CHAPTER 5 Professional Distance
1283 Words
POV: Elena
The first thing I wrote in my notebook that morning was:
Professional distance.
I stared at the words.
They looked simple.
Almost laughably simple.
But after the last 2 days, I knew better.
Working with Alexander Vale wasn't difficult because he was my client.
It was difficult because I knew him.
Or at least, I used to.
There was a difference between meeting a stranger and meeting someone who already knew the person you had once been.
Someone who remembered things you had forgotten.
Someone whose voice could still make an old memory appear without permission.
I closed my notebook.
I wasn't going to let that happen.
At 11:20 AM, I arrived at the Crescent Hotel to review the event hall.
I had my measuring tools, notebook, camera, and material samples.
Work.
That was all.
I walked through the ballroom and immediately became focused.
The lighting needed to move slightly.
The wall treatment needed another finish.
The tables needed more flexibility.
I crouched beside the floor samples and wrote several notes.
Then I heard footsteps.
“You changed the lighting placement.”
I looked up.
Alex.
Of course.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It created too much shadow.”
He looked toward the ceiling.
“Good decision.”
I wasn't expecting that.
“Thank you.”
He walked closer.
I continued working.
For several minutes, we discussed nothing but the project.
It was easy.
Comfortable.
Too comfortable.
Then Alex picked up one of the material samples.
“This one?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It adds warmth.”
He studied it.
“You still prefer warm tones.”
My hand stopped.
I looked at him.
“People change.”
His eyes met mine.
“Yes.”
The answer was quiet.
I returned my attention to the samples.
“I'd like to keep things professional.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
We continued.
No personal questions.
No discussion about the past.
No explanations.
That was exactly what I wanted.
Until I stepped backward.
My heel caught the edge of an equipment case.
I lost my balance.
Before I could react, Alex caught my arm.
“Careful.”
I immediately steadied myself.
“I'm fine.”
“You almost fell.”
“Almost.”
He released my arm.
I stepped away.
There was no reason for my heart to beat faster.
It was just a reflex.
Anyone would have caught me.
It didn't mean anything.
Then Alex looked at me.
“You haven't changed.”
I sighed.
“You really like saying that.”
He almost smiled.
“I remember you being stubborn.”
“I prefer determined.”
“Of course you do.”
I tried not to smile.
I failed.
Just slightly.
And I hated how natural it felt.
We continued working.
Around 12:30 PM, I realized I was thirsty.
I hadn't noticed how long we'd been there.
Alex apparently had.
He placed a bottle of water beside my folder.
I looked at it.
“What's this?”
“You've been here since 11:20.”
“So?”
“You haven't had anything to drink.”
I stared at him.
“You noticed?”
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation in his answer.
I looked at the bottle again.
It was such a small thing.
A bottle of water.
Nothing important.
But I remembered him doing things like that years ago.
He used to notice when I was tired.
When I forgot to eat.
When I stayed awake too late working on something.
He had always paid attention.
Apparently, some things hadn't changed.
“Thank you,” I said.
He nodded.
“You're welcome.”
Then he returned to the project.
I picked up the bottle.
I hated how much that little gesture affected me.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't an apology.
It wasn't a confession.
It was kindness.
That's all.
I repeated that to myself several times.
It was kindness.
The lights suddenly went out.
I looked around.
“What happened?”
Alex looked toward the ceiling.
“Temporary outage.”
A hotel employee entered a few moments later and explained that the issue should be resolved within 20 minutes.
I looked at my notes.
“I can keep working.”
“You should go home.”
I looked at Alex.
“I have a deadline.”
“You can finish tomorrow.”
“I'd rather finish today.”
He studied me.
“You've been here for hours.”
“I know.”
“You don't have to prove anything.”
That sentence made me look at him.
“I wasn't trying to prove anything.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
The lights came back about 15 minutes later.
I finished my notes.
When I stepped into the hallway, Alex was waiting near the elevator.
“You're still here?”
“I had another meeting upstairs.”
“Oh.”
The elevator doors opened.
We stepped inside.
Neither of us spoke.
Then Alex looked at me.
“You don't have to call me Mr. Vale.”
I looked at him.
“I think it's appropriate.”
“Why?”
“Because we're working together.”
He nodded.
“Right.”
I stared at the elevator doors.
I could feel the distance between us.
It was something I had created deliberately.
Professional titles.
Professional conversations.
Professional boundaries.
It was safer that way.
When we reached the lobby, the doors opened.
I stepped out.
Alex remained inside.
I turned around.
He looked at me.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
Then the doors closed.
I stood there for several seconds.
I didn't know what I was feeling.
That was becoming a problem.
I returned to Lumen & Co. around 4:30 PM.
Mia looked at me the moment I entered.
“How was it?”
“Professional.”
She smiled.
“That sounds like a very carefully chosen answer.”
“It is.”
“Did anything happen?”
“No.”
She waited.
I sighed.
“He gave me water.”
She stared at me.
“Water?”
“Yes.”
“And you're telling me this because...?”
“Because he remembered I hadn't had anything to drink.”
Mia's expression softened.
“Elena.”
“I know.”
“You're allowed to be affected.”
“I don't want to be.”
“That doesn't mean you aren't.”
I sat down.
She was right.
I hated when she was right.
I opened my laptop.
A new email appeared.
From: Alexander Vale
I clicked it.
It was an invitation to an operations dinner at the hotel.
7:00 PM.
I read the details.
Work.
Everything was work.
I closed the email.
Mia looked at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I leaned back.
For 7 years, I had built a life without Alexander.
I had learned how to stand on my own.
I had learned how to stop waiting.
I had learned how to protect myself.
I wasn't going to throw all of that away because he remembered my favorite kind of lighting or noticed when I needed water.
Those were small things.
They didn't erase the past.
They didn't explain the years apart.
They didn't change who I was.
Still, I couldn't deny one uncomfortable truth.
The distance between us was supposed to make things easier.
Instead, every small kindness seemed to make it harder.
I looked at the email again.
The dinner was tomorrow.
I closed my laptop.
Professional distance.
That was the rule.
And I intended to follow it.
Even if my heart seemed determined to test every boundary I created.
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