She Became Temporary Assistant During Crisis, Not Knowing the Billionaire Would Want Her Permanently
The Unexpected Opportunity and the Maritime Crisis
Paige Sullivan was one shift away from being completely broke when the call came. An offer for a temporary assistant position at DNR Maritime, one of the largest shipping companies in the country.
The pay was triple what she normally made as a barista and it would last for at least 2 weeks. It was exactly what she needed to keep herself afloat after being laid off from her main job at the design firm last month.
“It’s just answering phones and managing schedules while the regular assistant recovers from surgery,” the HR representative explained.
“Can you start tomorrow morning 7 a.m. sharp?”
Paige glanced at her nearly empty refrigerator and the stack of bills on her counter.
“I’ll be there.”
She had no idea that walking through those gleaming glass doors would change her life forever. She didn’t know the company’s reclusive billionaire owner would become far more than just her temporary boss.
The DNR Maritime headquarters dominated the waterfront. It was a sleek 40-story tower of steel and glass that reflected the harbor waters.
Paige arrived at 6:45 dressed in the most professional outfit she could assemble. A navy pencil skirt and white blouse had thankfully survived her budget cuts to her wardrobe budget.
Security gave her a temporary badge and a stern-faced woman from HR escorted her to the executive floor.
“Mr Davidson rarely comes in before 9:00. So you’ll have time to get settled,” the woman explained.
She led her to a spacious desk outside a corner office with frosted glass doors.
“His schedule is in the system, and Melanie left detailed instructions before her emergency gallbladder surgery.”
Paige nodded, taking in the intimidating workspace.
“How long has Melanie been out?”
“3 days,” the woman replied with a grimace.
“We’ve had a different temp each day. None have lasted. Mr Davidson is particular.”
A chill ran down Paige’s spine. Particular how?
“He expects perfection.”
The woman handed her a tablet.
“His coffee order is in here. Have it ready when he arrives.”
Before Paige could ask anything else, the woman was gone.
She was left alone at the assistant desk of a billionaire she knew nothing about beyond what she’d hastily googled last night.
Ronan Davidson, 34, had inherited DNR Maritime from his father 8 years ago and had since tripled its value.
He was notoriously private, rarely appearing in public and giving no interviews.
She quickly familiarized herself with the computer system and was studying his schedule when the elevator dinged.
It was only 7:30, much earlier than the HR woman had suggested.
A tall man with broad shoulders and dark slightly tousled hair strode purposefully toward her. His steel gray eyes locked on her with unsettling intensity.
His tailored charcoal suit probably cost more than her rent.
“You’re not Janice,” he stated, his deep voice crisp and authoritative.
Paige stood quickly, nearly knocking over her chair.
“No sir I’m Paige Sullivan your temporary assistant for today.”
“Janice apparently didn’t work out.”
His eyebrow arched slightly.
“That’s one way to put it. She burst into tears when I asked her to reorganize the Chen proposal.”
“I don’t cry easily Mr Davidson,” Paige responded, surprising herself with her boldness for a moment.
His stern expression softened and she could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile.
“We’ll see. The Chen proposal is our priority today. We’re in crisis mode.”
Paige’s heart sank. Nobody had mentioned a crisis. What kind of crisis?
“The kind where we could lose a hundred million contract if we don’t correct the shipping manifests by tomorrow morning.”
He glanced at his watch.
“My coffee.”
“I’ll get it right away,” she stammered, quickly checking the tablet for his order.
“Don’t bother with the almond milk nonsense Melanie keeps ordering. Black is fine today.”
He disappeared into his office, leaving the door ajar.
Paige hurried to the executive kitchen and returned with his coffee just as his phone began ringing.
“Davidson,” he answered sharply when she transferred the call.
She listened carefully to understand what she was dealing with.
Apparently a major shipping container vessel was stranded off the coast of Singapore with mechanical issues. A critical delivery to Chen Industries was in jeopardy.
Over the next hours, Paige was thrown into the deep end of international shipping logistics.
She answered calls, rerouted emails, and organized information as Ronan worked tirelessly to solve the crisis.
To her surprise, she found herself enjoying the challenge. She drew on organizational skills she’d developed in her design work.
By noon she hadn’t had a moment to eat or even visit the restroom.
Ronan emerged from his office looking slightly less severe.
“You’re still here?” he observed, as if genuinely surprised.
“Did you expect me to leave?” she asked, organizing the latest reports he’d requested.
“The others did.”
He studied her for a moment.
“Have you eaten?”
The question caught her off guard.
“No but I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re hungry. I can hear your stomach from my office.”
He picked up his phone and sent a quick text.
“I’ve ordered lunch. We’ll eat while we work.”
