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MidReal Story
Falling for the New Boss
Scenario:“James McGregor, CEO of McGregor Industries, has passed away…” I turned off the TV, unable to listen. I had been at his side in his final moments. For three years, I worked as Mr. McGregor’s personal assistant. He was more than a boss; he was like a father to me. Now, the company is in the hands of James McGregor Jr., the son of my boss. I had never quite taken a liking to this man, but he has taken an interest in me...
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Soraya Windsor
personal assistant, relationships with James McGregor and James McGregor Jr., petite with curly brown hair, empathetic and resilient
James McGregor
deceased CEO of McGregor Industries, fatherly figure to Soraya, tall with silver hair and sharp eyes, wise and kind
James McGregor Jr.
new CEO of McGregor Industries and son of James McGregor, interested in Soraya romantically, athletic build with dark hair and piercing gaze, ambitious and enigmatic
I worked as the personal assistant to the late CEO of McGregor Industries for three years before he passed away.
During that time, I came to know James McGregor Jr., the current CEO of the company and the only son of my boss.
I was aware of him before I started working with his father, but we never got a chance to talk much.
After I began working with his father, James McGregor Jr. and I would cross paths every now and then.
He would visit his father at the office or at his home, but we never really talked.
He would smile at me and I would do the same in return.
Once or twice we exchanged a few words.
My boss would tell me nice things about his son and how proud he was of him.
I was aware of the fact that James McGregor Jr. had a reputation in the business world.
He was ruthless and cunning, but my boss would tell me that he was also a kind and caring person.
He would tell me stories about his son and how much he loved him.
After his father passed away, I knew I had to go to his office and offer my condolences.
It was the least I could do for the man who had been like a father to me.
I walked down the long hallway toward his office, my heels clicking against the marble floor.
His secretary waved at me as I approached.
She knew who I was, so she didn’t need to ask me what I wanted.
I nodded at her and continued toward his office.
The walls were made of glass, so I could see him standing by the window looking out at the city below.
His hands were clasped behind his back just like his father used to do. He turned around as I approached, and our eyes met through the glass wall.
I knocked softly on the door and waited for him to tell me to come in.
"Come," he said, his voice deep and commanding.
I opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind me.
"Mr. McGregor," I said formally, extending my hand to him.
He took my hand in his and shook it briefly before letting go.
"I’m sorry for your loss," I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking.
He nodded at me and gestured for me to take a seat.
I sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk and clasped my hands together in my lap nervously.
He sat down in his chair across from me and looked at me intently.
"Thank you for coming," he said finally, breaking the silence between us. "I wanted to offer my condolences," I said softly, looking down at my hands in my lap.
He nodded at me again, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I know you two were close," he said finally, breaking the silence between us again.
"Yes," I said softly, looking up at him finally.
"He was like a father to me."
"He told me about you," he said finally, breaking the silence between us once again.
"He told me how much he cared about you."
I nodded at him again, feeling tears prick at the back of my eyes finally.
"He was a good man."
"Yes," he agreed with a nod of his own finally.
"He was."
"He also told me something else," James said, his voice suddenly softer.
I looked up, curiosity piqued despite my grief.
"He wanted you to know that he left you a letter, something he wrote just for you."
I sat up straighter, my heart pounding in my chest.
A letter?
From Mr. McGregor?
For me?
I couldn’t imagine what he could have written in a letter to me.
I had worked for him for three years, but I never expected anything like this.
"Where is it?"
I asked James finally, curiosity getting the better of me.
James stood up from his chair and walked over to the desk that had once belonged to his father.
He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out an envelope.
It was a cream color with my name written across it in Mr. McGregor’s familiar slanted handwriting.
James held onto the letter for a moment before extending it to me.
His fingers brushed against mine as I took the letter from him, sending shivers down my spine.
I looked up at him, but he just gave me a small smile and nodded toward the door. "You should go," he said softly.
"You can read it in private."
I nodded at him again and stood up from my chair.
I left his office, the weight of the envelope heavy in my hand, knowing everything was about to change.
I exited McGregor Industries through the glass revolving doors.
The late afternoon sun was hot on my face as I walked briskly down the busy sidewalk.
