CHAPTER E: "THE DOCUMENT"
1096 Words
POV: Maya
---
"I've never seen this clause before," Maya said.
"It's standard," Julian replied.
Both of them were lying.
The document was on her desk between them. It was three pages, typed close together, with Sterling Financial’s name at the top and the legal department’s details at the bottom. It looked serious and official.
It wasn't.
Maya had read every page of her employment contract three times.On the night before she started at Sterling, she had sat in her Brooklyn apartment with a cup of cardamom tea and a yellow highlighter and she had marked every clause that mattered which was Severance ,Non-disclosure ,Non-compete and Arbitration.
This document was not in her contract.
She picked it up and traced the heading: Decompression and Transition Protocol.
"A month at your private island," she said slowly. "All expenses paid for what, exactly?"
"For transition support," Julian said.
He was standing on the other side of her desk. His grey eyes were steady. His dark blond hair was perfectly styled. His bespoke charcoal suit looked like it had been painted onto his lean frame. The vintage Omega Seamaster on his wrist caught the light.
His face revealed nothing.
"Transition support," Maya repeated.
"For senior personnel in high-proximity roles."
"Senior personnel."
"Yes."
"I'm an assistant, Julian."
"You're my assistant. There's a difference."
She wanted to laugh and throw the document at his head at the same time she wanted to say yes so badly it hurt, and that was a problem.
"The clause is in your contract," he said. "Page forty-seven. Section fourteen, subsection C."
"You know I've read my contract."
"Then you know I'm telling the truth."
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
The air between them was thick with everything they weren't saying. Three years of not-touching. Three years of 6:07 AM elevators , coffee served at 6:08 and the scent of cardamom in a drawer he had never opened but somehow always seemed to notice.
"Maya," he said.
Her name in his mouth in a rare way like it cost him something.
"What?"
"Just read it again."
She read it again.
One month in Isla Paraíso. His private villa in the Caribbean, somewhere between St. Lucia and Martinique. Small, lush, volcanic hills and black-sand coves and turquoise water. A villa with twelve rooms and an infinity pool and open-air architecture that blurred inside and outside.
She had never been there. She had only heard him describe it once, to a client, on a phone call she wasn't supposed to be listening to.
She had imagined it ever since.
"I don't understand," she said.
"What don't you understand?"
"Why are you doing this?"
Julian was quiet for a moment. His long fingers tapped once on the edge of her desk. They were like a pianist’s fingers—careful and controlled. She had seen those same fingers turn pages, sign papers, and hold a coffee cup.
She had imagined them on her skin.
"Because you deserve a proper transition," he said finally. "Because you've given this company three years of your life. Because I—"
He stopped.
"Because you what?"
"Because I don't want you to leave angry."
She laughed. It came out sharp. "I'm not angry, Julian, I'm exhausted."
"Then take the month."
"I don't need a month in the Caribbean to recover from being your assistant."
"No," he said quietly. "But you might need it to recover from me."
The words hung in the air.
Maya's chest went tight. Her dark almond-shaped eyes—the ones that read people in seconds, that had read him years ago—searched his face for the lie and she found something else too. Something that looked like fear.
He was afraid.
Julian Croft was afraid of her leaving.
And he was using a fake legal document to keep her close.
Her instincts screamed at her. Say no, just walk away and save yourself.
But she was so tired. Three years of being perfect. Three years of waking up at 5 AM to be at her desk by 5:45. Three years of 6:07 AM elevators and coffee at 6:08 and pretending she didn't notice the way his grey eyes softened when he thought she wasn't looking.
She hadn't taken a vacation in two years.
She hadn't slept through the night in three.
And there was a part of her—the part she hated, the part she kept locked in the same drawer as her dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre and her father's funeral program—that couldn't resist one more month of him.
"Okay," she said.
Julian blinked. "Okay?"
"Okay. I'll go."
He didn't smile. Julian Croft didn't smile but something in his face shifted. The mask cracked, just for a second.
"I'll have my assistant book the flight," he said.
"You don't have an assistant. I'm your assistant."
"You're not my assistant for another two weeks."
She picked up the document. Her hand brushed his.
His fingers and skin were warm. He did not move his hand immediately.
Neither did she.
Three years of not-touching. Three years of almost and never and the specific torture of sitting six feet from someone you wanted more than air.
She pulled her hand back first.
"When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"The villa is available. The weather is good. There's a storm system moving in later in the week, but we'll be gone before it hits."
"A storm system?"
"Tropical depression. Nothing to worry about."
Maya looked at the document again. Then she looked at him.
"One month," she said.
"One month."
"And then I'm gone."
Julian didn't answer.
He just stood there, tall and still and impossible, with his grey eyes fixed on her face and his shaking hands shoved into his pockets.
"Read the document carefully," he said. "Sign it by morning. I'll have the car pick you up at six."
He turned and walked back to his office.
Maya watched him go.
Then she sat down at her bare desk and read the document again.
Page by page.
Something was wrong and she could feel it. The same way she could feel him watching her from his office even when the privacy glass was opaque. The same way she could feel the shape of his absence when he wasn't in the elevator with her at 6:07 AM.
But she was too tired to figure it out.
And she wanted one more month.
She signed the document.
---
Three years of not-touching.
One month of proximity.
What could possibly go wrong?
---
END OF CHAPTER 3
- Writer
