Page 5 of Ansel

Sure, I didn’t throw my title around, but it bothered me that she sometimes acted like she was smarter than me. And maybe she was—at least when it came to catching mistakes. On those occasions, it felt like she went out of her way to prove it, pointing out every flaw in my reports.

I was always glad she did—better to fix an error before a meeting than embarrass myself in one. Still, it rankled.

“You’re lucky she fixes your fuck ups,” Charlie Dance, a colleague had told me just a couple of weeks ago.

Neha had come running into the conference room, where I was to present to the leadership team before the meeting started.

“I just saw it,” she said apologetically, referring to some financial numbers on a slide that I had included.

“I’m glad you did,” I assured her, though a part of me was annoyed that she’d found it only at the last minute. “You sure there are no other mistakes?”

I knew my tone was harsh but fuck, I had to present in five minutes.

“Yes, none. I looked through with a fine toothcomb.”

“Okay. Thank you,” I muttered.

She looked hurt when she left the room, and Charlie commented on how lucky I was.

“I wish my assistant was that dedicated,” he continued.

“She should’ve caught it earlier,” I snapped.

He looked bemused. “You said you just finished it this morning, so how could she have caught it earlier?”

He had a point, but I hated how insecure Neha made me feel, like I needed her to do my job. I did not.

“Have you been here before?” I asked Neha once we were seated at a corner table at Delmonico’s.

I came here with colleagues and even brought some women I dated. Vanessa and I had a standing lunch at least once a week.

Lately, I’d been spending a lot of time with Vanessa, and I wondered if she had feelings for me. We were friends, sure, but sometimes she would rest a hand on my arm—or worse, my thigh. I always pulled away. Immediately.

I was careful about boundaries at work. Some people didn’t mind casual touches, but I wasn’t about to risk making anyone uncomfortable. The last thing I needed was a misstep that could be misinterpreted.

Neha had never crossed a line with me—not even by accident. But according to Vanessa, everyone could see she had a crush on me, and that wouldn’t play well when I moved up. She wasn’t wrong. As leaders, we had to be careful—how we behaved, how we spoke, how we led. I couldn’t have anyone thinking I was sleeping with my assistant. That kind of rumor could ruin my career.

“No,” Neha murmured. “This is my first time.”

As I watched her across the table, I sensed something was wrong. She was subdued, and her usually smiling face looked tense.

“Is everything okay?” I asked softly.

She gave me a half smile and nodded. “Yes, Ansel.”

The half-assed smile lit up her face—because Neha Rao was absolutely stunning. She dressed professionally in pants and skirt suits. Today, she wore a sapphire blue silk blouse with a chocolate brown skirt with matching knee-high boots. She had removed her suit jacket when we sat down. It was early spring in New York, and there was still a chill in the air—but we’d all put our big coats away.

Her eyes were dark brown and she did something to make them look big. She always dressed in colors that complemented the warm undertones of her skin. Her sleek hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and the small gold studs in her ears caught the light every time she moved.

She was a beautiful woman, no doubt about that. She was reliable, sharp, and kind, making people feel seen. She anticipated what I needed before I even asked, worked harder than anyone else, and never expected credit for it.

I’d always had a thing for her—not that I ever admitted it to myself for long. Neha was off-limits, obviously.

And that was abigproblem. Lately, I’d caught myself looking at her too long and thinking about her at odd hours. I’d already decided that spelled disaster, so I’d ask her to find another job, using her graduating with her MBA as an excuse. But then she said she wanted to stay with me, and I foolishly told her that would be possible. It would be if I wanted it, but I didn’t.

“Thanks for bringing me here; I’ve always wanted to come.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I said politely.

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