The concrete beneath my feet seemed to stretch on forever, but I knew I had to keep going.
Central Park was only three blocks away, and once I got there, I could finally be alone.
I would be able to sit beneath the oak tree where Mr. McGregor and I had eaten lunch together during the summer months.
Its thick branches spread wide, creating a canopy of shade.
I settled onto the worn wooden bench beneath it and smoothed out my skirt with trembling hands.
I traced my fingers over my name, written in Mr. McGregor’s distinctive slanted script.
I took a deep breath and carefully opened the envelope, ready to discover the words he had left behind.
The paper inside was crisp and white, the familiar scent of Mr. McGregor’s personal stationery filling the air.
I unfolded the letter, recognizing the raised letterhead immediately.
It was his company’s crest, a stylized image of a lion’s head surrounded by a circle of stars.
The first few lines were warm and familiar, written in his distinctive handwriting.
"Dear Soraya," he began, just as he had every time he wrote to me.
My eyes scanned down the page, taking in the words that flowed across it.
They were formal, yet kind, and I could almost hear Mr. McGregor’s voice whispering them in my ear.
But as I reached the middle of the letter, my hands began to tremble.
The words blurred together on the page, making it difficult for me to read on.
Stocks.
Majority shareholding.
Transfer of ownership.
I had to stop for a moment, taking a deep breath before I could continue.
But as I did, tears sprang to my eyes, threatening to spill down my cheeks. The letter explained everything in detail: how he had watched me grow and learn over the past three years, how I had come to care about McGregor Industries almost as much as he did.
And then, in a bold move that left me breathless, he had left me with something extraordinary.
The controlling interest in McGregor Industries itself.
I felt like I was floating above my body as I read those words, like they were somehow separate from me.
The paper slipped from my fingers, landing softly on my lap.
I picked it up, carefully folding the letter and sliding it back into the envelope.
As I did, I glanced up at the oak tree, noticing that its shadow had shifted slightly.
I checked my watch, realizing it was almost 4 PM.
I needed to get back to the office, to face whatever awaited me there.
But for a moment, I sat still, letting the weight of Mr. McGregor’s words settle inside me.
The sun was warm on my skin as I stood up from the bench.
I smoothed my black pencil skirt and straightened my blazer, trying to channel the confidence of a majority shareholder.
Each step back to McGregor Industries felt heavier than the last, but I knew I had to keep going.
When I finally reached the towering skyscraper, I took a deep breath before walking through the revolving doors.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and I stepped inside.
As they closed behind me, I caught a glimpse of myself in the polished metal: same black pencil skirt, same fitted blazer, same dark hair pulled back into a neat bun. But nothing was the same anymore.
Everything had changed in ways I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
I hesitated for a moment, my finger hovering over the button for the executive floor.
That was where James Jr.’s office awaited, where our conversation would reshape both our futures forever.
The elevator ascended smoothly, the floors flashing by in a blur.
I gripped the letter tightly in my purse, rehearsing the words I would say to James Jr.
When the doors opened on the executive level, I stepped out into the familiar marble-lined hallway.
The sound of my heels clicking against the floor echoed through the empty corridor.
I walked purposefully toward James Jr.’s office, passing by the rows of executive suites.
As I approached his door, I could see his secretary sitting at her desk, typing away on her computer.
She looked up as I approached, a mixture of curiosity and wariness in her eyes.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice crisp and professional.
I didn’t even pause.
"I’m here to see James McGregor Jr.," I said confidently, walking past her desk and toward the closed door.
She stood up quickly, trying to stop me.
"I’m sorry, but he’s not seeing anyone right now. You’ll need to make an appointment—"
But I was already turning the doorknob and stepping inside his office.
The room was just as I remembered it: mahogany shelves lining the walls, a sprawling city view stretching out from the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a massive desk dominating the center of the room. But this time, it was James Jr. sitting behind that desk, his dark eyes fixed intently on me as I entered.
He looked up from the papers scattered across his desk, his expression unreadable.
I closed the door behind me with a soft click, my heart pounding in my chest.
James leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he studied me.
