Collision: The CEO'S Unexpected Reunion

Chapter One

Selene

The voices behind the closed doors are loud and angry. What started as a hushed conversation is spiraling into an argument, the kind that has everyone on the third floor on edge.

I can see a few faces from the fourth floor too. Jane, the intern who started two weeks ago, looks frightened, gripping the document in her hands. She must feel my eyes on her because she turns and catches my gaze. I give her a small smile and tilt my head toward the door beside her.

The break room. Lunch was less than an hour ago, but no one will mind us hiding out there. I feel responsible for Jane. She's new to all this chaos, and I'm the one person she comes to for a straight answer when everyone else is too busy.

I find her by the window, arms crossed, staring at nothing in particular. She looks like she's been holding her breath all day.

"Hey," I say, easing the door shut behind me so it doesn't bang. "Are you okay?"

She glances over, shoulders dropping half an inch, like she's been waiting for someone to ask. "Is it that obvious?"

I guide her onto a stool and pour her a glass of water from the jug on the counter. "It's usually not like this. Tension's been high lately. Everyone's a little on edge."

Jane says nothing for a long moment. She studies me like she's deciding whether to believe it, but her shoulders drop, and some of the fear eases out of her face. "I know you think I can't handle the hard truth, Ms. Carter."

"Selene." I say without missing a beat.

She tosses me a confused frown. "What?"

"You can call me Selene, Jane. I've been telling you this since the first day we met."

"You're the only one who's asked me to call them by their first name. I guess I can't get around to it. It feels odd."

I chuckle and lean against the counter across from her. Jane's right. Everyone here is uptight, carrying themselves like the weight of their own importance is something to be proud of.

When I first joined Mercer & Holt Architecture three years ago, I thought I'd leave within the first week. I felt scrutinized at every turn, reviews that dragged on and wore me down. What was a young woman like me doing in a firm built on old money and older men, where every employee's name traced back two or three generations and mine traced back to nowhere they'd ever heard of?

"How are you handling the new task that was assigned to you?" I ask.

She shrugs. "It's going well. I've begun to get the hang of it." She fiddles with the gold bracelet on her wrist. "I just need to finalize the elevation drawings and it'll be set for presentation."

"That's great. I bet you'll be up for an award by the end of the year."

She laughs, and it doesn't sound forced. I feel relieved that she's finally settling back into her usual self.

I check my emails, respond to a few, archive the rest. My team lead wants me to handle the Whitmore residential renovation. I scroll through my inbox for the client's information and bookmark it. The stipulated time is three days, but I can finish in one and have it on the creative department's desk by Friday.

No, wait.

My hand glides across the screen to my Google Calendar. It's June. Dad's memorial is tomorrow, and Diana and I are planning to have dinner and talk about our favorite memories of him, like we always do. Mom is out on a Caribbean beach somewhere, sending selfies to the group chat. Diana doesn't think she'll make it to this year's memorial. I refuse to believe Mom would skip it for the fifth time since Dad's funeral.

I'm still staring at the screen, at the small reminder blinking back at me, when Jane shifts on the stool across from me.

"Ms. Carter." Her voice is quiet, barely above the hum of the fridge in the corner. "I was in Mr. Elliott's office when he received an email." She's twisting the bracelet around her wrist again. "I saw his demeanor change, and then he yelled at me to get out." Her voice cracks at the end. "I think something bad is going to happen, Ms. Carter."

I drop my phone face down and cross the space between us, taking her hands in mine. She's young, twenty, in her second year of college. Her father brought her here to intern so she could see the career path she's chosen for her future.

"Hey." I squeeze her hands gently. "Look at me, Jane."

She does, eyes glassy, and I hold her gaze. "Mr. Elliott yells at everyone. It's not personal, and it's not always a sign of something bad. People get emails that ruin their morning all the time. It doesn't mean the world's ending." I offer her a small smile. "You've worked hard these past two weeks. Don't let one bad moment make you doubt yourself."

She nods slowly, then gives me a small, hesitant smile. "You're really brave. I don't just mean right now, everyone in this building thinks you're daring, that you're too ambitious for twenty-six."

I fold my arms, more out of habit than defense. She's not wrong. None of them are wrong. What they don't know is that I'm following a map I drew for myself a long time ago, and every move I make has to lead somewhere specific. There's no room for detours.

"They're right," I say. "I learned early that getting anywhere worth getting means making hard decisions. Sometimes they're not comfortable ones."

Jane tilts her head, watching me like she senses there's more underneath. "Have you ever made an uncomfortable decision?"

I let out a short laugh and busy myself wiping a ring of water off the counter, anything to keep my hands and mind occupied. Of course she'd ask the hard question right after a speech like that. She's smarter than most people give interns credit for.

Smart. Bold. Daring.

My chest tightens before I can stop it, and the memory surfaces uninvited. That night at the rooftop, his hands on my face. I press my palm flat against the counter until the edge of it bites into my skin.

I glance up at Jane and keep my tone controlled. "It was a long time ago. I'd rather not talk about it."

She watches me a moment longer, then nods, letting it go. "Whatever decision you made, I'm sure it was worth it."

Was it, though?

Before I can chase the thought further, three sharp knocks rattle the door. Jane jumps. I straighten, smoothing down my blazer out of reflex. The door swings open.

It's Carla from the front desk, out of breath, eyes wide in a way that makes my stomach drop before she says a word.

"Selene." She glances at Jane, then back at me, like she's deciding how much she's allowed to say. "Mr. Elliott wants to see you. Now.”