One evening after work, she was cornered in a narrow alley by a few drunk louts, seconds away from being assaulted.
Sitting in his black luxury car, Fletcher watched, face unreadable.
Just as they reached for her dress strap, a fist came down hard. The drunks were kicked to the ground in an instant.
Zoey, still shaken, looked up at him. “It’s you again? Thank you…for saving me.”
Fletcher said nothing, only shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
“Where do you live? I’ll take you home.”
She shook her head with a bitter smile. “I don’t have a home. I can’t afford rent. I’ve been sleeping in the hotel’s cleaning supply room.”
He looked at her in surprise. Half an hour later, he handed her a bank card.
“Stop working at the hotel. Come be my assistant.”
Her eyes lit up, joy breaking across her face.
From then on, she became Fletcher’s personal assistant.
His clothes—Zoey ironed them.
His schedule—Zoey arranged it.
And she handled it better than anyone before her.
But one day, Fletcher came home early. He leaned against the doorway, watching her tidy his wardrobe.
The longer he looked, the darker his expression grew.
“How do you know this way of tying a bow?”