The Unyielding Ultimatum

Harrison

I lean against the smooth edge of my mahogany desk, the heavy, oppressive silence of the office pressing into the room as I wait. The steady tick of the designer wall clock echoes in the background, marking the time Tessa has spent agonizing over my ultimatum. My gaze remains fixed on the closed door connecting our offices. She should be done weighing her options by now. I fold my arms across my broad chest, tracing the sharp line of my jaw with one finger. Deep down, in the quiet confines of my own mind, I know the absolute truth. I have zero actual intention of firing my assistant if she walks back through that door and tells me no. But she can never, under any circumstances, know that. It is vital she truly believes I would follow through and strip away her livelihood without a second thought. I always get what I want, no matter the cost or the method. Right now, what I want is a convincing buffer between me and my overbearing, meddlesome family.

My mind naturally wanders to her appearance as the seconds continue to drag on. I study the image of her in my head. She deviates significantly from my usual physical preference. I typically gravitate toward skinny, long-legged blondes with striking green eyes and a specific type of high-maintenance polish. Tessa is different. She is soft and curvy. She has thick brunette hair that she usually keeps tied back, and deep, striking blue eyes that always seem to hold a hint of nervous, anxious energy whenever I am near. No, she doesn’t run in the same elite, wealthy circles as my family, and she lacks that inherent arrogance born from old money. But she possesses a quiet, polite, and classy demeanor that is impossible to fake. With the right designer dress and a bit of strict coaching, I can easily fool my relatives and get them off my back. It is just for one weekend. One fake weekend to force them to stop trying to set me up with insufferable women.

My private life is strictly my own. I maintain an intensely private lifestyle. I have women I sleep with, but that is merely physical release, devoid of any real connection. Bringing someone into my actual world, even for a temporary charade, usually requires a highly specific type of partner. My lifestyle demands utmost discretion. Deep trust takes a long time to build, and my privacy is guarded fiercely against the public eye. But for the basic parameters of this fake weekend? Tessa merely needs to hit her marks and play the part.

I tap my fingers rhythmically against my chest, my notoriously short patience starting to wear thin. I am not asking for a monumental, life-altering sacrifice. I just need a date for a few hours. It isn’t like I am asking her to marry me. I check my luxury watch. Two more minutes. If she doesn’t show up, I am walking into her office to force an answer.

Just as I prepare to push off the desk, the faint sound of movement catches my attention. The brass door handle turns slowly. Tessa reappears in my office, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh that speaks volumes about her internal debate. She stops a few feet away, her posture stiff.

"Are you really going to fire me if I don’t come with you?" she asks, her voice tight with strain.

I suppress the smug smirk threatening to pull at the corners of my mouth. Instead of answering from across the room, I deliberately close the distance between us. I stroll forward with slow, measured steps until I am close enough to look directly down at her. Right on cue, her body betrays her. Her shoulders stiffen, and her breath hitches audibly in her throat. I note the physiological reaction with a spike of dark, arrogant pride. I evoke that same visceral response in every woman I stand this close to, even if Tessa stubbornly refuses to admit it.

"Yes," I deliver the word firmly, leaving zero room for interpretation.

She rolls her striking blue eyes, a sharp and openly dismissive gesture. My jaw clenches on instinct. If I were a man open to mixing business with pleasure, I would love to punish that defiant attitude right here and now. But I keep my hands firmly at my sides.

"You know I could report you for this coercion, right?" she huffs, crossing her arms in a weak attempt to shield herself from my imposing presence.

A harsh laugh escapes my chest. I am fully confident she lacks the leverage. "Yes. But you won’t."

"You don’t know that," she counters quickly. "Why are you even doing this to me? You could have asked anyone else in this company to go with you. Someone who is actually interested in you could play the part far better than I ever could."

I look down at her flushed face, supreme arrogance settling in my bones. "Everyone is interested in me. Even you."

She lets out a sharp, immediate scoff. "I am not. You are my boss, nothing more. I don’t even like you."

The words hang heavily in the air for a split second before her eyes widen in sheer, unadulterated panic. She instantly slaps a hand over her mouth, realizing her accidental slip-up. The horror radiating from her posture is palpable.

I raise an eyebrow, immediately seizing the distinct advantage. "Excuse me? Isn’t that a little rude?"

"Sorry, Sir," she mumbles frantically from behind her hand, dropping it back to her side. "I did not mean to say that out loud."

