Page 3 of Surprise Me Tonight (Claimed on Sight #1)

Callum

T he office is a mess. Nothing’s where it should be. Boxes lined up like a failed logistics exercise. Half a desk in place. Tools scattered. Paperwork shoved wherever I could find space. I don’t like it. I can’t think in disorder. Can’t breathe properly in it either.

The router’s still temperamental. I check the connection for the third time, waiting for that steady green light. It blinks, slowly, as if unsure of itself.

The doorbell rings.

I push up off the floor, my back protesting. I haven’t had time to stretch in days. There’s a box underfoot, and I kick it out of the way without thinking. A stack of reports slides off the top. I leave them where they fall.

A glance at my watch tells me it must be the woman I’m supposed to convince to become my assistant. Suzie…? Stella? No idea. Her CV’s somewhere on my desk, quietly judging me for not reading it properly.

Jess scheduled her in for a ten o’clock interview. Without checking with me, naturally. She only sent me the CV after she’d already booked it. Apparently, she’s “promising.” Former executive assistant. Calm. Local. Good head on her shoulders. Jess said it like she was describing a Labrador.

Eighteen years since she last worked. That stuck with me.

Jess wasn’t bothered. Thought the gap didn’t matter.

“She won’t be intimidated,” she’d said. “Not by the work. Not by you.”

That was meant to reassure me. It didn’t.

I’ve built this business from the ground up. I’ve run every part of it. I don’t need someone who’ll try to manage me . I need competence. Clarity. Precision.

Someone I don’t have to second-guess.

Still, we are short on options. No one wants to come out to Little Hadlow. They take one look at the postcode and stop replying. Stella agreed to come. That’s something.

I brush off some dust from my jeans before opening the door.

Stella or Suzie, at least I assume it’s her and not someone trying to talk me into donating to a worthy cause, stands there clutching a purple handbag like it might shield her from an unsuspected attack.

Black trousers, white round-neck top, a black cardigan stretched neat and proper over her shoulders.

Her hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, with a few strands slipping loose to frame her round face. She looks… nervous. Unsure.

Not what I expected. Jess said she’d be sharp. Capable. A bit bossy, probably. This woman doesn’t look like she’s about to take charge of anything. She looks more like she’s hoping I’ll cancel the interview so she can go home and pretend this never happened.

The only colour on her is the purple of that bag and the flush in her cheeks. Both stand out more than they should .

She’s not what most people would call striking. But there’s something about her. Something that makes me look twice, then forget to look away.

She opens her mouth but hesitates.

“Callum Wright,” I cut in.

“Stella Marsh,” she says quickly. Ah, so it is Stella not Suzie.

Her voice is steady enough, but I can see the tension in the way she grips the bag strap.

I nod. “Come in.”

She follows me through the hall and into the living room. Boxes still untouched, packing tape still clinging on. I’ve made no effort to hide the chaos. If she’s put off by it, she doesn’t show it. No small talk either. I appreciate that, at least.

I stop at the office door. The hinges are stiff, the paintwork’s patchy where the last owner clearly gave up halfway through a job. I nod to the chair I’ve placed by the frame.

“You can wait here.”

She lowers herself onto it with that same careful movement she’s had since I opened the door. Not hesitant, exactly. Just measured. She doesn’t relax into the seat. She sits straight-backed, bag on her lap, ankles together like she’s bracing for something formal.

I close the office door behind me. It doesn’t latch properly. Typical.

Phone in hand, I open the video app and hit call. No Wi-Fi, so it takes a second for the connection to stabilise on mobile data. Then Jess appears on screen.

She’s all sharp lipstick, neat bun, and smug expression .

“Look who’s alive,” she says. “Let me guess. Still no lucky with the router, and you’ve probably thrown a screwdriver across the room at least once.”

I ignore her.

She waits a beat, then adds, “You know, for someone who designs sustainable tech, you really are hopeless with basic setup.”

“Remind me why I let you get away with talking like this to me.” I try to sound grumpy but I can’t help a grin. I do like our banter. “I didn’t call to get insulted.”

“No, you called to start an interview, so maybe we should start the interview .”

I exhale through my nose, then turn and pull the door open.

Stella is still there. Right where I left her.

“Come on in.”

She rises at once and follows me in. I motion to the chair across from my makeshift desk. She sits with the same quiet formality she’s carried since I opened the door.

“Hi, Stella. Thanks so much for coming. Sorry I couldn’t be there in person but I was needed in London.” Jess greets her before Stella has even taken a seat.

“That’s all right,” Stella replies. Her voice is soft but clear. She offers a small, polite smile to the screen. Not to me.

Jess gets straight into it. “So, we’ve seen your CV and the notes about your course in your cover letter. Can you tell us a bit more about your previous role? Day-to-day duties, that kind of thing.”

Stella shifts slightly in the chair. Not uncomfortable, just... cautious .

“Yes. I handled diary management, meetings, documents, calls, follow-ups. Mostly internal communications. I worked for a media agency, fast-paced but structured. I liked it.”

