CHAPTER4
1067 Words
Mia didn’t sleep that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—standing behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, espresso in one hand and that unreadable expression on his face. Those words kept echoing in her head:
“You don’t belong here.”
And yet, she did. She had to.
She wasn’t just working for a paycheck. This job was a stepping stone—an escape hatch from the life she’d clawed her way out of. Lily’s tuition, their rent, security—it all hinged on her keeping this job.
Even if Alexander Sinclair set her nerves on fire every time he looked at her.
Especially then.
By the next morning, she had steeled herself. Hair pinned, blouse tucked, heels precise. She’d decided on one thing: boundaries. She needed them. Craved them. Because she could survive this job—but she wouldn’t survive falling for him.
And if she wasn’t careful, that’s exactly where she was headed.
---
Her desk was already stacked with reports when she arrived.
Weekly forecasts. Investor briefs. A folder labeled Confidential – Board Eyes Only.
She didn’t hesitate. She dove in, organizing, summarizing, drafting replies before Alexander even walked through the door. When he did, just before 8 a.m., she didn’t look up.
But she felt him.
That magnetic pull that made the air feel heavier when he was near.
“Morning,” he said, passing her desk.
“Morning, Mr. Sinclair,” she replied without pausing her typing.
A slight pause. Then: “Back to formalities, I see.”
She glanced up. “I thought we worked better that way.”
He arched his brow. “Suit yourself.”
And with that, he disappeared into his office.
But Mia didn’t miss the flicker of something in his eyes—amusement? Disappointment?
She wasn’t sure.
And she didn’t have time to overthink it.
---
By mid-morning, she had settled into the rhythm of her tasks when the building fire alarm suddenly blared.
She jumped.
Flashing red lights blinked overhead. The automated voice kicked in overhead: “Attention: There is a fire emergency in the building. Please proceed to the nearest exit…”
Chaos erupted.
Phones dropped. Papers are scattered. Executives bolted from offices with phones and briefcases in hand.
Mia stood, grabbed her bag, and turned toward Alexander’s office.
He hadn’t come out.
She hesitated, heart pounding.
Go, her instincts screamed. Don’t get involved.
But she was already opening his office door.
He stood at the window, calm as ever, phone to his ear.
“There’s a fire,” she said. “We need to go.”
He held up a finger, still speaking into the phone. “Delay the call with Zurich until we confirm. No—don’t cancel. Just move it an hour.”
She stared at him. “You’re making calls during a fire drill?”
He hung up, grabbed his jacket. “It’s not a drill. But it’s not serious either. Sprinklers triggered on the lower floor.”
“How do you know that?”
“I pay people to tell me things before the building burns down.”
He walked past her.
Mia followed, her heart thudding in her chest. Not because of the alarm—but because of him. The way he moved through chaos without blinking. Like nothing could touch him.
When they reached the lobby, firefighters were already checking the panels. No visible flames. Just smoke from a short-circuited vending machine two floors down.
False alarm.
Still, half the staff looked ready to quit on the spot.
Alexander turned to her. “Are you good?”
She nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah. You?”
“I’ve had worse mornings.”
And just like that, he started back toward the elevators.
She hesitated.
Then followed him again.
Because no matter how many warnings she gave herself, she couldn’t stop being drawn toward the man who seemed immune to panic—even when the world burned around him.
---
Later that afternoon, a delivery arrived for Mia.
She blinked at the box on her desk—small, matte black, tied with a silver ribbon. No card.
She opened it slowly.
Inside: a pair of navy-blue flats. Sleek. Comfortable. Designer.
She stared at them.
And then she saw the small, cream-colored note tucked beneath.
"You were limping after the stairs. "Don’t let pain distract you from the job. — A."
Mia’s heart stopped.
She looked toward his office, but the door was closed.
She didn’t know what shocked her more—the gift, the note, or the fact that he’d noticed.
No one noticed those things. No one saw her.
But Alexander Sinclair did.
---
That evening, after everyone had left, Mia was still at her desk, reorganizing the Q3 files.
She hadn’t meant to stay so late. But it was quiet. Peaceful.
Then she heard a door open.
He was still there too.
Alexander stepped out, tie loosened, jacket gone. His shirtsleeves were rolled, exposing strong forearms and a silver watch that caught the low light.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“So are you.”
He glanced at the clock. “It’s almost nine.”
“I know.”
He walked closer. “Most assistants would’ve left hours ago.”
“I’m not most assistants.”
A pause.
“No. You’re not.”
Their eyes met—and for the first time, Mia felt something shift between them. The air was different. Thicker. Charged.
She looked away, her voice softer now. “Why did you really send the shoes?”
His answer was immediate. “Because I don’t like watching you hurt.”
Mia’s chest ached at the simplicity of it.
“I don’t need fixing, you know,” she whispered.
“I know.” He stepped closer. “But you do deserve better.”
And suddenly, there was no space left between them.
His hand reached out, hovered near her waist—but stopped.
Permission. He was asking for it without words.
And Mia?
She should’ve walked away.
She didn’t.
Their lips met like a question finally answered—gentle, then deepening, urgent. Fire and restraint. Heat beneath control.
He pulled back first.
“This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice ragged.
“I know.”
But neither moved.
Because at that moment,bad didn’t matter.
Only real did.
- Writer
