her skin, was a dazzling diamond tennis bracelet. As she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, he noticed the matching earrings.
His victorious, cocky high evaporated in a fraction of a second.
That was not her normal jewelry. Maeve's usual accessories were understated, elegant, and highly professional. These new pieces were extravagant, flashy, and practically screamed of guilty, desperate spending.
A dark, intensely possessive suspicion flooded Michael's veins. Jordan. The realization hit him like a physical blow to the chest. She hadn't dumped him. Instead, the boy had simply bought her off with shiny new stones.
The rest of the morning dragged on agonizingly. Michael's frustration morphed into a brooding, visceral anger. After the intense fantasies he had given into over the weekend, he felt a primitive sense of ownership over her. He absolutely refused to let a careless boy buy her loyalty.
As soon as his meeting concluded, Michael immediately turned to his head of security. "Clear the rest of my afternoon," he instructed, his soft voice suddenly carrying a sharp, indisputable edge. "And please ask Maeve to bring the final lighting approvals to my private study. Immediately."
Ten minutes later, the heavy mahogany doors of his private office clicked shut, sealing them entirely alone.
Maeve stepped into the dimly lit room, clutching the folders to her chest. "I have the lighting designs you asked for, Mr. Jackson," she began, maintaining her bright, professional tone.
Michael didn't even glance at the paperwork. He was standing rigidly behind his large desk, his posture unyielding. His dark eyes instantly dropped to the diamonds sparkling on her wrist.
"I see Jordan's bribe was successful," Michael stated. His tone was uncharacteristically cold and harsh, completely stripped of the warm, steady gravity he normally offered her.
Maeve froze, her hand instinctively coming up to cover the cold jewelry. "Excuse me?"
"The diamonds, Maeve," Michael pressed, taking a slow, predatory step around the desk. The jealousy he had been harboring all morning bled entirely into his words, making him unusually stern. "After he abandoned you on Friday night, forcing me to intervene so you wouldn't be stranded in the dark, you are parading around the estate wearing his guilt gifts? Is that all it takes for him to buy your forgiveness?"
Maeve’s heart hammered wildly against her ribs. She was immediately nervous and flustered by his icy demeanor. Before taking this job, she had cynically assumed that working for someone of his immense status would just mean dealing with another demanding elite who viewed her as disposable, expecting to meet the same type of arrogant person she'd dealt with before. Nothing about Michael had fit that mold until this very moment, and the sheer intensity of his harsh interrogation made her cheeks flush a deep, embarrassed red.
"It's not... he gave them to me before he told me about the trip," she stammered, taking a small step back as his towering frame loomed closer.
Seeing the genuine distress on her face, Michael abruptly stopped. The sight of her flustered expression instantly transported him back to the morning they first met. He remembered how she had arrived completely out of breath and frantic after a commuting disaster, relying on a last-minute cab just to make it to his door. He remembered how his only instinct had been to soothe her anxiety with a calming drink and a reassuring smile. He wasn't the kind of man who created panic for her; he was the man who permanently removed her burdens.
Michael let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over his face. He quickly dialed his intense demeanor back, realizing he was unfairly taking his own frustrated desires out on her. He wanted her desperately, but he needed her to choose him willingly, not out of fear or pressure.
"I apologize, Maeve," Michael murmured, his tone softening back into its familiar, reassuring velvet. "I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. I am just... deeply frustrated that you accept being treated as an afterthought."
Maeve looked up into his softening eyes. The sheer whiplash of his emotions made something profound click in her mind. He wasn't just acting like a critical boss; he was undeniably jealous. She was slowly catching on to the terrifying, thrilling reality that her employer might actually be harboring the exact same dangerous feelings she had been trying to suppress. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep her composure and not simply drop the folders and melt into his warmth right then and there.
But before she could formulate a response, the heavy, intimate tension in the room was shattered by the sharp buzzing of her phone.
Maeve blinked, pulling the device from her pocket. It was a text message from one of her closest friends, who happened to be vacationing in Aspen.
Friend: Maeve, I am so sorry. I'm at the ski lodge and Jordan is here. He's not alone.
Beneath the text were three photos.
Maeve's breath hitched as she opened the first image. It was undeniably Jordan, sitting comfortably by a fire pit. In his lap was a blonde woman, and his hands were roaming freely over her waist as they kissed passionately.
The leather-bound folders slipped from Maeve's hands, hitting the floor with a loud thud.
Her professional act completely shattered. After the emotional rollercoaster of Michael's interrogation, the blatant, undeniable visual proof of Jordan's betrayal was entirely too much to bear. She had spent the entire weekend trying to rationalize her relationship and defend her loyalty, only to be completely humiliated. A hot, angry tear escaped her eye, tracing a path down her cheek as a suppressed sob caught in her throat.
Hearing the folders hit the floor, Michael instantly closed the distance between them. "Maeve? What's wrong?"
She couldn't speak. Her hands were shaking so violently that she simply turned the phone around, allowing Michael to see the brightly lit screen.
Michael's eyes locked onto the photos. A dark, visceral wave of disgust and aggravation surged through him. Jordan hadn't just abandoned her; he was actively making a fool out of her.
But as Michael looked away from the phone and down at Maeve, his anger was completely eclipsed by a profound, overwhelming urge to console her. She stood there wiping frantically at her watering eyes, her sleek hair falling perfectly around her shaking shoulders. Even in the depths of her heartbreak and sadness, she looked incredibly, intoxicatingly sexy to him.
"Oh, Maeve," Michael whispered gently, his soft voice entirely devoid of any remaining coldness. He reached out, taking the phone from her trembling hands and tossing it onto his desk, finally pulling her into the safe, broad warmth of his chest.
The collision of her frame against him was electrifying. The moment his arms wrapped securely around her, the last fragile thread of her composure snapped. She buried her face into his crisp shirt, a heartbroken sob tearing through her throat. The diamond bracelet pressed coldly against his chest—a glittering reminder that she had been bought off so her boyfriend could freely cheat.
Michael held her firmly, acting as an unyielding anchor against her sudden devastation. A feral satisfaction mingled with his need to protect her; Jordan had completely handed her over. As she cried softly against him, Michael rested his chin near the top of her head, his large hand gently smoothing down her back. Her vulnerability didn't diminish her power in his eyes; it only fueled the deep, possessive fire he had ignited over the weekend.
