Chapter 2: Rachel’s Rules

Today, like always, I showed up as the intern assistant for the female CEO.

As soon as I walked into the company, she dragged me straight into her office.

"Seriously, who told you that suit was okay? You’re here to fill a spot, not take his place. Don’t get any ideas."

Rachel snapped at me, her voice as sharp as the heels she wore.

The “him” she mentioned is her first love.

After her first love married someone else, Rachel was heartbroken and completely shut herself off from love.

By chance, she met me.

She gave me a generous salary and hired me as her assistant at her tech company in downtown Savannah.

But in reality, I’m just a stand-in.

She enjoys the emotional value I bring, but she’s also ashamed that someone like me—a mere substitute—tries so hard to please her.

So she looks down on me.

Honestly, she probably even despises me.

The fluorescent lights in her office flickered overhead, reflecting off the glass-and-steel desk. Rachel’s words cut through the hush like the whistle of a train—sharp, final. I could practically smell the hint of burnt coffee lingering in the air, the hum of computers behind the glass walls just outside. Here in Savannah, the old city meets the new, but Rachel never lets anyone forget the boundaries she draws. Especially not me. Her gaze was cold, businesslike, like she was sizing me up for a spreadsheet, not a conversation.

"Why are you still standing there? Waiting for me to undress you?"

Rachel rudely grabbed my tie.

"Don’t get upset."

By now, I’m used to handling these situations.

I smiled gently, turned my hand over to hold Rachel’s, and lowered my head to softly blow on her palm. "Did pulling my tie hurt your hand? You shouldn’t hurt yourself like that. Sorry, this is the last time. I won’t wear this again."

After all, a week from now, I might already be off somewhere enjoying my reward.

I didn’t say anything else—just quietly took off my jacket, revealing my well-toned muscles.

To serve better, I work out every day.

After all—

Muscles are a bonus.

If they’re happy with what they see, maybe I’ll get some extra perks from the targets, on top of the system’s cash bonuses.

Since this good fortune came my way, I have to squeeze every last drop out of it.

I’d mastered the American art of self-promotion. My abs weren’t just for me—they were my resume. Even if Rachel looked at me like I was gum stuck to her Jimmy Choos, the truth was, I knew the effect. It was almost funny, watching her try to hide the flush on her cheeks as I dropped my jacket onto the back of her office chair. In this game, confidence is everything.

She glanced, just for a second, at my arms, then looked away so fast I almost missed it. Almost.

"Stop taking it off."

Suddenly, Rachel spoke up to stop me.

She turned her head away, her eyes darting. Her jaw flexed like she was biting back something real, but all that came out was attitude.

After licking her dry lips, she muttered, "I don’t want this to happen again. Just stay here and think about what you did."

With that, she pushed open the door and left, leaving me alone in her office.

Nice.

I get to slack off for another morning.

I wandered to the window, taking in the sweep of downtown—riverboats, live oaks, and that ever-present Georgia sun. I propped my feet on her fancy credenza and let myself daydream for a moment. In America, sometimes the best revenge is just taking up space you were never meant to have.