My Assistant is a Witch… But I can’t let her go.

Xander stood with his back to the door, arms crossed tightly as Erin hovered near the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. She'd just served breakfast and was about to retreat to her room when he spoke without looking at her.

"You're leaving soon."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

He turned to face her fully, his jaw tight, expression unreadable. "I've made a decision. You won't last long here. So let's not waste each other's time."

Erin raised an eyebrow. "Am I being fired?"

"No," he said flatly. "But I'm going to make you want to quit."

Her lips parted in a silent scoff, but she folded her arms. "Interesting strategy. And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"You're my personal assistant," he said, stepping forward. "That means everything personal to me—falls under your job description."

Erin narrowed her eyes. "Meaning?"

"From now on, you'll cook for me. Every meal. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner."

"I'm not a chef."

"No, you're not," he said. "But you're my personal assistant. Emphasis on 'personal.' Plus, you already did it today. No point pretending otherwise." he said without flinching.

"That was me being kind, not obligated," she said, raising a brow. "You know, normal human behavior."

"From now on, it's part of your job."

She stared at him, unmoving. "And?"

"You'll make my bed," he added. "Handle my laundry. Keep the place in order. If my room's a mess, you clean it. If I spill something, you wipe it. If I forget something, you fix it."

"That sounds a lot like a maid's job description," she said tightly.

He leaned forward, resting one hand on the counter beside her. "No, it sounds like a personal assistant doing personal things."

She didn't flinch. "You're deliberately trying to drive me out."

"I'm making your job what it's supposed to be," he said coldly. "Unless you misunderstood the role."

"No," she said, her voice low. "I think you misunderstood mine. I was hired to organize your schedule, communicate with your board, and assist with corporate transitions. Not—" she motioned toward the kitchen sink, "—fold your underwear. You're joking."

"I'm dead serious."

She gaped at him. "You can't be serious. That's not in the contract."

"I never gave you a contract."

She glared at him. "This is absurd."

He tilted his head slightly. "You're welcome to quit."

There it was. The moment he was pushing for. The outcome he wanted. Her to storm off, pack her things, slam the door—done.

But instead, Erin smiled.

It wasn't warm. It wasn't cold either. It was the kind of smile that slid under your skin and whispered watch me.

"Fine," she said.

He blinked. "What?"

"I'll do it," she said, brushing past him. "All of it."

He turned, baffled. "You're serious?"

She opened the fridge, casually pulled out a water bottle, and took a sip. "You want your shirts ironed? Done. You want eggs served at precisely seven a.m.? Sure. Need your gym bag packed? Consider it handled."

She turned toward him, her eyes gleaming now—daring. "Anything personal, right?"

He frowned, suddenly unsure if he'd won or lost.

"You think this will break me?" she asked. "You really think making me fold laundry and cook meals is the worst you can do?"

"I think it's beneath someone pretending to be corporate elite."

Her eyes darkened. "I'm not pretending anything. I'm here because I chose to be."

"Yeah, well. We'll see how long that choice lasts."

A beat passed. They stood, locked in some invisible battle neither wanted to name.

Then Erin walked past him toward the hallway. "We're going to be late. I'll get the car."

Her footsteps echoed lightly against the tiles, disappearing into the distance.

Xander didn't move for a while. He stayed in the kitchen, staring at the faint ring her water bottle left on the counter.

He expected resistance. Sarcasm. Maybe a half-hearted attempt to bargain. But not that.

Not her smiling like she had just accepted a challenge.

Not her agreeing.

And definitely not that weird, sinking feeling in his chest that maybe—just maybe—he'd pushed too hard.

He scowled, shaking off the thought. She was bluffing. She'd cave in a day or two. Maybe three. No one liked being ordered around like that. Not someone like her. Not with that fire in her eyes.

Still...

He glanced toward the hallway again.

Something about her reaction unsettled him. Not because it was polite.

But because it was calm. Too calm.

Like she knew something he didn't.

Like he'd just lit a fuse without checking where it led.

---

In the car:

The car ride was silent at first. Erin sat in the passenger seat, scrolling casually through her tablet, her fingers gliding over the screen with a breezy calm. Xander kept his eyes on the road, gripping the steering wheel just a little tighter than necessary.

Every so often, he'd glance sideways.

She was... unbothered. That annoyed him.

"You're unusually quiet," he muttered.

She hummed. "Just mentally listing all your possible laundry detergents. Don't want to mess with your delicate fabrics."

His jaw flexed. "Sarcasm suits you."

"Thank you. So does passive aggression, apparently."

He looked at her again, trying to read her expression. But it was a blank canvas. No hint of resentment. No protest.

Just that unsettling calm again.

"You're not going to keep this up," he said.

She looked at him. "You sure?"

"I've had five assistants before you," he said. "The longest one lasted two weeks."

"I'm flattered to be part of such an exclusive club."

He didn't smile.

Erin, however, leaned back, crossing her legs, tablet now forgotten in her lap. "You think you're testing me, Xander. But maybe I'm testing you, too."

He shot her a side-glance. "Is that supposed to intimidate me?"

"No," she said. "It's supposed to make you wonder."

There it was again—that look. Like she saw through him. Like she wasn't here by accident.

He didn't like it.

And yet...

He couldn't stop glancing her way.