"Shh, let it out," he murmured, the vibration of his voice rumbling deeply in his chest. "You are safe here. I've got you."
Maeve gripped the fabric of his shirt, her mind a chaotic whirlwind of humiliation. Yet, as his intoxicating scent wrapped around her, the agonizing sting of betrayal slowly began to mix with a dangerous, fluttering warmth.
After a few minutes, the violent shaking in her shoulders began to subside. Maeve took a shaky breath and slowly pulled her head back just enough to look up at him.
Michael didn't let her step away. He kept one arm firmly wrapped around her waist, using his free hand to gently cup her face. His thumb tenderly brushed away a stray tear.
"He is a blind, careless fool," Michael stated fiercely, holding her gaze with a quiet, undeniable intensity. "You are far too brilliant to shed tears over a boy who does not recognize the absolute privilege of your presence."
Maeve’s breath hitched, her tear-filled eyes wide as she stared up at him. They were standing dangerously close, the intimate proximity entirely erasing the boundaries of employer and assistant.
"On the very first day you arrived here, I promised I would handle your logistics so you wouldn't have to stress," Michael continued, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register as he brushed his thumb across her cheekbone again. "But I meant so much more than that, Maeve. You should never have to worry about being discarded or replaced. You deserve genuine, permanent devotion."
The profound sincerity in his words completely obliterated the remaining walls around her heart. The barrier of her relationship was gone, leaving absolutely nothing between her and the overwhelming attraction she felt for the man holding her. As Michael looked down at her, his dark eyes burning with unrestrained desire, Maeve realized with a terrifying thrill that he wasn't just comforting a heartbroken employee—he was claiming the woman he wanted.
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
1) RUNNING LATE
2) A FRESH START (AND OPEN DOORS)
3) THE BOYFRIEND
4) THE TEST
5) CONTRAST
Oh my fault! I was the annon who asked why the other chapters were not visible…. Turns out it was the filtering on my end. Love your storyyy! Update more please when you have the time. Thankssss ❤️
lowkey I think tumblr acting up 🥲 but I have at least 3 more chapters in the chamber whenever mine acct stops acting up !! thanks for tapping in boo.💓
The transition from the secluded, intoxicating intimacy of Michael’s luxury vehicle to the bustling, brightly lit dining room felt incredibly jarring to Maeve. Guided by the maître d', she wove through the crowded, upscale restaurant until she spotted Jordan sitting comfortably at a premium corner table.
"Wow, babe. You look absolutely stunning," Jordan greeted, standing up to press a quick, practiced kiss to her lips.
Maeve kissed him back, though she couldn't entirely shake the lingering warmth of Michael's heavy, protective gaze from the car ride. Taking her seat, she immediately noticed two small, impeccably wrapped boxes sitting perfectly centered on the white tablecloth.
"Go ahead, open them," Jordan urged, leaning back with a satisfied grin.
Inside the first box was a delicate, dazzling diamond tennis bracelet, and the second held a pair of matching earrings. They were undeniably beautiful. For a brief moment, the tension from the exhausting week seemed to evaporate as she thanked him, allowing herself to enjoy the world-class food and conversation.
But as the waiter cleared their main courses, Jordan casually shifted the conversation, mentioning offhandedly that he had booked a solo trip to Aspen for the following week. He brushed it off with a careless shrug, claiming he just wanted to hit the slopes by himself for a few days so she could "really focus on her new job."
A heavy, hollow silence fell over the table.
Maeve slowly lowered her glass of wine. Her eyes drifted from Jordan’s perfectly relaxed, unbothered face down to the heavy diamond bracelet sparkling on her wrist. The puzzle pieces violently snapped together. The expensive jewelry wasn't a celebration of her recent career success; it was a preemptive bribe designed to keep her compliant while he took their special yearly vacation completely without her.
She stared at him, suddenly struck by the profound, staggering difference between the two men currently in her life.
Before accepting her new role, she had been deeply cynical about working for powerful men, convinced that entering the world of the elite meant dealing with the exact same arrogant, self-serving personalities over and over again. But her new boss had completely shattered that assumption. When Michael saw she was in distress—whether she was frantically scrambling to their first meeting after her morning commute fell apart, or stranded without a secure ride in the dark—he stepped up with immediate, permanent solutions to ensure she never had to worry. He acted with a quiet, undeniable authority to protect her. Jordan, on the other hand, simply threw shiny, expensive distractions at her to cover up his own selfish choices.
For the rest of the dinner, Maeve smiled politely and nodded along, but her mind was miles away, entirely consumed by the dangerous, magnetic pull of a man who actually knew how to take care of her.
Miles away, cloaked in the sprawling quiet of his massive estate, Michael stood in the center of his dimly lit bedroom. He slowly unbuttoned his tailored suit jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair, but he made absolutely no move to actually get ready for bed.
His body was humming with an intense, restless energy.
He felt a deep, intoxicating sense of triumph settling in his chest. He was immensely pleased that he had been the one to intervene and assert his protective dominance tonight. Just as he had recognized her panic on her very first day and permanently removed her burden of finding reliable transportation, he had successfully stepped in this evening. He had shielded her from the indignity of waiting for a rideshare in the dark, proving his unwavering devotion exactly when she needed it most.
But as Michael sat on the edge of his large mattress, running a frustrated hand through his dark hair, the triumphant high began to morph into a heavy, burning ache.
He couldn't fight his urges anymore. His mind was entirely consumed by the vivid image of Maeve in that sleek emerald dress. It had hugged her curves flawlessly, highlighting her radiant complexion with an effortless, natural perfection. Initially, he had been angry that she was dressing up for a boy who didn't appreciate her, but now, sitting in the quiet isolation of his room, he was just overwhelmingly turned on.
He thought about the subtle shift he had felt in her tonight. He had seen the quiet realization dawn in her eyes in the office, the clear, undeniable doubts she was having about her relationship when she read Jordan's dismissive text message. And God, she had looked so incredibly sexy dealing with that disappointment. Even when she was flustered and embarrassed, she carried herself with a breathtaking grace that drove him absolutely wild.
With a heavy exhale, Michael finally surrendered to the intense heat pooling in his gut.
