Page 4 of Not an Assistant (Tales of the Dreggageggon #4)

Mine to Keep

A cheron

I stand in the center of my office long after she’s gone, breathing her in. Her scent clings to everything. My desk. The leather couch. The air itself. I could drown in it and die a satisfied man.

I don’t go home, and soon enough the sun is rising and people start filling the empty building once more, ready to get on with the day’s work.

But my thoughts are still consumed by Zaraha. She’s an omega. Unclaimed and raw. Her heat’s building under the surface, but it’s the bond that’s unraveling her. Unmarked. Untouched. But already mine.

I felt it the moment she collapsed at my door. My scent hit her too hard and her body couldn’t handle it. I could see it in her eyes—glassy, wild, and desperate. Every instinct in her screamed to submit to me, even if her mind didn’t understand what the hell was happening.

I fought every natural instinct I have not to touch her.

All I wanted to do was throw her to the floor and fuck her until she admitted she belonged to me.

My dragon raged, wanting to claim our mate, but I held us back.

She is already terrified. She’s still fighting it.

Still running from the truth, but she won’t be for long.

I sit behind my desk and pull up her personnel file.

The one I’ve read a hundred times since Samson sent it to me yesterday afternoon.

Her background is clean. Suspiciously so.

She grew up in foster care and had a spotty school attendance.

A long list of temporary jobs. There isn’t much information outside those little tidbits but it’s enough. For now.

I press the button intercom for my assistant. “Greta.”

“Yes, sir?” her voice, sickly and sweet, floats across the airwaves.

“Your services are no longer required.” The words are flat and dismissive as they fall from my lips.

Silence. Then a brittle, “Excuse me?” Funny, how fast her attitude changes.

“You’ve been reassigned,” I continue, not caring that she is clearly unhappy with my decision. “Pack your things. Someone from human resources will be in touch.”

“But...”

I release the button before she can say another word. I don’t owe her an explanation, and I don’t have to listen to her try to talk me out of my decision. Greta was efficient, loyal, and completely fucking obsessed with me. I don’t tolerate emotional instability in my staff.

And I have no room for any distractions right now. Only Zahara.

I call down to security. “Have the cleaner, Zahara Matthews, report to my office at nine sharp. No excuses.”

“Sir?” Samuel asks.

“She is being promoted to my personal assistant.”

“Understood.” His efficiency is one of the things I value the most. I know he will get the job done.

I sit back in my chair and smile to myself. She’s going to fight it. She’s going to squirm. But in the end, she’ll take the job. Because she won’t be able to stay away from me either.

****

S he shows up at 9:23 AM. She’s late and I find that very interesting. She clearly has some bratty tendencies, and I can’t wait to help her move on from her bad habits.

I watch her through the glass of my office wall as she steps off the elevator. She’s wearing the same oversized hoodie and leggings she was wearing last night, but now she also has a mask of neutrality that’s already cracking at the edges. Her scent betrays her.

She’s anxious. Confused. She doesn’t know why she’s here.

Perfect.

I open the door myself before she can knock. Her eyes widen when she sees me. She doesn’t step back, but she doesn’t step forward either.

“Come in.” I smile, stepping aside and allowing her just enough space to enter.

She enters slowly, her body brushing against mine, and looking around like she expects to be ambushed. Her body is mere inches from mine, and I can’t help but breathe in her scent. For the first time since she walked out last night, my dragon calms down.

“You wanted to see me?” Her voice is quiet, hoarse from what I assume is lack of sleep. I can smell exhaustion clinging to her skin. And something else—barely restrained arousal.

“Yes,” I say, returning to my chair. “Sit.”

She sits on the very edge of the couch, the furthest seat from me, her hands folded in her lap like a child in the principal’s office. I study her for a long time before she meets my gaze, barely.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“I’ve reassigned Greta.” Her brows draw together. “I need a new personal assistant.”

Silence, long and tense. “Why me?”

“Because I want you here.” My reply is the most honest I have ever given to anyone in my entire life. I want her here, near me, so I made it happen.

She flinches. It’s a small movement and not enough for someone else to notice. But I see everything.

“You don’t have to accept,” I add, watching the war play out behind her eyes. I can’t force her to do this, to be near me. It’s a decision she needs to make for herself. “But it’s a significant raise. Office-level benefits. Security access. And you’d be off the janitorial roster so no more nights.”

She swallows, staring at me with wide eyes.

“And I’ll be able to keep an eye on you,” I say softly, like it’s some kind of afterthought when in reality it is the only thing on my mind.

Her breath catches. She knows I mean more than professionally. She knows exactly what this is, even if she’s not ready to say it out loud.

“Why?” she asks again, but this time her voice cracks. “Why are you doing this?”

I lean back and let the truth hang between us. “Because you’re mine, Zahara. Whether you admit it or not. I’ll give you some time, not much mind you, but then I am coming for what rightfully belongs to me. You.”

She stands so quickly the couch jerks. “You can’t say things like that.” Her voice has risen an octave, but I remain calm.

“But it’s true and I will always, always be honest with you, my omega.”

“You don’t even know me,” she argues but her tone has fallen flat

“I know your scent. Your soul. That’s more than enough,” I reply. “And having you here, near me, as my personal assistant will help me learn everything I need to know.”

She shakes her head, backing toward the door.

“You can leave,” I say evenly. “But if you do, I won’t make this offer again. You’ll go back to scrubbing bathrooms and trying not to collapse every time your heat flares. You’ll suffer alone. Confused. Frightened. Wishing someone could help you but no one will because I am the only one who can.”

She pauses, her hand on the doorframe. Her shoulders sag and I know I’ve already won this fight.

“I’m not trying to scare you, Zahara. But you’re not going to survive this if you don’t let someone help you. And I’m the only one who can.”

Tears spring to her eyes, but she blinks them away. Then she turns back around and walks to the front of my desk, falling down onto one of the white leather chairs I have there.

“What do I have to do?” she asks dejectedly.

I slide the contract across the surface. “Sign this, learn fast, and obey me.”

She looks at the paper, then at me. “I don’t belong to you.”

“Not yet.” I mumble.

She signs the contract.