Her answers are competent, clipped, and focused entirely on Jess. She hasn’t looked at me once since stepping into the office.

I should be assessing her, listening for whether she’s capable. But I’m distracted.

There’s something about her face. The shape of it. The way she moves. I’ve seen her somewhere. I’m certain of it.

But I still can’t place her.

Jess moves to the next question. “And you’ve been doing a course, right? Bringing your systems knowledge up to date?”

“Yes. It’s been a lot to take in, but I’m keeping up. Cloud systems, shared calendars, booking platforms, call management. It’s changed since I left the workplace, but I’m getting there.”

I watch her. She’s not flashy. She’s not polished. But there’s something steady under all that reservation. Like she’s held herself together for a long time, and knows how to keep doing it.

Jess glances at her notes. “You mentioned in your application that you have a daughter?”

That’s when it happens.

Stella smiles.

And it’s not just polite. It’s genuine.

“She’s nineteen. Studying psychology at university. Determined to understand everyone, even the ones who don’t want to be figured out. ”

The smile softens everything. The nerves, the formality, the wall she’s held in place since the moment she walked in. It’s the same face, but that quiet kind of beauty she’s been keeping under wraps isn’t staying hidden anymore. It slips out before she can tuck it away again.

“You must be proud,” Jess says.

“I am. She’s... brave. She knows who she is. It took me a little longer to get there, but she’s already got her feet under her.”

Her voice drifts into the background as I take in the curve of her smile, the way her eyes light up when she talks.

It’s not just the smile. It’s her. There’s something open in her now. Unfiltered. For a second, it’s like she’s stepped out from behind herself and let me actually see her.

And I do. I see her.

She’s not the polished, sharp-edged assistant I’d expected. Not the kind of woman I’d usually look at twice. Earlier, I’d written her off as mumsy. Sensible. A little lost.

So why the hell can’t I stop looking at her now?

Why does it feel like I’ve missed something important until this moment?

Finally, her eyes lift to mine.

It’s just a glance, nothing more. But the way she meets my gaze and then looks away, like she didn’t mean to but couldn’t help it, catches something low in my chest. Her cheeks flush. She shifts in her seat. Looks back at the screen, suddenly all business again. Like I’m too much to look at.

It shouldn’t get to me.

But it does .

She’s sitting there in black trousers and a bloody cardigan, nervous as anything, clutching a purple handbag like it’s a lifeline. And I’m hard.

Not fully. But the heat’s there, low and sharp. A pulse of interest that’s impossible to ignore.

She’s not trying. That’s what does it. She’s not performing. She’s just being. And suddenly, I’m imagining her mouth and I wonder what she tastes. Just for a split second, but it’s a problem.

I shift in my seat, casual as I can manage, clearing my throat like it’ll help.

Jess barrels on, still unaware that I am giving the best impression of a monk who has taken a vow of silence. “Final question from me. Say you’re working with someone… difficult. A manager who’s set in his ways, doesn’t delegate well. How would you handle it?”

Stella blinks. “I—I think I’d start by—”

She glances at me again.

Her voice falters.

That flush creeps higher up her neck, the way it did when she first looked at me. It hits me again, hard. Sharp enough that I forget to keep up my mask.

“Sorry,” I interrupt, leaning forward slightly. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Her expression tightens. Her fingers tug at the edge of her cardigan. Her gaze meets mine properly now, and there’s something cold and clear in it. Not flustered. Pissed off.

“I usually pride myself on not forgetting a face,” I say, still watching her, “but with you... it’s bothering me.”

Her jaw sets .

“You literally bumped into me,” she says. “At the coffee shop. You held the door for the yoga beauty, walked straight into me, and didn’t even blink.”

I freeze.

“You probably can’t remember my face,” she adds, “because you never looked at it. I wasn’t worth it.”

Silence.

I should respond. I should say something to pull it back.

But I don’t. Because she’s called me out and she’s right.

And somehow, her saying that makes everything worse.

The way she’s looking at me now, with flushed cheeks, a steady gaze, and breath just a little too fast, it hits like a punch to the gut.

Arousal. Guilt. Frustration. All tangled into one tight, heavy pull low in my stomach. Frustration at myself, mostly. Because I can absolutely see myself doing this.

I don’t remember bumping into her, but the fact she looks familiar makes me wonder if I clocked her without realising. If, deep down, I noticed her and dismissed her in the same breath. She’s not the kind of woman I usually pay attention to. And maybe that’s exactly the problem.

Still, none of that changes the fact that she looks like she wants the floor to open up beneath her. I should give her an out.

“If this doesn’t feel like the right fit--,” I begin.

“She’s hired,” Jess cuts in.

Stella and I snap our heads to the phone.

“What?” we ask, together.

Jess is already nodding. “She’s perfect. Competent. Honest. And clearly not afraid to call you out. If she’s willing to take the job, it’s hers. ”

Stella’s mouth parts slightly. Stunned. Still breathing a bit harder than before.

I say nothing. I can’t. My thoughts are a mess and half of them are completely unprofessional.

Jess looks at her. “Well?”