THE ASSISTANT EFFECT ✨

✨Chapter 1: The First Impression✨

There were rules at Blake & Co.

Unwritten, ironclad, and enforced by the unblinking eyes of the 30th floor. No idle chatter. No perfume stronger than confidence. No paper out of place. And absolutely no lateness.

Chloe Quinn broke all of them before 9:07 a.m.

She stood in the elevator, clutching her lopsided tote bag and a coffee that had already sloshed once onto her sleeve. Her curls were frizzing with humidity, her blouse was half-untucked from a sprint across Midtown, and her heart was thundering so hard she was certain the suited man beside her could hear it.

First impressions matter, she reminded herself as the elevator dinged.

She stepped into glass, marble, and money. The executive floor looked like a Vogue shoot—sharp lines, impossible quiet, cold lighting. And in the middle of it all, through a set of frosted doors, stood the woman Chloe had only ever seen in Forbes covers and viral business panels.

Margot Blake.

Tall, poised, lethal in heels. Her silhouette was framed by the skyline outside her office windows like she ruled it—and maybe she did. A tailored navy blouse hugged her form, her ash-blonde hair twisted into a chignon so perfect it might have been 3D printed.

She turned.

Chloe felt her breath catch.

Margot Blake’s eyes were the color of storm clouds, cold and steady. Her gaze swept over Chloe like she was scanning a document for errors—and finding them all.

“You’re late,” she said, voice like fine crystal cracking under pressure.

Chloe laughed nervously. “I—yes. I mean, just a little? There was… a cat. In the road. And—”

“I don’t care if it was your grandmother in the road.” Margot’s tone didn’t rise, but it sliced. “You’re not paid to be late. Or to lie poorly.”

Chloe blinked. “It really was a cat—”

“Miss Quinn.” Margot folded her arms, nails tapping the silk of her sleeve. “Let’s set expectations. You are not here to brighten my morning. You are not here to chat, charm, or cry. You are here to anticipate what I need before I ask for it, to solve problems before they exist, and to stay out of my way while doing both.”

Chloe swallowed hard. “Understood.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, Ms. Blake.”

The silence that followed was vast. Chloe tried not to fidget. Tried not to think about the fact that she was standing on carpet worth more than her rent.

Margot turned her back. “You may begin by getting me a coffee. Black. No milk. No syrup. No foam. And certainly no cinnamon swirls or cheerfulness.”

“Right,” Chloe said quickly, stepping forward. “I actually brought one for you. It’s a vanilla—”

Too fast. The tote on her shoulder slipped. Her elbow nudged the coffee. And then—slow motion—her reusable cup tipped forward, lid half-loose, and launched its contents into the air.

It landed on Margot’s desk.

On the polished glass. On a stack of folders. And with perfect cruelty, right on the cuff of her silk blouse.

“Oh my God,” Chloe gasped. “I’m—I’m so sorry, I—”

Margot didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

She slowly looked down at the mess on her desk, then at Chloe, with the kind of expression that could shut down an entire company merger.

“I see,” she said coolly. She plucked a napkin from a drawer, dabbing precisely at her sleeve. “Is this your idea of initiative, Miss Quinn?”

“No—I mean, yes—but no! I was just trying to—”

“Don’t try,” Margot cut in. “Execute.”

Chloe opened her mouth, then shut it.

Margot turned back to her papers like the incident was beneath reaction. “You have ten minutes to return with the correct coffee. Black. No sugar. No personality. If you fail, I’ll have HR prepare your exit paperwork.”

Chloe stared. “I—I understand.”

“And Miss Quinn?” Margot looked up again, those eyes like frost catching sunlight. “Don’t run this time. You’ll spill something else.”

Chloe all but stumbled out of the office, cheeks flaming, ego dragging behind her like a shredded umbrella.

She didn’t exhale until the elevator doors closed.

Then she groaned, pressing her forehead to the cool mirror. “First impressions matter,” she muttered. “And you just baptized your boss in vanilla latte.”

Still, somewhere under the panic and shame, another feeling curled quietly in her stomach.

Because when Margot had looked at her—really looked—there had been a flicker of something. A pause. The tiniest break in the CEO’s perfect composure.

Not affection. Not even warmth.

But maybe… curiosity.

And for Chloe Quinn, that was far more dangerous.