The office seemed different now that he was sitting behind that desk instead of his father.
It felt like a place where power and control were wielded with an iron fist.
The air was thick with tension as we faced each other across the expanse of polished wood.
I took a deep breath and walked forward, placing the letter on his desk with a deliberate movement.
My fingers lingered on the edge of the envelope for a moment, as if unwilling to let go of the weighty secret it contained.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, illuminating the fine lines of James Jr.’s face.
His dark eyes flickered down to the letter, then back up to meet mine.
For a moment, I stood frozen, unsure of what to say next.
The silence stretched out like an unbridgeable chasm between us.
My throat felt dry and tight as I searched for the right words to explain everything.
James Jr. remained silent, his gaze piercing and unwavering, waiting for me to break the silence.
The sound of the wall clock ticked away in the stillness, echoing off the mahogany surfaces.
Finally, I withdrew my hand from the letter and straightened my spine.
I remembered Mr. McGregor’s confidence in me, his belief that I could handle anything life threw my way. "Your father," I began, my voice steadier than I expected, "has made me majority shareholder of McGregor Industries."
James Jr.’s eyes widened, his fingers tightening on the armrests of his leather chair.
His knuckles whitened ever so slightly, betraying the tension he was trying to conceal.
The scent of his father’s office—leather and sandalwood—seemed to grow stronger in the silence that followed, suffocating me.
He reached for the letter with deliberate slowness, his movements controlled yet tense.
As he read, his jaw clenched and unclenched, the only sound in the room the soft rustle of paper.
When he finished, he placed the letter down with precision, lifting those dark eyes to meet mine.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice low and resolute.
I nodded, my heels sinking into the plush carpet as I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the towering skyscrapers of Manhattan’s skyline.
James Jr. followed, his reflection appearing beside mine in the glass.
For a moment, we stood there, looking out at the city below.
It was a view I had grown accustomed to during my three years working for Mr. McGregor.
Countless evenings had been spent in this office, pouring over documents and discussing business strategies with him.
But now, everything felt different.
I turned to face James Jr., maintaining a professional distance despite the intimate setting.
His cologne mingled with the scent of leather and wood, filling my senses.
Before I could speak, he raised his hand, silencing me.
"We'll discuss terms tomorrow," he said, leaving no room for argument.
I nodded, lingering by the window for a moment longer.
The city lights were starting to twinkle as dusk descended over Manhattan.
His phone buzzed on the desk behind us, breaking the tension that had settled over the room.
James Jr. walked back to the desk, his footsteps heavy on the carpet.
As he picked up his phone, his expression changed.
His eyes widened ever so slightly, jaw tensing.
"My aunt Patricia passed away," he said, his voice tight.
"She left me her estate in Vermont."
He set the phone down hard enough to rattle the pen holder.
I hesitated, unsure of how to approach him.
He gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles white.
His shoulders were rigid beneath his tailored suit, his gaze fixed on the phone.
The office, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating.
I took a step forward, my heels sinking into the carpet.
The scent of his cologne mingled with the faint aroma of coffee from his half-empty cup.
"I'm sorry about your aunt Patricia," I said softly.
Mr. McGregor had spoken fondly of her many times, telling me how she had helped raise James Jr. after his mother's passing.
My hand reached out, hesitating just shy of his shoulder.
He turned to me, eyes glistening with a mix of grief and determination.
"She always wanted me to take over the estate," he murmured, almost to himself.
"But I never thought it would be so soon."
He lifted his sleeve to wipe at his eyes, composing himself.
The setting sun cast a warm glow over the office, casting long shadows across the carpet.
A thought formed in my mind, and I took a step closer to the desk.
"Your father often talked about Patricia's estate," I said softly, my voice carrying across the room.
"Perhaps we should go there together."
James Jr. looked up sharply, his red-rimmed eyes studying mine.
I continued, undeterred.
"It might help to see it, to honor her memory."
The silence that followed was palpable, heavy with unspoken emotions.
Drumming his fingers against the desk, James Jr. seemed to weigh my words.
Finally, he nodded slowly.
"Very well," he said, his voice tinged with determination.
"We'll go to Vermont."
