Rules of Attraction

The coffee was bitter, burnt, and exactly what I needed to survive the morning. I took another gulp and stared at the spreadsheet on my screen, the numbers blurring into gray static. Three weeks of this. Three weeks of data entry so mindless I could do it in my sleep, which was tempting given I’d gotten exactly five hours the night before.

My desk sat in the corner of the bullpen, the last cubicle before the hallway to the executive offices. A dead zone. No natural light, no foot traffic, no chance of anyone noticing me unless I fucked up. Which I hadn’t. Not once. I’d been a ghost for six months, and that was the plan. Keep my head down, collect my paycheck, and disappear into the crowd.

The problem with being a ghost is that people only see you when they want something.

“Miss Chen.”

I looked up. Marcus Sterling stood at the entrance to my cubicle, his hand resting on the partition like he owned it. Which he did. He owned everything in this building, including the air I was breathing. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my rent for the year. His face was all sharp angles and hard lines, the kind of handsome that felt dangerous. I’d seen him in passing. Heard his voice in meetings through the walls. But he’d never spoken to me before.

“Mr. Sterling.” I set my coffee down. Sat up straighter.

“My office. Now.”

He turned and walked away. No explanation. No please. Just the expectation that I’d follow, and the certainty that I would.

I did.

His office took up the entire south corner of the fifteenth floor. Glass walls, a view of the river, a desk the size of a fucking boat. He sat behind it, not in a chair but on the edge, one leg crossed over the other. He didn’t tell me to sit. So I stood.

“You’ve been here six months,” he said. “Data entry. Accounts payable.”

“Yes.”

“Your performance reviews are clean. No complaints. No mistakes.”

“That’s the goal.”

He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “The goal is to be invisible.”

I didn’t answer. He was right, and we both knew it.

He stood up and walked around the desk. Stopped three feet from me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne, something woody and sharp. Close enough that I could see the gray threading through his dark hair, the faint scar along his jawline.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said.

My stomach did something I didn’t like. A twist. A pull.

“Why?”

“Because you’re good at your job. Because you don’t gossip, don’t complain, don’t waste time.” He paused. “Because you’re the only person in this building who doesn’t try to impress me.”

I kept my face neutral. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Exactly.” He stepped closer. Now he was a foot away. Now I could see the flecks of gold in his irises. “I need someone I can trust. Someone who follows instructions without question. Someone who keeps their mouth shut.”

“What kind of instructions?”

He tilted his head. Studied me like I was a file he was deciding whether to open. “I have a personal project. Requires discretion. Requires someone who can handle pressure without breaking.”

“I handle pressure fine.”

“Do you?” He reached out and touched my chin. Two fingers, light, turning my face toward the light. “You’ve got good bones. Good posture. You hold yourself like someone who’s used to being looked at.”

I pulled back. Not fast. Not scared. Just enough to remind him I wasn’t a doll.

“I’m not interested in being looked at.”

“No. That’s what I like about you.” He dropped his hand. “The project pays double your current salary. Cash. No taxes. No paper trail. You work for me directly, off the books, for three months. After that, you’re free to go back to your cubicle or take a permanent position in my personal staff.”

Double my salary. Cash. That would clear my mother’s medical bills. That would get me out of the studio apartment with the mold in the bathroom and the neighbor who played drums at 2 AM. That would mean I could breathe for the first time in years.

“What’s the project?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you if you accept.”

“That’s not how this works.”

He laughed. A real laugh, low and warm, like he wasn’t used to doing it. “You’re right. It’s not.” He walked back to his desk and sat down. Leaned back. Crossed his arms. “I’ll give you the broad strokes. I’m selling the company. The buyer wants a clean handover. I need someone to organize, audit, and dispose of certain materials before the transaction closes. Sensitive materials. Things I don’t want anyone else to see.”

“What kind of materials?”

“Financial records. Personal correspondence. Digital files. Nothing illegal, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just… private.”

I wanted to say no. Every instinct told me to say no. This was the kind of offer that came with strings attached, strings that could wrap around my throat and pull tight. But the money. The fucking money.

“I want it in writing,” I said. “A contract. Terms and conditions.”

“Of course.”

“And I want a guarantee. If I do this, I walk away clean. No loose ends.”

He smiled again. This time it reached his eyes. “Miss Chen, I don’t leave loose ends.”

Something cold ran down my spine. But I nodded.

“Good.” He stood up and extended his hand. I took it. His grip was firm, warm, lingered a second longer than necessary. “You start Monday. Eight PM. We’ll work after hours. My private office, the basement level. I’ll send you the access code.”

“Eight PM. Got it.”

I turned and walked out. My heart was hammering. My palms were sweating. I didn’t know if I’d just made the best decision of my life or the worst.

The elevator doors closed behind me. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

Double the salary. Three months. Then I was done.

I could survive three months.

The elevator stopped on the third floor. The doors opened. A woman stepped in, mid-forties, expensive suit, expensive hair. She looked at me and smiled. Tight. Professional.

“You work for Sterling?”

“Accounts payable.”

“Good luck with that.” She pressed the button for the lobby. “He eats people like you for breakfast.”

The doors closed. I stared at my reflection in the polished steel.

Maybe. But I wasn’t easy to swallow.