He stripped off the rest of his clothes and slid under the cool sheets, his heart hammering against his ribs as he let his imagination completely take over. As his hand wrapped around his thick length, there was absolutely no hesitation. There was no internal conflict, no vows of strict professionalism, and absolutely no guilty feelings. Jordan’s existence was entirely erased from his mind.
There was only Maeve.
He stroked himself to the vivid memory of her sitting in the passenger seat of his car, her delicate hands folded shyly in her lap as she tried to hide her flushed cheeks. He imagined pulling her into his lap instead, feeling the soft warmth of her skin under his hands. His breathing grew heavy and ragged in the empty room as he pictured tearing that emerald dress away, replacing her quiet disappointment with overwhelming, undeniable pleasure.
He imagined the way she would look completely undone beneath him, her guarded professionalism shattering as he showed her exactly how a real man worshipped a woman. Every stroke was fueled by a dark, possessive need to make her his. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hips snapping upward as he surrendered completely to his desires, entirely unapologetic for the fierce, consuming hunger he felt for his beautiful assistant.
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
1) RUNNING LATE
2) A FRESH START (AND OPEN DOORS)
3) THE BOYFRIEND
4) THE TEST
The rest of the week passed with a thick, unspoken tension lingering beneath the polished surface of their professional dynamic. True to his late-night vow, Michael maintained his distance, keeping his interactions with Maeve strictly related to his schedule and upcoming appearances.
By the time Friday evening rolled around, Maeve was thoroughly exhausted but relieved. Tonight was the night Jordan had promised to make up for leaving her stranded on her first day. He had secured reservations at a highly exclusive Michelin-star restaurant downtown.
Before leaving her office in the east wing of the estate, Maeve slipped into the adjoining restroom to change out of her daily workwear and into a sleek, emerald-green evening dress. She applied a fresh coat of lipstick and smoothed her hair, preparing to call her assigned driver to take her back to her condo so she could meet Jordan.
As she stepped back into her office to grab her purse, completely oblivious to the fact that she was no longer alone, Michael stood silently near her desk.
He watched quietly as she adjusted her purse strap, his dark eyes sweeping over her. A soft, breathless flutter erupted in his chest. How is it possible that she looks even more delectable? he wondered silently. She didn't even have to try; the emerald-green fabric perfectly complimented her complexion without any excessive effort, highlighting a natural, intoxicating beauty that left him completely captivated.
Michael practically swooned where he stood, his heart racing as he admired the effortless grace of his assistant. She was absolutely breathtaking. He wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them and pull her into his arms.
But then reality struck him like a splash of cold water—she wasn't dressing up like this for him. She was putting in all this effort for Jordan.
Closing his eyes for a fraction of a second, Michael took a slow, calculated breath, trying once more to forcefully push his entirely unprofessional thoughts aside. He had sworn to keep his boundaries. Forcing his guarded mask back into place, he finally broke the silence.
"You look lovely, Maeve," his soft voice flowed into the quiet room, gently startling her. "Are you heading somewhere special tonight?"
Maeve jumped slightly, her hand flying to her chest as she turned around. "Oh! Good evening, Mr. Jackson. Thank you. Yes, Jordan is taking me out to dinner," she replied, keeping her tone light.
Michael let out a soft hum. This was the perfect opportunity to let Jordan dig his own grave.
"I see," Michael said smoothly, closing the file in his hands. "Well, I hope you have a wonderful time. Oh, and before I forget—I've given your driver the rest of the weekend off. He's worked some incredibly long hours for us this week."
Maeve blinked, a brief flash of panic hitting her as she suddenly had to figure out a backup plan. After the chaotic scramble of her very first morning, Michael had explicitly promised her she would never have to stress over how to get around again. "Oh. Of course. That's very kind of you, Mr. Jackson. I'll just... call a taxi to take me to meet Jordan, then."
The very mention of her relying on a last-minute cab made Michael's jaw tighten, but he masked it perfectly behind a warm, calculated smile.
"A taxi?" Michael repeated, his tone laced with a subtle, unmistakable disbelief. "For a Michelin-star dinner? Maeve, I assumed Jordan would be arriving here at the estate to escort you himself. A man should take pride in picking up his partner for a proper date."
Maeve froze. The imposing but gentle gravity in his voice completely pinned her in place. He wasn't demanding anything, but his words cast a glaring spotlight on Jordan's lack of effort.
"I... I hadn't asked him to drive all the way out here," Maeve admitted, her cheeks flushing.
"You shouldn't have to ask," Michael replied gently, holding her gaze with an intense, quiet protectiveness. "Text him. Tell him your driver is off duty and you need him to pick you up here."
Maeve swallowed hard. She pulled her phone from her purse and sent a quick message to Jordan, explaining the situation.
As she stared down at her illuminated screen waiting for a reply, Michael took the quiet opportunity to simply watch her. The stillness of the office wrapped around them, and once again, he found himself completely entranced. Cast in the dim evening light, he was so lost in his admiration of her delicate features that the rest of the room seemed to fade away entirely.
A minute later, her phone buzzed.
Jordan: Are you serious right now? That estate is way out of the way from where I am and traffic is a nightmare. I'll just order you an Uber, but you need to remind me of the address again.
Maeve stared at the screen, a heavy wave of embarrassment washing over her. "He... he's not coming," she murmured softly, her eyes still glued to the phone. "He said he didn't plan to come all the way out here, so he's just sending a ride instead."
Michael remained completely silent, his dark eyes still locked on the curve of her jawline, completely lost in his thoughts.
"Mr. Jackson?" she prompted, glancing up.
Michael blinked, suddenly snapping out of his daze. "Forgive me, Maeve. What was that?" he asked, his usually focused tone carrying a rare hint of distraction.
"I said Jordan isn't coming to get me. He's sending a car service," she repeated, hastily shoving her phone back into her purse. She felt entirely humiliated. Her boyfriend was subjecting her to the exact same careless treatment that had caused her so much panic on the day of her interview.
A flash of genuine protective anger darkened Michael's eyes, instantly snapping him back to reality. "You will not be taking a rideshare, Maeve," he stated, crossing the room to retrieve his keys. "Come along. I will take you myself."
Maeve’s eyes widened in shock. "Mr. Jackson, no, please," she stammered, instinctively shaking her head. "I absolutely do not want to inconvenience you on a Friday evening. It's really fine, I can just wait for the car—"
She didn't get to finish her sentence.
