Marry me
1035 Words
Giselle adjusted her hair one last time in the reflection of the glass door before pushing it open. The boardroom went silent. She bowed slightly. "Apologies for being late."
She expected scowls, sharp words, maybe even a dismissal. Instead, the men and women at the table rose slightly in respect. "It's an honor to have you on board, Dr. Romano."
Her brow twitched. Honor? For me? She forced a calm smile and slid into her seat, stealing a glance at the empty chair at the head of the table. Sensing her unspoken question, a man in his late 30s leaned forward.
"The CEO will be here shortly. Please, don't take it to heart."
Giselle smiled politely. "Of course not."
The double doors flung open. A tall man walked in with the kind of authority that pressed on everyone's chest. Giselle froze, every hair on her arm standing at attention. It was him. The airport cat-man.
Her pulse jumped. "Don't tell me he followed me here."
"Good morning, Mr. Locke," the room chorused. Her stomach dropped. Mr. Locke? Her body shot up before she realized it, bowing so fast she nearly headbutted the table. Brilliant. First impression destroyed.
Christian Locke, the world's youngest and most ruthless CEO of Locke Global Conglomerate, the empire that devoured entire industries was staring directly at her. Arrogant. Shameless. Infuriatingly composed. Of course. Only someone this arrogant could be the head of the world's top conglomerate.
"Miss Romano," his smooth baritone cut through her spiraling thoughts. "Aren't you going to sit?"
She didn't mutter an apology. Instead, she straightened her blazer and sat down with deliberate, slow grace. "Forgive me, Mr. Locke," she said, her voice dropping into an icy, professional silk. "I'm used to the operating theater, where everyone stands when the person holding the life of the patient enters the room. I forgot that in business, the hierarchy is... a bit more self-important."
A few board members gasped. Christian's eyes flared but not with anger, but with a dark, sudden interest.
---
The meeting launched into medical contracts, international partnerships, and Locke Global's interest in trauma response collaborations. Giselle kept her voice clipped, professional, hiding her irritation under the polished mask of Dr. Romano.
When it ended, Christian dismissed the others with a wave. "Everyone, you may leave. Except... Miss Romano."
Her throat tightened. Here it comes. "Of course," she said, smiling like her jaw wasn't locking.
The instant the door shut, Christian was in motion. He crossed the space like a storm, pinning her against the edge of the desk with one arm braced beside her.
"Mr. Locke!" Giselle gasped. "Be conscious of what you're doing. This qualifies as harassment!"
He ignored her, his shadow completely enveloping her. He leaned in, hovering just inches from the curve of her neck. He didn't move; he simply closed his eyes and inhaled. His breath hitched-a ragged, uneven sound that broke his "ruthless CEO" mask.
For the first time in five years, the static in his brain went silent. The scent of her, something like rain and surgical soap, was like air to a drowning man. It wasn't just calm; it was intoxicating.
"Why..." his voice was low, vibrating against her skin, "why is it only you that I can touch?"
Giselle blinked. "How would I know? I'm not your nanny!"
His brow arched. "You are a doctor."
"Excuse me?!" She slapped his arm away. "I'm a trauma surgeon, not some personal psychiatrist-s***h-vet-s***h-cat-whisperer for billionaires!"
He smirked. Inches away. And then he did the unthinkable, he leaned down and sniffed her. Again.
"Ah!"
Giselle screeched, shoving at his chest. "Stop sniffing me like some oversized alley cat!"
"Marry me." Silence.
Her jaw dropped, "...What?"
"Marry me," Christian repeated, as if discussing stock prices. She stuttered, memories flashing of betrayal, of laughter that cut her years ago.
"Marry you? Have you lost your damn mind?!"
"This solves several problems," he added calmly. "Mine. And potentially yours. I'll give you time to think about it."
"Like I need time." She scoffed, wrenching free. "I'm happy with my family."
That one word hit him like a gunshot. Family?
Her portfolio said single. His eyes narrowed. Single mother? Or liar? Either way... unacceptable.
"Martins!" he barked the moment she ran out.
From the corner of the room, his assistant appeared, yawning as if materializing from thin air. "Yes, boss?"
"I want her entire file on my desk in ten minutes." Martins whistled low. "Ten? Boss, you just frightened the poor woman out of her wits. She looked ready to stab you with a pen. I doubt she'll ever partner with us again."
"I don't care. Eight minutes."
"Eight minutes," Martins muttered. "Sure. I'll just bend time while I'm at it."
Meanwhile, Giselle leaned against the lobby wall, panting like she had run a marathon. Her glare bored holes into the plaster. "That man... I swear I'll-"
"Mom!" The voice melted everything. She spun around.
"Liam!" She crouched, arms wide. Her four-year-old barreled into her chest. She kissed his forehead, clinging.
"My baby." Her gaze snapped to Alessia, who stood smirking with her arms crossed. "Alessia," Giselle said flatly, "why are you here? You were supposed to rest."
Alessia shrugged. "Not my fault. It's past twelve. Your dearest angel threw a tantrum, screaming he wanted lunch with you. So, here I am—delivery service."
Giselle groaned. "You shouldn't have. It's dangerous. If anyone touches Liam, they'll stain his beauty." Alessia blinked. "Stain his beauty? He's not a painting, Giselle."
"He's my painting," Giselle snapped. Inside, though, her chest tightened. "What if his father shows up...? What if someone tries to take him?"
Alessia saw the shadow in her eyes and softened. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking."
"It's fine." Giselle kissed Liam's cheek.
"Mommy don't be mad." Liam puffed up like a little man. "Don't blame Auntie too much, okay?"
Giselle smiled, warmth flooding her chest. "Alright. No more blaming."
"Good!" Liam cheered. "Now let's go eat. I'm starving!" The trio walked off, laughter chasing away the tension.
Unseen by them, a young man leaned against a column, frowning. He squinted at Liam, then back at Giselle. "...When the hell did Christian give birth to a child?"
- Writer