Her dislike doesn’t sting my ego in the slightest. Most people don't genuinely like me, and I couldn't care less. I only care that they remain useful, and right now, her guilt is a perfect weapon.

"You can make it up to me by attending the event," I say, letting a smirk finally break across my face.

"Is there any way I can get out of this without losing my job?" she asks.

I shake my head. My original date bailed at the eleventh hour, and I refuse to waste my valuable time hunting down another suitable replacement. "No. But if it makes the situation easier to swallow, I will pay you ten grand for your trouble."

Her head snaps up, eyes flashing with sudden, aggressive fire. "Are you for real? What am I, a damn hooker?"

I chuckle, amused by her massive overreaction. "You are severely overreacting. Hookers get paid to have sex. I am merely offering cash for you to stand beside me at a wedding. Huge difference."

"No," she snarls vehemently, stepping back as if the offer itself burns. "I am not taking your damn cash payout. I will come, but do not ever ask me for anything like this again. If you do, I swear I will report you."

I remain silent, watching her chest heave with uncharacteristic indignation.

"Furthermore," she continues firmly, "you are buying me a dress. I absolutely refuse to pay out of my own pocket for an event I don't even want to attend."

I study her flushed, angry face. For an entire year, Tessa has been a model of timid obedience. She quietly managed my schedule and followed every directive without a single word of complaint. Seeing her bare her teeth like this is a shock. Her unexpected feistiness sends a sudden, sharp jolt of heat straight to my groin. It is secretly turning me on. I quickly squash the inappropriate thought, reminding myself I need a compliant assistant.

"That is only fair," I agree readily. "We can go shopping tomorrow during your lunch hour." I pause, watching her posture relax slightly before dropping the next massive bombshell. "I should probably mention this requires a two-night stay. By the time the reception finishes, it will be far too late to make the drive back to the city."

Her jaw drops, and she immediately starts whining. "What? I hope to God you plan on booking two separate rooms, because I utterly refuse to stay in the same room as you."

I let a slow, mocking smile stretch across my lips, thoroughly enjoying the taunt. "Why not? Worried you will be too tempted?"

She scoffs loudly, swiftly and adamantly shutting down the notion. "No. I told you, I am not interested. I don't find you attractive in the slightest. I just refuse to share a damn room with my boss. This whole ordeal is going to be bad enough without being forced to sleep in the same space as you."

"You will have to," I inform her flatly. "The resort is entirely sold out. Every single room is booked."

I internally clarify the situation to myself. I am not playing some cheap, manipulative game to force physical proximity. I am not a character in a cheesy romance novel engineering a situation to win a woman's attention. There genuinely are zero rooms left available.

"You will take the bed, and I will take the sofa," I declare.

"Fine!" she snaps. "But you owe me."

"You know I am the one who signs your paychecks, right? I could fire you for talking to me like this," I remind her, testing the waters.

She doesn't flinch. She meets my gaze with absolute, confident defiance. "You could try. But I promise I would make your life a living hell if you ever tried pulling that."

I mask my surprise. There are clearly depths and absolute limits to Tessa that I never bothered to explore.

"None of us are going to win this argument, so let's drop it," I say, shifting gears. "You can head home for the day. Tomorrow is going to be busy, and we have to hit the road at six in the morning on Saturday. To make things easier, you should stay at my place Friday night. That way, we can leave straight from there and I don't have to waste time picking you up."

She stiffens, shaking her head adamantly. "No."

"No?"

"I am not staying with you," she states firmly, drawing a hard, unyielding line in the sand. "It is a boundary I refuse to cross. You can pick me up, or I am not coming at all."

Fierce frustration flares in my chest. God, she is infuriating. I want to push the issue, to assert my control, but I catch the stubborn, unmoving set of her jaw. She means it. If I push this specific boundary, she will back out of the entire arrangement, and I cannot risk that.

I let out a harsh sigh, yielding to her term. "Fine. I will pick you up."

"Good. I am going home."

She turns on her heel, strides out of my office, and heads straight for her desk. I stand in the doorway, watching as she gathers her belongings in quick, jerky movements. She slings her bag over her shoulder and marches out of the suite without speaking another word or sparing me a single backward glance.

She is rightfully pissed off at my threats. I can acknowledge that. I backed her into a corner and threatened her livelihood. Any sane person would be furious. But as I watch the empty hallway, my confidence remains unshaken. I always get what I want. Not even Tessa is immune to me, regardless of how much she desperately likes to think she is. By the end of this weekend, things will go exactly my way.