Michael smoothly closed the distance between them, stepping dangerously close. The sudden, intense proximity completely robbed Maeve of her breath. He stopped mere inches from her, his towering frame casting a grounding, protective shadow. He tilted his head down, looking deep into her eyes with an unyielding, unwavering focus.
"Maeve," he murmured. His tone was impossibly gentle, yet it carried an absolute finality that left no room for argument. "My word on this is final. I do not feel comfortable with you being out so late all alone, waiting on a stranger to pick you up in the dark. I am driving you."
Knowing better than to argue when he utilized that effortless command, Maeve simply nodded, following him out of the office and toward his private garage. He bypassed the larger SUVs they typically used for business and led her to his personal vehicle: a sleek, imposing, all-black luxury car. True to his gentlemanly nature, he opened the passenger door for her, making sure she was settled before walking around to the driver's side.
As Michael navigated the estate gates and merged into the evening traffic, the heavy tint of the windows made the interior of the cabin feel entirely secluded. They were wrapped in a dark, intimate quiet that made Maeve feel uncharacteristically shy.
She was used to spending countless hours with Michael in bustling boardrooms, chaotic event spaces, and sprawling recording studios. But this was entirely different. Sitting mere inches away from him in the enclosed space of his personal car, surrounded by the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne, the intimacy of the moment was overwhelming.
She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, staring out the window to hide her flushed cheeks. Maeve was a fiercely loyal woman; she was taken, and she wouldn't even dream of cheating on Jordan. But as she sat there, she found herself having to try incredibly hard not to give into the dangerous *what-if* thoughts flooding her mind.
Before taking this job, she had cynically assumed that powerful men would all be the same—demanding, selfish, and completely out of touch with the people beneath them. Yet, here was one of the most famous men in the world, going completely out of his way to make sure she was safe because her own boyfriend had failed to do so. The more Michael took care of her, the harder it was to ignore how appealing he was. He was proving to be agonizingly hard to resist.
After a few miles, Michael briefly cleared his throat, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the road ahead.
"I hope you know I am not trying to scold or judge you, Maeve," he began, hesitating for just a fraction of a second as he chose his words carefully. "But you must understand... a grown man should inherently want to take care of the woman he is with."
He glanced over at her, his dark eyes filled with a magnetic sincerity that made her heart skip a beat. "You should never have to beg for basic consideration or remind someone to make sure you arrive safely. You can do much better than being treated as an afterthought."
Maeve swallowed hard, his words sinking deep into her chest. He wasn't yelling or demanding she break up with Jordan, but his profound respect made her view her current relationship in a harsh, glaring new light.
As they approached the Michelin-star restaurant, Michael completely bypassed the crowded front valet. Instead, he effortlessly pulled down a secluded side street, navigating into a hidden, highly secure private entrance.
Shielded from the public eye, Michael put the car in park and stepped out. He walked around the sleek black vehicle and personally opened her door, offering a warm, lingering smile.
"Have a good evening, Maeve," he murmured softly as she stepped out.
"Thank you, Mr. Jackson. For everything," she replied, her heart fluttering wildly at his chivalry.
Michael didn't get back into his car immediately; instead, he stood by the open door, leaning against the tinted glass with a fiercely protective gaze, watching carefully until Maeve had safely walked through the private entrance and disappeared inside to face the boyfriend who had abandoned her.
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
1) RUNNING LATE
2) A FRESH START (AND OPEN DOORS)
3) THE BOYFRIEND
The next two weeks passed in a whirlwind, and Maeve quickly proved exactly why she belonged in that leather chair next to Michael's.
She anticipated his needs before he even had to voice them. She managed his chaotic schedule with ruthless efficiency, kept demanding executives in line, and maintained her cool under the immense pressure of his world. Tonight was no different. Michael had been invited as the keynote guest speaker for a highly publicized philanthropic gala, and Maeve had spent the entire evening making sure the event ran flawlessly.
As Michael stepped off the brightly lit stage to the sound of thunderous applause, Maeve was already waiting in the wings. She handed him a cool towel and a fresh glass of water, silently guiding him away from the lingering press and toward the private VIP exit where their SUV would be waiting.
"You were brilliant tonight, Mr. Jackson," Maeve murmured softly, checking her watch to ensure they were perfectly on schedule.
"Thank you, Maeve," he smiled, taking a sip of water. His adrenaline was still running high from the speech, but he felt an undeniable sense of ease having her right by his side. "And thank you for keeping the event coordinators off my back before I went on. You handled them beautifully."
Before Maeve could reply, a booming voice called out from down the hallway. "Michael! Wonderful speech, my boy!"
An older, highly influential record executive and his glamorous wife approached them. Michael smoothly shifted back into his public persona, offering a warm smile and a polite handshake.
"Thank you, Richard. It's wonderful to see you both," Michael replied, his soft voice effortlessly commanding the interaction. He immediately placed a gentle hand on the small of Maeve's back, bringing her forward just a fraction. "I'd like to introduce you to my new executive assistant, Maeve. She’s the one keeping everything running so smoothly tonight."
"Ah, a pleasure!" Richard smiled, shaking her hand.
"It's lovely to meet you, dear," Richard's wife added, looking Maeve up and down with an approving smile. "It takes a very special, organized woman to keep up with Michael's schedule. A beautiful, capable girl like you... your husband must be incredibly understanding of these late nights."
Maeve flashed a polite, practiced smile. "Oh, I'm not married, ma'am. But I do have a boyfriend. His name is Jordan. We've been together for about two years."
Beside her, the subtle warmth radiating from Michael seemed to instantly vanish.
For a fraction of a second, the polite smile on Michael's face completely hardened. His jaw clenched, a visible flash of intense frustration darkening his eyes. His gaze snapped down to Maeve. A boyfriend?
His mind instantly raced back to their very first meeting. He remembered her sprinting up his massive driveway, entirely out of breath in her beautiful dress. He remembered the frantic, embarrassed look on her face when she had apologized for her tardiness.
A sharp, possessive flare of anger ignited in his chest. She had a boyfriend of two years, and yet she had been left stranded on the morning of the biggest interview of her life?
The math clicked into place, and Michael despised the conclusion.
