When I Stopped Waiting

Episode Three

Chapter 3

Two Blocks Away

By the time I came out of the study, Charles was already dressed.

The softness of morning had disappeared from him completely.

His charcoal shirt had been replaced by a dark suit. His hair was neatly combed back, his cufflinks fastened, his watch sitting precisely against his wrist. Even his expression had changed. The man who had slept beside me less than two hours ago was gone.

In his place stood Mr Charles Yale.

Untouchable. Impatient. Exacting.

The kind of man who made senior managers rehearse before reporting to him.

The kind of man no one would ever imagine had eaten breakfast across from me that morning, sleeves rolled up, damp hair falling over his forehead.

He glanced at me once.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

I picked up my bag and followed him out.

The lift descended in silence.

Charles stood beside me, one hand in his trouser pocket, his eyes lowered to his phone. I stood half a step behind him out of habit. Not too close. Not too far. Close enough to be useful, distant enough to look proper.

In the mirrored wall of the lift, our reflections stood side by side.

A man and a woman leaving the same penthouse on a Monday morning.

Anyone looking at us might have thought we belonged together.

Fortunately, no one was there to look.

The private lift opened directly into the underground car park. The driver was already waiting beside the black sedan. When he saw us, he opened the rear door.

“Good morning, Mr Yale. Miss Bennet.”

Charles gave a faint nod and got in first.

I followed.

The door closed, sealing us inside the quiet leather interior.

For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. Charles read through documents on his tablet, his brows slightly drawn together. I checked the day’s schedule on my phone and sent Shane a message about the board meeting materials.

The city slid past outside the tinted windows.

Monday morning had fully woken by then. Office workers hurried across crossings with coffees in their hands. Buses sighed at the kerb. Delivery riders slipped between cars with reckless confidence. The city looked ordinary, busy, indifferent.

I watched it for a while.

Then Charles spoke without looking up.

“Did you confirm Grayson’s attendance?”

“Yes. His assistant replied at seven ten. He’ll join the board meeting in person.”

“And Henderson?”

“Still asking to move the West City meeting to Wednesday.”

“No.”

“I already declined.”

Charles paused.

Then he looked at me.

The faintest trace of approval crossed his face.

“Good.”

Only one word.

Ridiculous, really, how easily it still reached me.

I lowered my eyes to my phone.

“We’ll arrive in twelve minutes.”

Charles gave a faint sound of acknowledgement and returned to his tablet.

The car continued forward.

When we reached the familiar intersection two blocks away from Yale Group’s headquarters, the driver slowed down without being told.

He knew the routine.

So did I.

The car pulled neatly beside the kerb, stopping in front of a small florist that had not yet opened for the day. Buckets of wrapped flowers stood outside, their petals still tucked beneath plastic sleeves. The morning air looked cold through the glass.

I gathered my bag.

Charles did not look up.

For a moment, I remained still.

It was absurd to wait for anything. A glance. A word. A useless question like, Are you cold? Something ordinary enough to pass between strangers, yet somehow too much for us.

But Charles only turned another page on his tablet.

I opened the car door.

Cool air rushed in at once.

“I’ll see you at the office, Mr Charles.”

This time, he looked up.

His eyes fell on me for half a second, dark and unreadable.

Then he said, “Mm.”

That was all.

I got out of the car and closed the door behind me.

The sedan did not leave immediately.

I could feel it behind me as I adjusted the strap of my bag and smoothed the front of my coat. Through the tinted windows, I could not see Charles clearly, but I knew he was there. Two metres away and already unreachable.

After a few seconds, the car pulled back into traffic.

It passed me without slowing.

I watched it disappear towards the company building.

Then I turned and began walking.

Two blocks was not far.

In heels, it was just long enough for the private version of me to be folded away and the public one to be put back on.

By the first crossing, I had fixed my hair.

By the second, I had checked my lipstick in the dark reflection of a shopfront.

By the time the glass tower of Yale Group rose ahead of me, I was no longer the woman who had woken beside Charles.

I was Miss Bennet.

Executive secretary to the president.

Reliable. Efficient. Discreet.

Discreet most of all.

The lobby was already busy when I arrived. Employees moved through the security gates in steady streams, their access cards flashing against the scanners. The air smelled faintly of coffee, perfume, and polished stone.

“Good morning, Miss Bennet.”

“Morning.”

“Morning, Miss Bennet.”

I smiled and nodded as I walked through.

People greeted me with respect, sometimes with warmth, occasionally with fear when they needed something from Charles and hoped I could soften the ground first.

No one looked twice at me.

No one wondered why I arrived five minutes before Charles every Monday.

No one asked why I sometimes wore the same earrings two days in a row, or why my spare blouse in the office wardrobe was always freshly pressed, or why I knew Charles’s morning mood before he had even stepped into the building.

