Chapter Three
1315 Words
Elena’s pov
The shrill beeping of my alarm was enough to make me question every single life choice that had led me here. I slapped at my phone until it shut up, then groaned into my pillow. Five more minutes. Just five. Unfortunately, my inbox had other plans.
Because right there, staring at me from my phone screen, was the email I’d opened the night before: Reminder Report Submission Overdue.
I groaned louder, burying my face in the sheets. I remembered it clearly. After surviving the nightmare gala, laughing it off with Sophie, and swearing chocolate cake would fix everything, I’d crawled into bed with every intention of finishing the report. I even opened the file, stared at the blinking cursor, and typed three whole sentences before my head crashed onto the keyboard.
So yes. Technically, I “worked” on it. But mostly, I drooled on it. And now, here I was, already late, with my career dangling by a thread.
“Elena?” Sophie’s voice floated from the kitchen. “Why are you stomping like the roof caved in?”
I dashed into the living room, my laptop bag half-zipped, hair a mess. “Because I am officially doomed. I’m late, my report is late, and life is basically over.”
She raised an eyebrow over her coffee mug. “Take it easy. You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”
I shoved a piece of bread in my mouth while hopping around, trying to put on heels without breaking my neck. “No time for easy. I’m already five minutes late, and the office is at least thirty minutes away in good traffic. You know what traffic looks like right now.”
Sophie gave me a look at the kind that screamed drama queen alert. “ Breathe. You’ll be fine. Besides, you were up half the night on that report, weren’t you? ”
“Yes,” I muttered, grabbing my phone. “And it better impresses them enough that they forget I nearly forgot to hand it in. Honestly, I can’t wait for the weekend. I swear I’m going to sleep until Monday. I’ll be buried under my blanket, dead to the world.”
“You say that every week,” she said, amused.
“And I mean it every week,” I shot back, kissing her cheek before bolting for the door.
By the time I made it to the office, my nerves were hanging by a thread. I barely had time to drop my bag before I was summoned into my department head’s office.
“Morning, Elena,” said Ms. Grant, my very sharp, no-nonsense boss. She sat behind her desk like a queen on her throne, eyes cool as she assessed me. “Are you ready?”
I blinked. “Ready?”
“For your report defense,” she said briskly.
I nearly choked. “I-sorry, what?”
Ms. Grant arched an eyebrow. “The CEO requested that you defend your report this morning. Surely you read the email properly?”
I stared at her, stunned, my brain scrambling to remember the email I’d skimmed last night while half-asleep. Oh no.
“I, uh I did,” I lied.
Her eyes narrowed, and I could practically hear her thoughts screaming like an incompetent child.
I plastered on a weak smile. “But yes. Of course. I’ll defend it.”
“Good. Boardroom. Five minutes.”
As I walked out, I silently cursed myself. Note to self: next time, don’t read work emails in bed. Especially not when you’re one blink away from passing out.
The boardroom was colder than I expected, probably from the AC cranking to Antarctic levels. My heels clicked against the polished floor as I entered, clutching my file like a shield. I was determined to look confident, even though my insides were spaghetti.
And then I froze. Because sitting across the room, in all his smirking glory, was him. The mystery man from the gala.
My heart did a weird flip-flop thing. He was leaning casually in his chair, one arm draped along the backrest, like he owned the room. And when our eyes met, that same devilish smirk curved his lips.
Of course. Of course, my fake knight in shining Armani had to show up here. At my office. In my boardroom. What’s next, him showing up in my shower?
I tore my gaze away and sat down, pretending I hadn’t noticed him. But every time I tried to focus on my notes, I felt that piercing stare. It was like heat crawling across my skin.
Stop looking at me. Stop it. Stop smirking. What are you even doing here? Do you work here? Are you stalking me? Oh god, what if he’s actually stalking me? What if this is some elaborate plot? Breathe, Elena.
The meeting began, voices droning around the table as I tried not to combust.
When my turn came, I stood and launched into my report defense. At first, my voice trembled, but the more I spoke, the steadier it became. I knew my work I’d poured blood, sweat, and tears (and maybe a little bit of caffeine poisoning) into it.
By the time I wrapped up, the boardroom was quiet. Then came the nods, the murmurs of approval. Even Ms. Grant gave me a small smile, which was rarer than a solar eclipse.
I sat down, relief flooding me. I’d survived.
The meeting adjourned, chairs scraping as people filed out. Everyone left. Except him.
And the CEO.
My pulse spiked. Why is he still here? Why is he talking to the CEO? Are they partners? Investors? What if he’s my new boss? Oh no. Oh no no no.
I fled before I could spiral further, straight to the break room. Coffee. Coffee was the answer. It was always the answer.
By the time I poured my fifteenth cup of the day, don't judge, I felt slightly more human. I was just about to take a blissful sip when a voice spoke behind me.
“You work here.”
I jumped so hard the coffee sloshed all over my hand. “Ow!” I fumbled for a napkin, cursing under my breath. “Seriously? Do you sneak up on people for fun?”
He was standing there, tall and composed, looking irritatingly flawless. That smirk was back, of course. Did he have any other expression?
I dabbed at the coffee stain on my blouse, glaring. “You. Why are you here? Are you following me?”
His smile widened. “Relax. I’m not stalking you. Not yet, anyway.”
“Not funny,” I snapped, though my cheeks burned.
“I didn’t realize you worked here,” he said, ignoring my glare. “Small world.”
“Too small,” I muttered.
He leaned casually against the counter, watching me with infuriating amusement. “You never did tell me your name.”
I rolled my eyes. “And I’m not going to. You can survive without it.”
“You’re making this a game,” he said lightly. “And I happen to like games.”
“Good for you. I don’t.”
“Mm.” His gaze flicked to my cup. “Fifteenth coffee today?”
I froze. “Were you, have you been counting?”
He chuckled. “Hard not to notice.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he said, voice low and smooth, “here we are. Meeting again.”
My heart did that stupid flip-flop thing again, and I hated it. I absolutely hated it.
I grabbed my cup, glaring at him one last time before storming out. “Stay out of my way.”
His laughter followed me down the hall, warm and amused.
And all I could think was, why did it sound like the beginning of trouble?
- Writer
