Accidentally His: The Girl Who Trespassed

Albert's POV

---

My back settles against the leather seat as Julian eases the car into traffic. Manhattan swallows us almost immediately, taxis leaning on their horns, pedestrians pouring across crosswalks as though traffic lights are polite suggestions.

An hour ago, my biggest concern was approving the last stack of contracts waiting on Matteo's desk.

Then a woman climbed into my car. Onto my lap. I still wasn't entirely sure how that had happened.

The city slides past the window in streaks of glass and steel. Julian says nothing. He rarely does unless I ask a question, which is one of the reasons he's lasted longer than most people in my employment.

I look out at the afternoon traffic and find myself thinking about the woman in the thrift-store sweater. She probably thought that was the end of it. It wasn't.

My phone vibrates before we've gone a single block.

Missed calls from Matteo. Six board emails marked urgent, which usually means they can wait until tomorrow. A message from my mother asking whether I'll be joining her for dinner, as though family dinners and billion-dollar negotiations belong in the same category.

I dismiss everything else and open a chat with Matteo.

‘Run a background check. Adeline Carter. Columbia graduate student. Comprehensive. One hour.’

The typing indicator appears almost instantly.

‘Already started. Saw the street camera footage. Interesting choice, sir.’

Of course he did.

Matteo has a habit of arriving at the answer before most people have finished asking the question. It saves me an unreasonable amount of time.

I should have called security.

The decision would've taken one tap. She trespassed. She lied. Legally, the situation was painfully simple. Instead, I let her explain. Now the scent of cheap floral shampoo still lingers in the back seat, and I catch myself replaying the look on her face when she realized the car wasn't empty.

I usually forget people within minutes. Meetings, Investors, Politicians. She'd been gone nearly twenty minutes. I still remembered the look on her face.

Women usually arrive with something to gain. They know who I am before we shake hands. They know which smile to wear, which stories to tell, which version of themselves they've decided I should meet.

Adeline Carter climbed into my car because she'd backed herself into a corner and saw no other way out. Then looked me in the eye and apologized as though honesty could somehow undo the last thirty seconds.

It may be the worst plan I've witnessed in years.

It is also the most honest.

The car slows for a red light. Beyond the window, Someone had left lights on in the north tower again. Facilities would hear about it Monday.

My reflection stares back at me.

What exactly am I doing?

I don't need a companion. I need the questions to stop. My mother has asked three times this month when I'm planning to settle down. The board has become increasingly interested in the empty seat beside me at charity dinners. The financial press has started treating my private life like a quarterly report. One magazine even devoted two pages to debating whether I was secretly gay.

Ridiculous.

None of them cared about the truth. They cared about the story.

‘Optics matter, Albert.’ My father's voice hasn't changed in months. ‘Men like you without partners invite speculation. Stop giving people something to speculate about.’

The arrangement solves the problem. Six events, One month. A woman with no ties to my world and every reason to disappear when it's over.

Simple.

The light turns green and Julian drives on. A notification ding carrying in Matteo's report.

‘Adeline Marie Carter, twenty-four, Columbia grad student, business and marketing, honors, two jobs, no criminal record, father gone since she was twelve, mother out of town, no siblings, scholarship kid, living well below what her thrifted sweater would suggest people assume.’

I scan through twice.

The pieces land now, the thrift store sweater, the ripped jeans, the split second of real fear underneath the bluff when that girl pushed her into a corner. She'd lied but the fear had been real.

I'd seen enough rehearsed performances to know the difference.

---

The car pulls up to my building, fifty-three floors with the city spread out below it. Forty of those floors belonging to Rossi International, the penthouse belonging to me.

Julian steps out and opens the door. "Sir."

"Circle back," I hear myself say.

His eyes find mine in the rearview mirror, brows lifting. "Sir?"

"To where we were. Now."

He nods and starts the car without another word.

Per Matteo's coordinates, she's stepping out of a coffee shop around the corner, my card still held in both hands like she hasn't decided whether it's real. I roll the window down. "Get in."

She flinches, then the challenge surfaces almost as fast. "Why?"

It almost makes me laugh, because nobody questions me, not with an actual question mark at the end of it. "You look like you're about to pass out. I prefer my companions conscious.”

"Companion," she repeats, sarcasm threading. "Should I curtsy too, or is a polite nod enough?"

