Chapter 3 - Into the Caldwell World
The first week of my new job was a whirlwind.
Ethan was true to his word—he was patient, thorough, and surprisingly funny as he walked me through every aspect of his life. I learned how to use the complicated calendar system that scheduled his meetings from six in the morning until midnight, how to prioritize his emails (thousands a day, most of them junk from people wanting his money or his influence), how to book his private jet and his favorite hotel suites around the world, and how to tell when he was so stressed he needed to be dragged away from his desk for a walk around the gardens.
I learned that he drank his coffee black with one sugar, that he hated cilantro with a passion, that he ran five miles every morning at five sharp no matter how late he’d worked the night before, and that he had a soft spot for the stray cats that lived in the estate’s barn—he left bowls of food out for them every night, even though he’d never admit it to anyone but me.
I learned that his sister, Lila, was a world-famous painter who lived in Paris but called him every Sunday without fail, that his parents had died in a car crash when he was twenty-two, leaving him with the company and a fortune he’d never asked for, and that he’d spent the last ten years building Caldwell Global into the empire it was today, one ruthless business deal at a time.
And I learned that beneath the cold, calculating billionaire exterior, Ethan Caldwell was just a man. A man who’d been alone for a very long time. A man who carried the weight of his parents’ legacy on his shoulders, who felt responsible for the thousands of people who worked for him, who’d forgotten how to let anyone get close to him until the night he’d found me bleeding in his kitchen.
By Friday, I was starting to get the hang of things. I’d successfully scheduled three board meetings, booked a trip to New York for the following week, negotiated a better rate with the caterer for Ethan’s annual charity gala, and even managed to convince him to take an afternoon off to go to the art museum—something he hadn’t done since his parents died.
But the real test came on Friday evening. Ethan had a dinner meeting with the mayor of Chicago and a group of potential investors at the most exclusive restaurant in the city, and he’d told me I was coming with him.
“Me?” I’d stared at him that morning, eyes wide. “Ethan, I can’t go to a dinner with the mayor. I don’t have anything to wear. I don’t know how to act around people like that. I’ll embarrass you.”
“Nonsense,” he’d said, tossing a black credit card across the desk at me. “You’re my personal assistant. Where I go, you go. You’ll take notes, keep me on schedule, and make sure I don’t agree to fund any more of the mayor’s ridiculous pet projects. As for clothes… there’s a boutique on Michigan Avenue that owes me a favor. Tell them I sent you. Tell them you need something for a black-tie optional dinner. Buy whatever you want. Shoes, jewelry, a new coat—whatever you need. No budget. Just be back here by four so we can leave by five.”
I’d stared at the black card in my hand. It was heavy, sleek, with Caldwell Global Holdings embossed in gold lettering across the front. A card that could buy anything I wanted. Anything.
“Ethan, I can’t—”
“Can and will,” he’d interrupted, already turning back to his computer. “That’s an order, Miss Carter. Now go. Before I change my mind and make you wear one of Lila’s old dresses. And trust me… you don’t want to wear one of Lila’s old dresses. She has very… interesting taste.”
So I’d gone.
The boutique was on the Magnificent Mile, in a historic building with floor-to-ceiling windows and a doorman who opened the door for me like I was royalty. The saleswoman—an immaculate woman in her fifties with perfectly coiffed hair and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes—had looked me up and down when I walked in, clearly unimpressed by my simple sweater and jeans. Until I’d mentioned Ethan’s name.
Then her whole demeanor changed.
“Mr. Caldwell sent you?” She’d practically bowed. “Of course. Right this way, Miss Carter. We have the new spring collection just in. Mr. Caldwell has an open account with us—anything you like, it’s yours. Would you like champagne while you shop?”
An hour later, I left the boutique with three garment bags slung over my arm and a pair of diamond earrings on loan (“Compliments of the house, Miss Carter. Mr. Caldwell would want you to look your best.”). I’d chosen a floor-length silk gown in a deep emerald green that brought out the color of my eyes, with a low neckline and a slit up one leg that showed just enough skin to be elegant but not trashy. Paired with simple black heels and the tiny diamond studs, it made me look like a completely different person.
Like I belonged in Ethan’s world.
The ride into the city was quiet. Ethan was on his phone for most of it, barking orders at someone in Chinese—one of the seven languages he spoke fluently, I’d learned—while I stared out the window at the Chicago skyline, my stomach twisting with nerves. The bruises on my face had faded to a soft yellow, easy enough to cover with the makeup the saleswoman had insisted I buy, but the ones on my throat were still visible, a faint reminder of everything I’d left behind.
“You’re quiet,” Ethan said, hanging up his phone and turning to look at me. The car was a sleek black limousine, the windows tinted so dark no one could see in. “Nervous?”
“A little,” I admitted. “What if I mess up? What if I forget to take notes, or spill wine on the mayor, or call him by the wrong name?”
Ethan laughed and reached over, covering my hand with his. His thumb brushed over my knuckles in a gentle, reassuring gesture.
“You won’t mess up,” he said. “And even if you do, it doesn’t matter. These people are all just trying to get something from me. Money, influence, a photo op. They don’t care if my assistant spills a little wine. They care if I say yes to their latest scheme. And you, Ivy Carter, are going to be the one who helps me say no when I need to.” He squeezed my hand. “Just be yourself. That’s all I ask.”
Just be yourself.
It sounded so simple. But being myself around people who’d grown up with money and privilege, who’d never had to choose between buying groceries or paying the electric bill, who’d never known what it was like to be invisible… that was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do.
The restaurant was everything I’d expected—candlelit tables, white tablecloths, waiters in tuxedos who moved like ghosts, the air thick with the scent of expensive wine and truffles. The maître d’ greeted Ethan by name, bowing slightly as he led us to a private dining room in the back, away from the prying eyes of the other guests.
