Against All Odds

Chapter 5: Unfinished Business

ZOE

I didn’t stop until I reached the balcony, the cool air hitting my flushed skin. My heart raced, not from the run, but from the moment on the dance floor.

What just happened?

I gripped the railing, trying to calm the storm inside me. His green eyes—unforgiving and intense—were burned into my memory. The way Jameson held me, guided me, it felt too natural. Too... electric.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered. “I barely know him, and he’s already getting under my skin.”

“Running away, are we?”

I froze. His voice, low and arrogant, sent a shiver down my spine. Jameson stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, like he owned the room—and me.

“What do you want, Jameson?” I snapped. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

He smirked. “Humiliated you? You’re the one who stormed off in the middle of a perfectly good dance.”

“Perfectly good? More like perfectly awkward.” I crossed my arms.

He stepped closer, gaze never leaving mine. “Awkward? You didn’t seem so awkward when you were leaning in for that kiss.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “I wasn’t—” I started, but his raised brow dared me to deny it.

“Whatever you think happened back there, it didn’t mean anything,” I said quickly, anger mixing with something else I couldn’t name.

Jameson tilted his head, his smirk fading. “You’re right. It didn’t mean anything. Just a moment of misplaced heat. That’s why I came—to make sure you knew that.”

His words stung. It should’ve been a relief, but it wasn’t. I hated how easily he dismissed it.

“Trust me, I already do,” I shot back, forcing a tight smile.

He studied me for a moment, his gaze almost probing. Finally, he stepped back. “Good. The last thing I need is a distraction.”

“Likewise,” I retorted.

We stood there in silence. I hated him. His arrogance, his cold indifference, the way he saw through me. But most of all, I hated how my heart raced every time he did.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Monroe,” he said, turning and walking away.

I stayed on the balcony for a few more moments, trying to steady my breathing. His touch, the near kiss, replayed in my mind.

What is wrong with me?

With a sigh, I turned and decided to leave the party, needing to escape before I lost myself further.

Back home, the silence was a relief. I kicked off my heels and sank onto the couch, my mind still reeling.

Jameson Montague. A thorn in my side.

The way he looked at me—it was like he saw through every wall I’d built.

I couldn’t afford to think about him. Not now.

I rubbed my temples, pushing the thoughts aside. Tomorrow, I’d focus on work. There was no room for distractions—especially him.

The next morning…

The sunlight filtering through my curtains dragged me out of a restless sleep. My head throbbed, a lingering reminder of last night’s chaos. I groaned, rubbing my temples as I sat up. My mind kept circling back to the party, to Jameson, to… that almost-kiss.

I swung my legs off the bed and shuffled toward the kitchen, intent on making coffee. But as I passed the small table near the couch, I noticed the faint glow of my laptop screen.

The damn thing was still on.

I must have been so exhausted last night that I’d forgotten to shut it down. My inbox was open, a bold notification catching my eye: New Email: Jameson Montague.

For a second, my heart stopped. My immediate thought was that he’d found some new way to ruin my life. Maybe he wanted to formally blacklist me from every firm in New York.

But as I clicked it open, I blinked in confusion at the words on the screen:

Subject: Follow-Up on Collaboration Proposal

“Miss Monroe,

After reviewing your pitch, I believe there may be some points worth discussing further. I’ve cleared my schedule for a private meeting today at 1 PM. Be punctual.

Jameson Montague”

I stared at the message, rereading it to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. Jameson Montague, the Jameson Montague, wanted a second meeting with me?

Skepticism bubbled up immediately. The man had made it painfully clear he thought I was a liar and a schemer. Why the sudden change of heart?

Still, I couldn’t afford to let my pride get in the way. My job—and possibly my entire career—was hanging by a thread. If this was a chance to redeem myself, I had to take it.

Jameson’s office was as cold and imposing as the man himself. His secretary, a sharp-featured woman with a tight-lipped smile, waved me in after a curt greeting.

“Miss Monroe,” she said smoothly, her tone laced with something I couldn’t quite place.

“Mr. Montague is waiting for you. Try not to waste his time.”

I could tell she had something on her mind from her eyes as she said those words.

Her words felt more like a threat than a courtesy. I straightened my shoulders and walked past her, determined not to let her rattle me.

Jameson sat behind his desk, barely glancing up as I entered. “You’re late,” he said, dismissing me with a wave.

I checked my phone—12:59. “No, I’m not,” I replied, holding my ground.

His lips twitched, amusement fleeting. “Sit.”

I dropped into the chair, clutching my notebook. His piercing gaze studied me like a specimen.

“Explain why I should reconsider your proposal,” he said, voice dripping with condescension.

I blinked. He hadn’t even looked at the pitch. Anger simmered, but I tamped it down. This was about proving myself.

I launched into my pitch, but each point was met with a snide remark.

“Do you really think this will work? Seems like a gamble,” he said coldly.

“It’s not a gamble,” I shot back, frustration edging my voice. “The data supports it. If you’d bother to—”

“I did look at the numbers, Miss Monroe. They’re mediocre at best.”

My blood boiled. “Mediocre? These numbers are tailored to your strengths. They’re ambitious, but achievable.”

He raised an eyebrow, unamused.

“Look, I’m not here to stroke your ego. This works, and you know it. The question is if you’ll stop being stubborn enough to see it.” I said.

The room fell silent. His unreadable expression flickered—was it intrigue?

“You’re awfully short on tangible results for someone so confident,” he remarked, tone dismissive.

“Because you’re looking for reasons to reject this, not potential,” I retorted. “If you’re not interested, that’s your loss.”

He leaned forward slightly, a flicker of something in his eyes. “You’ve got fire, but fire without control burns bridges, Miss Monroe.”

“Let me prove I can deliver,” I said, holding his gaze.

The air between us crackled. His eyes lingered on mine, then he smirked, leaning back. “Alright, you'll run a presentation for my team in an hour and then I'll decide.” he said.

Relief mixed with doubt. “Thank you,” I said, rising.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied, coolly. “I haven’t decided.”

As I left, I caught the secretary watching me with a cold, unreadable expression. I shook off the feeling, too focused on my small victory.

Back at my desk later that afternoon, I allowed myself a small smile. The meeting hadn’t gone perfectly, but it had gone better than I’d expected.

That smile quickly faded when I noticed a folded piece of paper on my keyboard.

I unfolded it carefully, my heart sinking as I read the message scrawled in bold, jagged letters:

“Know your place when dealing with Jameson. Stay away.”

A chill ran down my spine.

Who had left this? And why?

I looked around the office, trying to spot anything—or anyone—out of place. But everything seemed normal, and no one was paying me any attention.

Sliding the note into my bag, I forced myself to focus on my work. But the unease lingered, and one thing was certain: someone didn’t want me anywhere near Jameson Montague.