Perhaps they did not notice.

Perhaps they noticed and were clever enough to pretend otherwise.

In a place like Yale Group, silence was also a professional skill.

When I reached the president’s office floor, Shane was already standing near my desk with a stack of folders in his arms and the expression of a man preparing for execution.

“Mia,” he whispered as soon as he saw me. “You’re finally here.”

“It’s eight fifty-two.”

“Exactly. Eight minutes before disaster.”

“What happened?”

He followed me to my desk.

“Director Lewis changed his presentation again. He said he wanted it to look more ambitious.”

“That means longer?”

“That means incoherent.”

I set my bag down and held out my hand.

“Give it to me.”

Shane handed over the folder at once, relief washing across his face so openly it was almost funny.

“You are the only reason this company still functions.”

“You say that every Monday.”

“And every Monday, I mean it with fresh sincerity.”

I opened the file and scanned the first page.

The problem was obvious. Too many claims, not enough numbers, and a summary page written as though ambition alone could replace logic.

“Tell Lewis to remove slides nine through fourteen. Keep the market forecast, but move it after the cost analysis. And change the phrase ‘unlimited growth potential’ before Charles sees it.”

Shane winced.

“He wrote that himself.”

“Then save him from himself.”

“Right away.”

He hurried off.

I sat down, opened my laptop, and began organising the morning.

The president’s office floor was quieter than the others. The carpet absorbed footsteps. The walls were soundproofed. Even the assistants spoke softly, as if loud voices might disturb the money moving invisibly through the building.

My desk sat outside Charles’s office.

Close enough that he could call my name without raising his voice.

Far enough that anyone passing by would see exactly what they were supposed to see.

Secretary and boss.

Nothing more.

At nine sharp, the private lift doors opened.

Charles stepped out.

The conversations in the outer office thinned instantly.

He walked in without hurry, one hand holding his phone, his expression cold and focused. He did not look at me at first. Not directly. His gaze swept over the office, paused briefly on the files stacked at my side, then moved on.

“Morning, Mr Charles,” I said, standing.

“Morning.”

His voice was flat.

Workplace appropriate.

He walked past my desk without stopping.

The scent of his cologne passed faintly through the air.

The same scent that had lingered on the pillow beside me less than three hours ago.

My fingers tightened slightly around the folder in my hand.

Then loosened.

“Your board materials are on your desk,” I said. “Director Lewis revised his presentation this morning. I’m having Shane clean up the structure now.”

Charles stopped at his office door.

His hand rested on the handle.

“Why did he revise it?”

“He wanted it to look more ambitious.”

Charles’s mouth tightened.

“Tell him ambition is not a substitute for arithmetic.”

“I already removed the worst parts.”

This time, Charles glanced back at me.

It was only a brief look.

But there was something almost familiar in it.

Almost amused.

Almost warm.

Then the office door opened, and the look disappeared.

“Bring me the German contract in ten minutes.”

“Yes, Mr Charles.”

He went inside.

The door closed.

Around me, the office slowly began breathing again.

Shane returned five minutes later, clutching a revised folder and looking as though he had run a small war.

“Lewis is offended.”

“He’ll survive.”

“He asked if Mr Charles ordered the changes.”

“What did you say?”

“I said you did.”

I looked up.

Shane gave me an innocent smile.

“That scared him more.”

I almost laughed.

Before I could answer, the intercom on my desk lit up.

Charles’s voice came through.

“Mia.”

Only my name.

No explanation.

No please.

No softness.

Every person within earshot knew exactly what that tone meant.

I picked up the German contract and stood.

“Coming.”

Shane stepped aside at once.

As I walked towards Charles’s office, I felt the familiar shift settle over me. The morning penthouse, the shared bed, the breakfast, the conversation about marriage, all of it slipped behind a locked door inside my chest.

Here, I was not a woman waiting to be chosen.

I was the person who knew which documents he needed before he asked.

I knocked twice and entered.

Charles stood by the window with his phone in one hand, looking down at the city.

The same city we had driven through together.

The same city I had walked through alone.

He did not turn around.

“Close the door.”

I did.

The click was soft.

Dangerously soft.

For one suspended second, we were alone again.

Not quite the office.

Not quite the penthouse.

Something in between.

I placed the contract on his desk.

“You asked for this.”

Charles turned then.

His gaze moved over my face, lingering only long enough to make my breath feel misplaced.

Then he lowered his eyes to the document.

“The board meeting starts in forty minutes.”

“Yes.”

“Stay beside me.”

The words landed strangely.

In another life, they might have meant something.

In this one, they meant I should bring my tablet, stand at his right, and be ready to answer questions no one else could.

I smiled.

“Of course, Mr Charles.”

His jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly.

But he said nothing.

So neither did I.