Richard, oblivious to the sudden drop in temperature, chuckled. "Well, Jordan is a lucky man to have a woman with such a stellar work ethic! You'll have to bring him to the company holiday party."
Michael’s grip on his water glass tightened just enough to turn his knuckles white. He took a slow, calculated breath, forcing the stern frustration off his features and replacing it with a cool, perfectly guarded expression. He needed to keep things strictly professional, even if every protective instinct in his body was currently screaming.
"Maeve's work ethic is indeed unparalleled," Michael interjected smoothly, his tone polite but carrying that undeniable edge of unspoken influence that signaled the conversation was over. "If you'll excuse us, Richard, we have an early morning tomorrow and our car is waiting."
After parting ways with the couple, Michael gently guided Maeve toward the heavy exit doors. When they stepped out into the cool night air, their driver was waiting. True to Michael's word from weeks ago, the driver immediately pulled open the door for her.
The streetlights of the city blurred past the tinted windows of the SUV. Because the hour had stretched so late, Michael had firmly insisted that they share the ride so he could personally ensure Maeve made it back to her condo safely.
The spacious backseat was quiet, save for the soft rustle of paper as Maeve flipped through her leather-bound planner, desperate to keep the silence from feeling too heavy.
"Tomorrow morning, the creative team needs your final approval on the stage lighting," Maeve said, her pen hovering over the schedule.
"I'll handle the lighting approvals before noon," Michael replied softly, his gaze resting intently on her illuminated profile in the dim light. He paused for a fraction of a second before his voice dropped into a smooth, conversational register. "Tell me, Maeve... will these demanding hours interfere with your relationship? I would hate to cause any friction between you and Jordan."
Maeve kept her eyes glued to her planner, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in her chest. "No, Mr. Jackson. It’s perfectly fine."
"I only ask because I remember our introductory meeting," Michael continued, his tone impossibly gentle but laced with a sharp, calculated curiosity. "When your ride fell through and you were forced to scramble for a last-minute taxi. Has Jordan always been so... comfortable letting you navigate high-stress situations on your own?"
Maeve swallowed hard. "He was having car trouble that morning. It wasn't his fault."
Michael let out a soft, noncommittal hum. He didn't push the subject further, allowing his soft-spoken command to let the question hang in the air.
When the SUV finally pulled up to the curb of her condo building, the tension in the car immediately shifted. Parked directly in front of her building was a gleaming, brand-new luxury sports car. Leaning casually against the driver's side door was Jordan.
"Oh, God," Maeve muttered under her breath, dread instantly pooling in her stomach.
"Is there a problem?" Michael asked, his brow furrowing.
"No, that's... that's Jordan," she sighed.
The driver quickly rounded the vehicle to open Maeve's door, but Michael smoothly stepped out of the SUV behind her. Hearing the doors shut, Jordan pushed himself off his shiny new car and jogged over.
"Hi babe!" Jordan cheered enthusiastically. He immediately closed the distance between them, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in to plant a kiss directly on her lips.
Standing just a few steps behind her, Michael’s entire body went rigidly tense. A violent surge of possessiveness and anger flooded his veins at the sight of another man's hands on her. He had to physically clench his fingers at his sides to hold himself back, reminding himself to keep things professional.
Jordan pulled back from the kiss, his eyes drifting just past Maeve's shoulder. His relaxed, affectionate demeanor instantly vanished, entirely bypassed by a deeply starstruck grin as his jaw practically dropped.
"Holy shit," Jordan breathed out, practically shoving past Maeve. "You're Michael Jackson!"
Michael’s expression remained perfectly composed, though his dark eyes instantly turned icy. "Hello."
"Man, I am a massive fan! I can't believe this," Jordan rambled loudly, completely oblivious to Maeve shrinking beside him in absolute mortification. Jordan dug frantically into his jacket pockets, pulling out a sleek pen and a business card. "Could you sign this for me? Seriously, wait until my friends hear about this."
A heavy, suffocating wave of second-hand embarrassment washed over Maeve. After everything she had done to maintain a strictly professional image, her boyfriend was acting like an over-eager teenager.
Through the polite, guarded mask on his face, Michael's ego flared with an intense, burning confusion. This was Jordan? This man was leaning against an expensive, brand-new luxury car, yet he hadn't bothered to secure Maeve a proper ride on the most important morning of her career, forcing her to do a panicked run in her heels?
"Jordan, please," Maeve finally jumped in, her voice tight with humiliation. She stepped between them, her cheeks burning. "Mr. Jackson has had an incredibly long night at the gala. He's very tired and needs to get home."
Michael’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second as he looked at Maeve, noting how uncomfortable she was. Smoothly, he took the pen and card from Jordan, scribbling his signature with practiced ease before handing it back.
"Maeve is right. It has been a long evening," Michael said, his soft voice laced with a subtle, dismissive chill that went entirely over Jordan's head. He turned his attention completely to Maeve, his tone warming instantly. "Have a good night, Maeve. I will see you in the morning."
"Goodnight, Mr. Jackson. Thank you," she murmured, unable to meet his eyes.
"Let's go inside, babe," Jordan cheered, already turning away and analyzing the signature on the card. He eagerly grabbed Maeve's arm, leading her toward the building without a second glance back. "I'm totally getting this framed."
Michael stood by the open door of his SUV, his jaw locked tight as he watched them walk away. The mental note he had made earlier at the gala was no longer just a thought; it was a mission. As he slid into the quiet sanctuary of the backseat, Michael knew one thing for certain: Maeve deserved far better than the boy who was currently pulling her through the front doors, and he was going to make sure she realized it.
The moment the heavy door of the condo clicked shut, the stifling silence of the room was entirely consumed by Maeve’s radiating frustration. She immediately dropped her purse on the counter and kicked off her heels, giving Jordan the absolute cold shoulder as she walked straight toward the bedroom without a word.
"Whoa, hey, what's with the attitude?" Jordan asked, following close behind her, his enthusiastic grin faltering. He placed the signed business card carefully on the nightstand. "Why are you acting so weird? You should be happy I came over to surprise you. Plus, you look incredibly sexy tonight, babe. And I mean...it was so cool to finally meet your boss! That was insane."
