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.
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?"
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.