One eyebrow lifts on its own. A smirk starts and I don't try very hard to stop it.

She takes a step, hesitates, then opens the door and slides in, pressing herself against the opposite side like distance is going to help her.

Smart girl.

Julian pulls away. I leave the partition open, she thought she hid her reactions well except her face reacts to everything.

She fidgets with her jacket sleeve, stares out the window, fingers twisting together in her lap before pulling apart on their own.

I place a call and switch to Italian halfway through it, talking to Giovanni about quarterly projections and the Milan expansion. I catch her watching my reflection in the glass, gathering details the same way I did with her an hour ago.

The call ends and silence fills the space. She breaks first. "Where are we going?”

"My office. To formalize our arrangement."

"You mean the part where I'm locked in for a month?"

"The agreement where you attend six events and avoid criminal charges."

She processes this for a second. "Six events? You said a month."

"Six events over the course of a month. Did you think I required your presence daily?"

Color floods her face and she turns back to the window without another word.

—

A soft chime and the doors open into my office, floor-to-ceiling windows, Central Park spread out below.

She takes it all in, turning in a slow circle, her eyes moving across the room without hurry, like she's not going to give me the reaction I'm waiting for. Her fingers drift toward the Rothko near the far wall before she stops herself.

"You work here," she states.

"Yes."

Before she can say more, the door opens and Matteo walks in with his tablet and a leather portfolio, his eyes moving to Adeline and taking in the ripped jeans, the oversized sweater, the scuffed boots. One eyebrow climbs while the rest of his face stays professionally unreadable.

"Mr. Rossi," he says, in English clearly aimed at her, "the documents you requested.”

I gesture toward the seating area. "Miss Carter and I are formalizing an arrangement.”

His other eyebrow joins the first, and Matteo is too disciplined to say what he's clearly thinking, though I can guess exactly what it is.

He spreads the contract across the table while she perches at the edge of her chair, half ready to bolt.

"Six events," I begin, sliding the contract across the table. "Appropriate attire will be provided. Discretion is required. In exchange, no charges filed, no notification to your university.”

Her fingers close around her bag strap and she clears her throat once, then again, like the first attempt didn't quite work.

"What kind of events?”

"Galas. Charity functions. Business dinners. Social obligations requiring a companion."

"Why do you need a companion?" She glances around the office, at me, at everything surrounding us, the answer is supposed to be obvious. "You're you. Surely you have women who'd do this without needing to be coerced.”

"I have women with agendas. You have something else."

Her eyes narrow. "So I'm your charity case?”

"You're my solution."

"To what problem?”

I let the question hang and push the contract closer instead."Sign, and we proceed. Refuse, and I make a call."

She picks up the pen Matteo offers. It wavers between her fingers, the pulse in her wrist beating visible against her skin. She reads more carefully than I expected, lips moving on certain clauses, a habit she's probably unaware of.

"What's expected of me at these events? Specifically."

"Appear at my side. Make conversation. Allow me to introduce you as my companion. Conduct yourself appropriately."

"Appropriately how."

"Be yourself. That's what I need."

Her eyes snap to mine. "You're not paying me."

"No. I'm covering potential legal expenses. Indirectly."

She stares at the contract, at the pen in her hand. Six seconds without movement. I count them.

Then she signs, fast, uneven loops across the signature line. Her hand stays on the page longer than necessary, index finger pressed flat against the paper.

Matteo collects the pages. "I'll arrange the wardrobe consultation and send the details for Saturday's event." He leaves the office.

Adeline stands, grips her bag, nearly catches her boot on the chair leg backing toward the door. I walk her to the elevator.

Before she steps in, I hold out my business card again.

She frowns. "You already gave me this.”

"Read it again."

She traces the text. "Albert Rossi. CEO. Rossi International."

The color leaves her face. The card drops and she catches it at the last moment

"Oh my god. You're that Albert Rossi."

"Welcome to my world, Miss Carter. Try not to embarrass yourself."

The doors close.

A notification ping.

‘Sir. The background check flagged something.’

‘What kind of something?’ I type back.

‘Someone else ran the same check. Seventy-two hours ago. Before you ever met her.’

‘Who?’

‘Unknown. Three proxy layers. Whoever it was didn't want to be found.’

The elevator number descends. Forty. Thirty. Twenty.

Someone was watching her before she ever sat in my car.

Adeline Carter just got a lot more interesting.