Maeve spun around, her exhaustion from the gala entirely overridden by anger. "Jordan, you made me look completely unprofessional! I have spent weeks proving I belong in this position, and you shoved past me to fanboy over my boss like an over-eager teenager."
Jordan rolled his eyes, letting out a loud, patronizing groan. "Oh, come on, Maeve. You're making a huge deal out of nothing. You're acting like a baby right now."
"A baby?" she echoed, her voice trembling with disbelief. "I am the executive assistant to one of the most famous men in the world! I need him to respect me, not think my boyfriend is treating him like a tourist attraction."
"He's a massive celebrity, Maeve. He is used to people asking for his autograph. It happens to him a hundred times a day," Jordan argued, stepping closer and trying to wrap his arms around her waist. "You're letting your age show, babe. You're twenty-six, but you're stressing out over something this guy is used to. Just let it go."
Maeve pushed his hands away, feeling a deep, exhausting ache settle into her bones. She remembered her own initial thoughts about the job, how she had cynically believed Michael would be just like all the other demanding executives she had worked for in the past. Instead, Michael had treated her with nothing but profound respect, and Jordan was effortlessly undermining it.
"I'm too tired for this," Maeve muttered, turning away to pull her makeup wipe from the drawer. "I'm going to sleep."
Miles away, cloaked in the sprawling quiet of his estate, Michael lay flat on his back in his massive bed, staring blankly at the dark ceiling above him. Sleep was an absolute impossibility.
His mind was stuck in a relentless, looping playback of the entire evening. It had started beautifully. He couldn't stop picturing the way Maeve had looked waiting for him in the wings of the stage, handing him a cool towel. He was endlessly impressed by how brilliantly she handled herself; for a twenty-six-year-old, her poise under the immense pressure of his world was nothing short of extraordinary.
But then the memory shifted to the hallway, to the exact moment the record executive's wife had innocently asked about a husband.
I have a boyfriend. His name is Jordan.
A dark, suffocating wave of anger rolled through Michael's chest all over again, swiftly followed by a sharp, venomous sting of jealousy. He let out a heavy sigh, running both hands over his face, trying desperately to push the feelings aside.
He had to remember his place. Maeve was his employee. She worked for him, and crossing that line was incredibly dangerous. After seeing how carelessly Jordan treated her—leaving her to scramble for a taxi on her first day and humiliating her outside her own home tonight—Michael was hyper-aware of his own power. He absolutely refused to be another man in her life who made her feel cornered or taken advantage of.
A profound sense of guilt washed over him for even thinking about her in this manner. He shouldn't be lying in bed fixating on the curve of her waist in that black dress or the way her golden-brown skin looked under the city lights.
But God, he couldn't help himself. She was breathtakingly beautiful.
His jaw locked tight as a fierce, intoxicating possessiveness flared up inside him once more. He absolutely hated the idea of anyone having Maeve's time and attention—but especially Jordan. The thought of that boy sitting in her condo right now, touching her, having access to her brilliant mind and warm presence, made Michael’s blood boil.
He turned over, burying his face in his pillow, fully acknowledging the dangerous game he was playing. Spending so many intimate, demanding hours with her was a massive risk, because Michael knew with absolute certainty that these feelings were only going to grow.
But he was a professional. He was her boss. He swore to the empty room that he would bury his possessiveness and stick to professionalism as best as he possibly could—even if it killed him.
The plush leather of the SUV's backseat felt like an answered prayer after the day Maeve had experienced. When the estate was no longer in view, she allowed herself a moment to relax and just melt into the cozy cushions of her seat. The scent of Michael's cologne lingered nearly the whole ride home. The combination of notes was unlike anything she'd smelled before. Whatever he'd been wearing was undoubtedly enticing.
The notes were the perfect balance of florals and sweetness but still had a sort of intense and regal punch. A bit of disappointment filled her body when the indulgent smell of whatever Michael had been wearing finally tapered off.
As her ride came to an end and the driver stopped at the curb of her condo building, a sense of angst came over her. Before she could reach for the handle of her car door, it was abruptly opened by the driver tasked with taking her home. Startled, she quickly gathered her belongings as the driver cleared his throat to speak.
"Apologies for scaring you! Mr. Jackson insisted I be sure to grab the door for you."
"Oh, umm, thank you, but next time I can get it," she smiled, climbing out of the SUV.
Unlocking her front door, Maeve made her way into the cozy, two-bedroom condo she had bought entirely on her own. It was a personal point of pride, especially compared to her boyfriend, Jordan. At thirty years old, Jordan was a few years her senior, but he still lived lavishly off his family’s seemingly endless wealth. He loved to buy her expensive gifts and take her on luxury vacations, but when it came to everyday consideration, he constantly fell short.
She dropped her bag on the counter, but before she could even kick off her heels, her phone began to buzz.
Jordan.
They had a very on-again, off-again relationship, though they had managed to stay together this time for two years. Understandably, she wasn't in the mood to talk to him. Jordan was supposed to be her ride that morning, but his plans had fallen through. With his family's money, he could have easily hired a private car to take her to the estate when he realized he couldn't make it. But being thoughtful wasn't Jordan's strong suit. Instead, she had been forced to get a taxi at the last minute, leading to her embarrassing sprint up Michael's driveway.
With a heavy sigh, she reluctantly swiped to answer. "Hello?"
"Maeve, babe, I am so sorry," Jordan's voice came through the speaker, thick with practiced remorse. "My alarm completely malfunctioned, and my car battery was dead. By the time I figured it out, it was too late to even call you. I feel terrible."
Maeve rubbed her temples, feeling her frustration bubble back to the surface. "Jordan, you didn't even try to send a cab. I had to scramble, and I was forced to sprint to the door in heels just to make it to my introductory meeting."
"I know, I know! I panicked," he pleaded, his tone softening into that charming, persuasive register he always used when he knew he was in the wrong. "But you made it, right? You always figure it out. Please tell me you got the job."
"I got it," she sighed, the fight slowly draining out of her.
"See? I knew you would. I’m an idiot, but I'm so incredibly proud of you," Jordan said smoothly. "Let me make it up to you. I'll get us a reservation at that new Michelin-star place downtown this weekend. And I'll take you shopping—buy you that designer bag you were looking at last month. Whatever you want, okay?"