I nodded, a mix of emotions swirling within me.
As I turned to leave, a thought struck me.
Perhaps this trip would be an opportunity for us to connect, to find common ground beyond the confines of the office.
The estate in Vermont held secrets and stories, waiting to be unearthed.
Together, we would embark on this journey, navigating the twists and turns of our complicated past.
Little did I know that this trip would unravel more than just the mysteries of the estate.
It would unravel the very fabric of our lives, revealing truths that would change everything.
I walked into my apartment, my mind still reeling from the events at the office.
The small overnight bag on my bed seemed like a reminder of all the weekend business trips I had taken with Mr. McGregor over the years.
I opened it and began packing for tomorrow's trip to Vermont. As I folded a black dress and blazer, my phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
I walked over to it and saw a text from James Jr. confirming he'd pick me up at 7 AM tomorrow morning.
I added some toiletries to my bag and then walked over to my desk in the corner of the room.
On it was a framed photo of Mr. McGregor and me at a business dinner last year.
For some reason, I felt like I needed him with me on this trip, so I grabbed the photo and placed it in my bag before zipping it closed.
After setting my alarm for 6:30 AM, I went into my bedroom and changed into a pair of pajamas before climbing into bed.
As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't shake the feeling that tomorrow would change everything.
I lay in bed, the room bathed in darkness.
The ceiling fan rotated slowly, casting a gentle breeze across my skin.
The digital clock on my bedside table glowed with red numbers, reading 11:47 PM.
Despite the late hour, sleep kept eluding me.
Every time I closed my eyes, images flashed through my mind.
Mr. McGregor's handwriting on that letter, James Jr.'s tears as he spoke about his aunt, and the unknown estate waiting for us in Vermont.
My silk pajamas rustled softly as I turned onto my side.
The streetlight outside cast an eerie glow, casting strange shadows on the wall of my bedroom.
They morphed into twisted shapes, like skeletal fingers reaching for me.
I closed my eyes, knowing that tomorrow, everything would begin to unravel.
As the minutes ticked by, exhaustion finally claimed me.
I drifted off into a restless slumber, the shadows on my wall fading into the darkness of my own mind.
In my dream, I walked through a house I had never seen before.
The walls were lined with dark wooden paneling, and the air was thick with the scent of old books.
My footsteps echoed on the creaking floorboards as I made my way down a seemingly endless hallway.
The doors that lined the corridor were all closed, but I could hear muffled voices coming from behind them.
I paused in front of one door and listened closely.
It sounded like Mr. McGregor's voice, but it was hushed and indistinct.
I continued down the hallway, passing door after door, each one emitting a different sound.
Some were whispers, while others were loud and boisterous.
I recognized some of the voices as belonging to people I worked with at McGregor Industries, but others were unfamiliar.
As I turned a corner, I noticed that the hallway seemed to stretch on forever.
There was no end in sight, just more doors leading to more secrets. I reached out to touch one of the doorknobs, but my hand passed through it like smoke.
I tried another, and another, but it was the same every time.
I felt frustrated and disoriented, unable to grasp anything solid in this dream world.
Suddenly, I heard Mr. McGregor's voice calling out to me from a door at the end of the hallway.
"Soraya," he said urgently.
"Soraya, come here."
I quickened my pace, hurrying toward his voice.
But as I reached out to open the door, everything around me began to fade away.
I woke up with a start, my heart pounding in my chest.
The room was still dark, but the dream lingered in my mind like a shadow.
I reached for my phone and saw it was 5:30 AM, an hour before my alarm.
The alarm blared in my ear, but I was already wide awake.
The unsettling dream had left me feeling restless and on edge.
I tossed off the covers and got out of bed, beginning my morning routine in the dim light of dawn.
First, I showered and brushed my teeth, then applied a light layer of makeup to cover up the dark circles under my eyes.
Next, I blow-dried my hair and styled it in a sleek, professional ponytail.
As I walked over to my closet, I noticed that the room was growing lighter.
The sun was rising outside, casting a warm glow through the window.
I opened the closet door and scanned the racks of clothes, searching for something suitable for the drive to Vermont.