The mayor was already there, a portly man in an ill-fitting suit with a red face and a handshake that was too firm. With him were three other men—all in their fifties and sixties, all wearing suits that cost more than my old car, all with the same hungry look in their eyes when they shook Ethan’s hand.
And then there was her.
She was standing by the fireplace, swirling a glass of red wine, when we walked in. She was stunning—tall, with long legs and blonde hair that fell in perfect waves down her back, wearing a red dress that clung to every curve. When she saw Ethan, her face lit up, and she walked over to him like she owned the place, pressing a kiss to both his cheeks.
“Ethan, darling,” she purred. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me. It’s been months.”
“Victoria,” Ethan said, his voice polite but distant. He didn’t hug her back. “I didn’t realize you’d be here tonight.”
“Mayor Hendricks was kind enough to invite me,” she said, her eyes finally landing on me. They were cold, calculating, taking in every detail of my dress, my hair, the way I was standing just a step behind Ethan. “And who is this? A new addition to your… staff?”
She said the word staff like it was a curse.
Ethan’s arm came around my waist, pulling me forward until I was standing beside him, not behind him. His hand was warm and firm on my hip, anchoring me.
“This is Ivy Carter,” he said, his voice loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “My new personal assistant. And my date for the evening.”
I froze. Date? He’d never mentioned anything about being his date. I thought I was just there to take notes.
Victoria’s smile tightened. “Your date. How… interesting. I didn’t know you were seeing your employees now, Ethan. That’s a new one, even for you.”
The other men in the room exchanged awkward glances. The mayor cleared his throat loudly.
“Shall we sit?” he said, gesturing to the long dining table. “The food is getting cold, and we have much to discuss.”
Dinner was a masterclass in how the rich and powerful operated. For three hours, they talked in code—about “development opportunities” on the south side, about “tax incentives” for businesses that moved into the city, about “public-private partnerships” that sounded an awful lot like legalized corruption to me. I took notes furiously, my pen flying across the page, while Ethan sat at the head of the table, calm and composed, nodding occasionally, asking sharp, incisive questions that cut through all the fluff and got right to the point.
Victoria sat across from us, and she spent the entire meal staring at me. Not the friendly kind of staring. The I’m going to cut you into little pieces and feed you to my dogs kind of staring. Every time Ethan said something nice to me—asked if I was enjoying my food, passed me the bread, brushed a strand of hair back from my face—her grip on her wine glass tightened until her knuckles turned white.
I learned two things that night.
First: Victoria Sterling was the daughter of Ethan’s biggest business rival. She’d been trying to get her claws into him for years, according to the whispers I’d heard from the other staff. If she married Ethan, she’d merge her father’s company with Caldwell Global and create the biggest conglomerate in the Midwest. It was a business deal disguised as a romance, and she wasn’t going to let a maid-turned-assistant stand in her way.
Second: Ethan was doing it on purpose.
Every touch, every smile, every kind word was for her benefit. He was using me to make her jealous. To send a message that he wasn’t interested in her or her father’s money. That he was untouchable.
I should’ve been angry. Used. I was his employee, not a pawn in his business games. But as I sat there, feeling his hand resting light on my knee beneath the table, smelling his cologne, watching him defend me with just a look… I couldn’t be angry. Because for the first time in my life, I was the one people were watching. The one they were jealous of. The one who mattered.
When dinner finally ended, the mayor and the other men left, shaking Ethan’s hand and promising to call him first thing Monday. Victoria lingered, waiting until everyone else was gone before she walked over to us, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor.
“Can I have a word with you, Ethan?” she said, her voice sweet as poison. “Alone?”
“Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Ivy,” Ethan said, not moving from his chair. He’d laced his fingers through mine on top of the table, holding my hand like he never wanted to let go.
Victoria’s eyes flashed. “Fine. Have it your way. I just wanted to warn you, Ethan. My father isn’t going to be happy when he hears about this. About her.” She nodded at me, her lip curling in disgust. “A maid, Ethan? Really? You’ve reached a new low. People are talking. They’re saying you’ve lost your mind. That the grief over your parents finally broke you. Do you know what that does to the company’s stock price? Do you care?”
Ethan stood up, pulling me with him. He was a head taller than Victoria, and when he looked down at her, his face was like stone.
“I don’t give a damn what people say,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “And I don’t give a damn about your father or his stock price. The only thing I care about is who I choose to have in my life. And Ivy? She’s worth a hundred of you. A thousand. If your father has a problem with that, he can call me. We’ll discuss it like adults. But if you ever speak to her like that again—if you even look at her the wrong way—I will make it my personal mission to destroy everything your father has ever built. Do I make myself clear?”
Victoria’s face went pale. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her dress swishing behind her.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I pulled my hand out of Ethan’s.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said quietly. “I can handle myself. I’ve handled worse than her.”
Ethan turned to face me, his expression softening. He reached up, cupping my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over the faint bruises that were still visible beneath my makeup.
“I know you can handle yourself,” he said. “But you shouldn’t have to. Not anymore. Not while I’m around.” He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look him in the eye. “And for the record… I meant every word I said. You are worth a thousand of her. More. Don’t you ever forget that.”
His face was so close to mine. I could feel his breath on my lips, warm and sweet from the wine he’d drunk with dinner. His eyes dropped to my mouth, and for a second I thought he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me. More than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.
But then he pulled away, dropping his hands like he’d been burned.
“We should go,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s late. And we have an early flight to New York tomorrow.”
May you like
He walked out of the room without looking back, leaving me standing alone in the candlelight, my heart racing, my lips tingling, wondering what the hell had just happened.
And wondering if I’d ever be able to look at him the same way again.