Maeve bit her lip. A fleeting memory flashed in her mind of Michael’s soft voice offering her a glass of water, followed by him immediately arranging a driver for her so she'd never have to worry about transportation again. Michael hadn't tried to buy her forgiveness with flashy gifts; he had just noticed a problem and thoughtfully fixed it.
She pushed the thought away, feeling a sudden pang of guilt for comparing her boyfriend to her new boss. Jordan was trying in the only way he knew how, and she was simply too exhausted to argue tonight.
"Okay," she finally conceded, her shoulders dropping. "Dinner this weekend."
"Thank you, babe. Get some rest. I love you."
"Love you too," she murmured, hanging up the phone. She let out a long breath, hoping the uneasy feeling in her chest was just leftover adrenaline from the day, and nothing more.
The next morning felt entirely different from the chaotic blur of the day before. There was no frantic rushing, no stressing over transportation, and most importantly, no relying on Jordan.
Standing in front of her full-length mirror, Maeve took her time getting ready. She wanted to set a standard for her first official day on the job. She carefully selected a tailored black dress that hugged her curves perfectly, flattering her figure while remaining strictly professional. At five-foot-two, she relied on a sleek pair of black heels to give her a bit more height and command. Sheer pantyhose smoothed out her silhouette, and a structured, complimentary purse tied the entire look together. The dark fabrics contrasted beautifully against her glowing golden-brown skin, and her silk press remained flawlessly intact from the day before.
She took one last approving look in the mirror. She looked capable, sharp, and entirely unfazed.
Leaving her condo, a wave of genuine relief—mixed with an undeniable flutter of excitement—washed over her when she saw the familiar large black SUV idling flawlessly at the curb. The driver immediately stepped out to open her door with a polite nod. As she slid into the plush leather seat, Maeve couldn't help but smile. She didn't have to scramble for a last-minute taxi today. Michael had taken care of it, just like he promised.
The drive to the estate was smooth and quiet, giving her time to mentally prepare for the day. She was ready to prove why she had been hired to manage the life of one of the most famous men in the world.
When the SUV pulled through the massive gates and came to a halt near the front entrance, Maeve took a steadying breath and gathered her purse. As Michael had mentioned the evening prior, he was tied up with prior commitments this morning. Instead, waiting near the large front doors were two members of his security detail.
Stepping out of the vehicle, Maeve instantly recognized them. It was the same security team that had been watching the monitors yesterday—the ones who had undoubtedly seen her hightailing it all the way up Michael's driveway in a panic.
She lifted her chin, smoothing out the front of her black dress. If they were expecting the flustered, embarrassed girl from yesterday, they were about to be disappointed. Today, she was entirely in her element.
As she approached the front doors, the taller of the two guards broke into a wide, good-natured smile. "Well, if it isn't our favorite track star."
Maeve felt a flush of heat hit her cheeks, but she offered a sharp, amused smile in return. "Good morning to you, too. I decided to spare my heels today," she replied, referencing the shoes Michael had commended her for running in just twenty-four hours prior.
Both guards chuckled. "We were genuinely impressed," the other guard added with a warm nod. "But seriously, congratulations on your first official day. Welcome to the team. I'm Bill, and this is Dave."
"Thank you. It’s great to meet you both," she said, her shoulders relaxing. The atmosphere here really was different.
"Mr. Jackson is tied up in a meeting at the moment, so we’ll show you around," Bill offered, opening one of the large front doors for her. As they walked through the grand foyer, the guards gave her a brief but thorough rundown of the estate's daily rhythm. They pointed out the main kitchen where the head chef was currently prepping for the afternoon, introduced her in passing to a few of the bustling housekeepers, and gestured toward the east wing where the estate's executives and management team usually operated.
Meanwhile, on the complete opposite side of the sprawling home, Michael sat at the head of a long, polished oak table.
The room was filled with his lawyers and a team of creative directors, all eagerly proposing ideas for an upcoming high-profile occasion he would be attending. Despite the chaotic energy of the executives talking over one another, Michael remained the undisputed center of gravity in the room.
He was dressed in a crisp, deeply tailored black button-down shirt, the top two buttons left undone to reveal the subtle curve of his collarbone. The sleeves were rolled up precisely to his forearms, giving him an effortlessly professional yet undeniably sexy edge. Perched on the bridge of his nose was a sweet, delicate pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses.
He listened intently to a lawyer detailing a contract, his dark eyes focused through the lenses. When the man finished speaking, Michael pulled the reading glasses from his face, thoughtfully tapping the earpiece against his lower lip. The entire room immediately fell dead silent, waiting with bated breath for his response. He didn't have to raise his voice or demand attention; his presence alone commanded the space.
"I like the direction," Michael's soft voice finally flowed, slicing through the heavy silence of the room. "But let's revise the timeline on the press release. I want it handled internally."
The executives immediately nodded, scrambling to jot down his exact words.
Glancing down at his watch, Michael realized they were nearing the end of their scheduled time. His thoughts briefly drifted from the paperwork in front of him to the front gates of the estate. He leaned slightly to his right, bypassing the lawyers to whisper to one of his personal aides sitting quietly in the corner.
"My new assistant, Maeve, should have arrived by now," Michael murmured quietly so only the aide could hear. "Please go and retrieve her. I'd like her to join me as we wrap this up."
Maeve carefully smoothed her tailored dress once more as she took the leather chair directly to his right. The executives quickly gathered their paperwork, eager to comply with his new timeline and wrap up the meeting.
"We'll have the revised press release drafts on your desk by tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Jackson," the lead attorney stated, snapping his briefcase shut. "Thank you for your time."
"Thank you, gentlemen," Michael replied softly, his attention already shifting entirely to the woman sitting beside him. As the men filed out of the room, Michael called out to the final executive lingering in the doorway. "Please shut the door behind you on your way out."
The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, plunging the massive conference room into an intimate, sudden quiet.
Michael slowly pulled his wire-rimmed reading glasses from his face, folding them neatly and placing them on the table. He turned slightly in his expansive leather chair to fully face her.
"Good morning, Maeve," he greeted, his soft voice filling the quiet space.
"Good morning, Mr. Jackson," she replied, her spine straight and her tone perfectly professional. "I'm ready to go over the daily schedule whenever you are."