I settled on a navy blue blazer and matching slacks, which would be practical for traveling while still looking professional.
I grabbed a white blouse to wear underneath and a pair of comfortable heels to complete the outfit.
After getting dressed, I walked over to my overnight bag and double-checked that everything was packed.
Mr. McGregor's photo was safely tucked away in one of the pockets, along with a few other essentials like my toothbrush and a change of clothes for the next day.
Finally, I headed into the kitchen to make some coffee.
The aroma filled the air as I brewed a pot, and soon I had a steaming cup in front of me. I added a splash of creamer and took a tentative sip, wincing at the bitter taste.
Despite my nerves about the trip ahead, I knew I needed something to eat before we left.
I opened the fridge and pulled out a loaf of bread, then toasted two slices and spread them with butter.
As I took a bite, my stomach twisted with anxiety.
The clock on the wall read 6:45 AM, and I knew James Jr. would be arriving soon.
I heard my phone buzz from the counter and walked over to check it.
"Good morning, Soraya," James Jr.'s deep voice said as I answered.
"I'm about five minutes away. I'll see you soon."
I stood at the kitchen counter, phone pressed to my ear.
My fingers traced the rim of my coffee mug as I listened to James Jr.'s words.
The morning sun streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow over the room.
Dust particles danced in the light, suspended in mid-air.
By the door, my overnight bag sat waiting, ready for our journey to Vermont.
Through the window of my third-floor apartment, I watched as a black Range Rover pulled up outside.
Car doors slammed shut, and then James Jr. stepped out onto the sidewalk.
I took one final look around the apartment, making sure everything was in order.
The morning light streaming through the windows cast a warm glow over the empty rooms.
I picked up my overnight bag, feeling the weight of Mr. McGregor's photo inside.
My hands shook slightly as I turned the key in the lock.
In the hallway, the click of my heels echoed off the walls as I walked toward the elevator.
The ride down seemed longer than usual, and when I stepped out into the lobby, I could see James Jr. waiting outside.
He was leaning against his Range Rover, dressed in a dark suit that accentuated his broad shoulders.
As he spotted me, he straightened up.
I pushed through the heavy glass doors of my apartment building, my overnight bag swinging at my side.
The morning air was crisp and cool against my skin as I walked toward James Jr. and his Range Rover.
He stood there in his dark suit, hands in his pockets, watching me approach with those piercing blue eyes.
My heels clicked steadily on the concrete, marking each step that brought us closer together.
When I reached him, I raised my hand in a small wave.
James Jr.'s shoulders tensed slightly at the gesture, and for a moment, we just stood there, looking at each other.
It felt awkward and formal, nothing like the charged moment we'd shared in his office yesterday.
The morning traffic hummed around us, a constant reminder of the city coming to life.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the faint smell of gasoline and exhaust.
I stood there, my overnight bag heavy in my hand, the weight of it a tangible reminder of the journey we were about to embark on.
James Jr.'s jaw remained tight, his eyes still holding that intensity from yesterday's office confrontation.
The silence between us grew thicker, almost palpable.
It was as if we were both waiting for the other to make the first move, to break the tension.
I shifted my weight slightly, feeling the hard concrete beneath my heels.
My throat felt dry and parched, and I wished I had grabbed a water bottle before leaving my apartment. The sound of a delivery truck passing by broke through the silence, momentarily disrupting the stillness between us.
James Jr. remained motionless, his eyes fixed on me like he was studying me.
My heart raced slightly at the intensity of his gaze.
I took a deep breath and gathered my courage to speak.
"Let's go," I said, finally breaking the silence.
He didn't respond, but instead turned toward the Range Rover.
His hand reached out and gripped the door handle, pulling it open with a smooth motion.
The morning sunlight glinted off the black paint, highlighting the sleek lines of the luxury vehicle.
James Jr. stepped back, creating a small space for me to enter.
The leather seat beckoned, inviting me to slide in and escape the awkwardness of our momentary silence.
I hesitated for a moment, my overnight bag feeling heavier in my hand.
But then I took a step forward, my eyes locked on the open door.
As I moved past him, his cologne filled my senses, mixed with the scent of the car's interior.
