The Jilted Ex-Wife's Undercover Billionaire Assistant

Morning sunlight blasted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Vaughan Holdings penthouse office.

Braden sat behind a massive slab of black marble that served as his desk. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying focus.

He flipped through the thick dossier Denzel had compiled overnight. It contained every financial record, tax filing, and registration document for C.B. Designs.

Denzel stood rigidly to the side. He held out an iPad. The screen was open to the front page of Page Six.

Braden's eyes flicked to the screen. The bold, black headline screamed: Barron Outcast Steals the Show; Blind Vaughan Heir the Ultimate Laughingstock.

The article detailed Carlee's explosive announcement at the gala, mocking the "cowardly" Mr. Vaughan for losing a woman of such staggering talent and beauty.

The temperature in the massive office seemed to drop ten degrees. Braden's eyes went completely dead.

Denzel swallowed hard, his throat clicking in the silence. "Sir, should I contact PR to have this scrubbed from the internet immediately?"

Braden raised a hand, stopping him.

Slowly, the corner of Braden's mouth lifted into a dark, twisted smile.

He reached out and swiped the screen, zooming in on a high-definition photo of Carlee. She was standing under the chandelier, her chin tilted up, looking like a conquering queen.

"She has the right to be arrogant," Braden whispered, his voice thick with a strange, heavy pride. He tossed the iPad onto the marble desk.

"Let the article run," Braden ordered. "I want to see how the Barron family reacts when they read it."

Denzel's eyes widened in shock, but he quickly nodded. He stepped forward and placed a thin manila envelope on the desk.

"Your new identity, sir," Denzel said. "Social Security number, a community college transcript, and three maxed-out credit card statements."

Braden pulled the forged resume from the envelope. He scanned the fake history of waiting tables and answering phones. He nodded in approval.

He stood up. He unbuttoned his forty-thousand-dollar bespoke suit jacket and threw it carelessly onto the leather sofa.

He walked into his private dressing room. He bypassed the rows of Italian silk and fine wool, reaching into the far back corner. He pulled out a stiff, cheap black suit he had Denzel buy off a rack in Queens.

Braden pulled the cheap fabric over his broad shoulders. He reached up and aggressively ran his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, letting several dark strands fall messily across his forehead. The messy hair instantly softened the lethal, predatory edge of his face.

He looked in the mirror. He slid a pair of cheap, clear-lensed glasses onto his nose. The transformation was complete. He looked like a man desperate for a paycheck.

Denzel watched from the doorway, a muscle in his cheek twitching violently at the sight of his billionaire boss dressed like a peasant.

Braden picked up the manila envelope. "All company decisions go through encrypted email until further notice," he commanded, walking past Denzel without looking back.

Across town, in the cramped, poorly lit office of C.B. Designs, Carlee was rubbing her pounding temples.

Lena Porter, her newly hired administrative assistant, dropped a stack of unorganized invoices onto the desk. "We don't even have a receptionist to answer the phones, Carlee. We are drowning."

Carlee sighed, the dull ache of a hangover throbbing behind her eyes. She thought about the valet from last night. She pulled out her phone, staring at the blank contact she had created for him.

Before she could hit dial, three sharp, polite knocks echoed against the frosted glass door of the office.

Carlee looked up. Through the narrow slats of the blinds, she saw a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette.

Braden stood on the other side of the glass. He held the manila envelope in his hands. He met her eyes through the blinds, his expression perfectly innocent and eager.

Carlee's heart gave a sudden, hard thump. All her exhaustion vanished.

She sat up straight and waved her hand at Lena. "Get the door."

Lena opened the door, her eyes immediately narrowing in suspicion at the massive man standing in the hallway. The cheap suit couldn't hide the sheer physical power radiating from him.

Braden ignored Lena completely. He walked straight to Carlee's desk.

He held the manila envelope out with both hands, bowing his head slightly.

"I'm here to report for duty," Braden said, flashing a warm, humble smile.