"We will get to the schedule in a moment," Michael said. The gentle warmth in his eyes suddenly sharpened into something far more stern. He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the polished oak table, closing the distance between them just enough to make her heart flutter. "I spoke with your driver this morning. He mentioned you told him that he didn't need to open your car door for you anymore."
Maeve blinked, completely caught off guard. She hadn't expected the driver to report such a seemingly minor detail back to him. "Oh. Yes, sir, I just... I didn't want him to feel like he had to jump out and wait on me every time. I was simply trying to be polite."
"I arranged a driver for you so you wouldn't have to worry about transportation. However, my instructions regarding his duties are final," Michael stated. His voice hadn't risen a single decibel, but the quiet authority in his tone left absolutely no room for argument. "When he brings you home, or anywhere else for that matter, he will be the one to open your door."
Maeve swallowed hard, the intense weight of his gaze holding her completely captive. "Understood, Mr. Jackson."
Seeing her quick compliance, the strict edge in Michael's expression slowly melted away. He let out a soft sigh, and that familiar, disarming warmth from yesterday returned to his dark eyes.
"I commend you for being polite, Maeve. I truly do," he murmured, his voice dropping into a tender, almost protective register. "But I have a specific way I like things done around here. And I firmly believe there are certain things a woman simply shouldn't have to do for herself when she is working for me."
He held her gaze for a moment longer, a slow, charming smile spreading across his lips.
"As I mentioned yesterday, I arranged a driver for you so you wouldn't have to worry about transportation. So, moving forward, he will always be the one to get your door for you," Michael instructed softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. "Unless, of course, I am there with you. In which case, I will gladly be the one to wait on you."
Maeve’s breath hitched at his words. She had spent years working as an executive assistant, but no one had ever spoken to her with such a captivating mix of dominance and genuine care. It was a staggering difference from the men she was used to dealing with—especially Jordan.
"I understand, Mr. Jackson. Thank you," she managed to reply, doing her absolute best to keep the professional mask firmly in place despite the intense fluttering in her chest.
Michael's smile widened just a fraction, clearly pleased with her response. "Good. Now," he said, shifting his posture back to a relaxed, professional stance as he pulled a leather-bound folder toward him, "let's take a look at today's schedule, shall we?"
Before meeting Michael, celebrities had never given Maeve that "starstruck" sensation most people experience. For her, meeting a new person with status felt very similar to the feelings you get when picking out a new nail color. While the faces might change, it still felt like she was meeting the same person over and over again, just in different fonts. Being an executive assistant allowed her the blessing and curse of working under some pretty important people. Now, at twenty-six, she had landed this amazing job working under Mr. Michael Jackson. THEE MICHAEL JACKSON. And while she was excited to meet him, in the back of her mind she couldn't help but think he would be just like all the others she had worked for in the past.
Normally, Maeve would've sat in thought much longer, but she had no time to waste. Her taxi was nearly late to Michael's estate, and she had no choice but to sprint out of the door so she'd make it to this introductory meeting. Dressed in a petal-pink dress that complimented her golden-brown skin, she swiftly pulled a makeup mirror from her bag to adjust the fresh silk press she'd just done on herself the night before. After she was satisfied with her reflection, Maeve rang the doorbell and was startled by how quickly the door was opened.
A soft voice flowed from Michael's lips. "Good morning. I hope you don't mind me saying this, but..." Michael somewhat hesitated out of shyness and then carried on. "Your cheeks are a little red. Can I get you a glass of water?"
Maeve had no time to answer before she was being led to the kitchen by Michael. She was so flustered about being basically late that she forgot Michael would personally be available to attend this specific meeting. Security trailed the pair as they continued their journey to the kitchen. Faint giggles could be heard as they sat. As Michael handed Maeve the glass of water, her eyes glanced up at him only to find that behind him on the wall were small security monitors. Security was laughing because they'd probably watched her hightailing it all the way up Michael's driveway.
Overcome with embarrassment, she took a small sip of water and cleared her throat. "First off, I want to sincerely apologize for my tardiness, Mr. Jackson... my ride fell through and I ended up having to get a taxi last minute. I assure you this won't happen again."
Michael let out a small giggle after trying his best to stay serious and then flashed a warm smile. "I'm sorry for my security, we don't like to be too serious around here. And please don't feel like we are laughing at you; it's just I truly commend you for doing that run in those heels." He let out a few more giggles before regaining his composure. "I don't want you to have to worry about transportation, so I have arranged a driver for you. I do it for all of my assistants."
Maeve flashed a shy smile and took another sip of water before going over Michael's needs and expectations for the role he had just hired her on for. When the meeting was finished, the pair walked back to the front door and down the steps where a large black SUV was already waiting to take Maeve home for the evening.
As they reached the vehicle, Michael stepped past his security to personally hold the heavy door open for her. The large SUV sat significantly higher off the ground than her usual last-minute taxis. As Maeve lifted her leg to climb inside, the smooth fabric of her petal-pink dress immediately rode up her thigh, threatening to reveal a little too much.
Before Maeve could awkwardly scramble to adjust it, Michael's hand moved with a gentle but deliberate swiftness. He lightly caught the hem of her dress, tugging it downward and shielding her from the sightline of the driver and his security team as she slid into the seat.
Maeve froze for a fraction of a second, her breath hitching. She made a sharp internal note of the gesture. No one does that, she thought. Most of the powerful executives she had worked for in the past would have either been entirely oblivious or would have shamelessly stared. But Michael had simply protected her dignity without making it a spectacle.
Michael lingered in the doorway of the SUV, his dark eyes catching the residual shock written plainly across her face. A soft, knowing expression settled over his features. He tilted his head slightly, observing her with that quiet intensity. It was as if he could perfectly read the surprise in her eyes, silently noting that no one had ever bothered to look out for her in such a simple, gentle way before.
"Have a safe trip home, Maeve, and get some rest," his soft voice flowed, carrying that same gentle warmth from earlier. "I have some prior commitments to attend to in the morning, so my security team will be here to meet you when your driver brings you back."
"Thank you, Mr. Jackson. Have a good evening," she managed to reply, her professional composure returning just enough to mask the flutter in her chest.
He offered one last warm smile before gently closing the door. As the large black SUV pulled away to take Maeve home for the evening, she sat in the quiet comfort of the backseat, entirely certain that this job was not going to be like the others.
