Corner Office Romance

Chapter4

"Five minutes." His voice was flat, sharp and final.

My hands shook as I stared at the soaked pages. The brown stain spread like poison across the numbers. My mind screamed at me to move, so I grabbed a stack of blank sheets from the corner of the desk.

Okay, Emily... just breathe. You saw the notes yesterday, think.

Then, I chewed my lips hard, forcing myself to remember every scribbled figure I had glanced at. The way the Tokyo partner had underlined certain numbers, the arrows, the short phrases and my pen scraped across the paper as I wrote, while my heart thundered.

Behind me, I could feel his stare, like heat on my neck. Like he was watching every stroke of my pen.

"One minute gone," Alexander said calmly, as if he had all the time in the world.

My grip on the pen tightened. "I'm working."

"Looks more like you're panicking." I kept writing, though my letters were messy.

He checked his watch. "Four minutes."

I wanted to scream, but instead, I wrote faster, forcing the words out of my memory.

The door cracked open then, and Marcus leaned in, smirked already plastered on his face. "Oh, what do we have here again, miss newbies ruining international contracts?"

"Get out," Alexander said without turning.

Marcus ignored him. "Boss, maybe I should handle this. She clearly–"

Alexander's tone dropped colder. "Did you not hear me?"

Marcus froze, then chuckled awkwardly. "Fine, fine." His eyes lingered on me, mocking me. "Tik-tock, sweetheart." Then he slipped out.

I wanted to throw the pen at his head, but I didn't have time.

"Three minutes," Alexander reminded me.

"I know," I snapped before I could stop myself. My voice shook too, but I didn't care.

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he was amused. "Careful, that tone might cost you."

I dropped the pen, slammed my palm on the desk, then picked it up again. My chest was burning, but I forced the words out. "Maybe stop counting down and let me work!"

Silence, heavy and pressing filled the room, but I didn't dare look up, I only felt it, his eyes on me, sharp, cold and testing.

"Two minutes," he said anyway.

I scribbled faster, and the page blurred more. Sweat dampened my palms.

Finally, I stopped, my own hovering in my fingers, and my chest heaved. I then turned slowly, finally darting to meet his eyes. His face gave away nothing, it was just that unreadable mask.

He stepped closer, leaning down slightly, his shadow falling across my page. His voice brushed against my ear, and it was calm, but sharp enough to cut.

"Then prove it." He said, his eyes never meeting mine.

My hand flew across the page, the sound of the pen scratching felt louder than my pulse, louder than the clock ticking somewhere behind me. And every second starched, every breath dragged.

Then, Alexander stood so close that I could feel the weight of him, his eyes bored into the back of my head. He didn't move, he didn't even clear his throat, he just stood there, like a hawk circling prey.

"Two minutes left," he said softly.

I gritted my teeth. "I heard you."

"Your writing's messy."

"It'll make sense."

"Doubtful."

I pressed harder, forcing the numbers onto the page, remembering the order, the details, the way the margins had been filled with small notes. My wrist cramped, and my vision blurred, but I didn't give up, I kept writing.

"Sixty seconds," he said.

My hand almost slipped, and panic rose sharp in my throat. I forced it down. "I'm not going to fail."

"Most people already have," he replied smoothly.

I wanted to yell at him, to tell him to shut up, but instead I bent over the page and finished the last line with a hard stroke of my pen. My chest heaved, and sweat dampened my temples.

"Time," he said.

"No," I gasped, scrubbing the last note. "Done," I slammed the papers onto the desk, breathing like I'd run a marathon.

And for a second, there was silence. Alexander then picked up the sheets with deliberate calm. He flipped through them slowly, page by page. The only sound was the faint rustle of paper. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my skin.

Please, please don't let this be the end. He didn't speak, but his face didn't move. Nit a single reaction.

The longer he stayed quiet, the harder my stomach twisted. Finally, I blurted, "I know it's not perfect, but it's close. I tried, I–"

"Quiet." His eyes didn't leave the page. I then bit my lip so hard that I tasted blood.

He reached the last line, then lowered the papers. His gaze lifted to mine. It wasn't as cold as before but it was grey, and unreadable.

I searched his face for a clue. Was I fired? Did I pass? But nothing, his mask didn't c***k.

My breath then shook. "Well?"

And for a moment, he only stared, his silence crushing me more than his words ever could. Then he leaned forward, close enough that I could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, close enough that his voice brushed warm against my ear.

"You're not as fragile as you look," he muttered.

I froze, and my heart skipped, then stumbled. It raced so fast that I thought I might collapse.

But before I could reply, he straightened, sliding the papers into a folder with the same calm he'd shown all along, as if he hadn't just set my entire world spinning.

I then swallowed hard, my fingers trembling against the desk. His words echoed in my chest, louder than my own breath. Not fragile, for the first time since stepping into this office, I felt the smallest spark of pride... dangerous, and fragile in itself, but real. And still, his eyes warned me not to mistake survival for victory. I forced myself to stand straighter, even as my knees wobbled. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break, not here, and not now. And maybe, not ever.