CHAPTER 4:The penthouse
1366 Words
Julian
Sunday. 6:13 AM. My penthouse. I haven't slept.
The gala ended at midnight. I put Maya in the car, watched her gold dress disappear into the backseat, and told the driver to take her home.
I should have gone with her.
I should have done a lot of things.
Instead, I came back here. To the penthouse. To the whiskey bottle that was now half-empty on my kitchen counter. To the phone that wouldn't stop buzzing with notifications.
The photos were already everywhere.
Page Six. TMZ. Every business blog on the eastern seaboard.
BLACKWOOD CEO DEBUTS MYSTERY WOMAN AT FALL GALA
JULIAN BLACKWOOD'S NEW FLAME: JUNIOR MARKETING ASSOCIATE
FROM THE MAILROOM TO THE BOARDROOM? INSIDE BLACKWOOD'S SCANDALOUS NEW ROMANCE
I threw my phone across the couch.
The headline wasn't wrong. They just didn't know how right they were.
Scandalous. Yes. Because Maya Chen wasn't my girlfriend. She was my employee. And I was her CEO. And the power imbalance was so grotesque I could barely look at myself in the mirror.
Then why did you do it?
Because I was selfish.
Because I'd been lying awake for three months thinking about her laugh. Her dimples. The way she'd looked at me during that presentation and told me I was wrong.
"With respect, Mr. Blackwood, that strategy won't work because you're not listening to the actual customers."
No one said that to me.
No one looked me in the eye and told me I was failing.
Until her.
I walked to the window. The Space Needle glowed in the distance. Rain streaked the glass. Somewhere across the city, Maya was probably asleep in her tiny apartment with the wine-stained rug, completely unaware that her face was on every gossip site in America.
I needed to warn her.
I grabbed my phone.
Me: Don't look at the internet today.
Three dots appeared immediately. She was awake.
Maya: Too late. Sophia sent me twelve screenshots. My mother called. She thinks we're engaged.
Me: I'm sorry.
Maya: You're sorry? You blackmailed me into this. Sorry doesn't fix my mother asking about grandchildren.
I almost smiled.
Me: What did you tell her?
Maya: That you're a grumpy workaholic with commitment issues and she shouldn't book a venue.
Me: Accurate.
Maya: She's booking a venue.
I did smile this time. Alone in my dark penthouse, smiling at my phone like an i***t.
Me: I'll handle the press. Don't talk to anyone.
Maya: I have to go to work tomorrow, Julian. People are going to talk.
Me: Let them. You're with me now.
I stared at those words after I sent them.
You're with me now.
It was supposed to mean you're under my protection. Instead, it sounded like something else. Something permanent.
Maya: I'm going back to sleep. Try the same. You look terrible without rest.
Me: How do you know what I look like without rest?
Maya: I have eyes.
She went offline.
I set the phone down and tried to sleep.
I couldn't.
Because Maya Chen had eyes. And she used them. She saw the orchid. She saw the bags under my eyes. She saw me in a way no one had bothered to try in years.
That was the problem.
That was always the problem.
---
Monday. 8:47 AM. Blackwood Group. The 47th floor.
The elevator doors opened.
Valerie stood at her desk, holding a stack of pink message slips. She didn't look up.
"Seventeen press inquiries," she said. "Three board members requesting an emergency meeting. One florist delivery for Ms. Chen."
I stopped walking. "Florist?"
"Red roses. Twelve dozen. No card." Valerie finally looked at me. "Should I have them sent back?"
"No." I walked past her into my office. "Send them to her desk."
"Her desk is on the third floor. Everyone will see."
"Good."
Valerie didn't ask questions. That's why I paid her so much.
I sat down and immediately stood back up. The office felt smaller today. The glass walls felt like a fishbowl. Every time I looked at the chair where Maya had sat, I saw her face.
"I hate you."
No, she didn't.
She couldn't.
Because I was standing in my office at 8:47 AM, having slept exactly zero hours, and all I could think about was the way she'd felt in my arms during that waltz. Her bare back under my palm. The way she'd gasped when I dipped her.
Fake, I reminded myself. It's fake.
My office door opened.
Liam walked in, no knock, because Liam had never knocked a day in his life.
"Twelve dozen roses?" He closed the door behind him. "Subtle, brother."
"I didn't send them."
"Then who did?"
"I don't know." I sat back down. "That's the problem."
Liam dropped into the chair across from my desk. The Maya chair. I tried not to look at it.
"The photos are everywhere," he said. "Mom called. She wants to know if she should plan Thanksgiving for two or three."
"Tell her two."
"She's already bought a turkey for twelve."
"Then she'll have leftovers."
Liam studied me. His eyes were too sharp. He'd always been able to read me better than anyone. It was annoying.
"You like her," he said.
"I tolerate her."
"You sent her twelve dozen roses."
"I didn't send those."
"Then someone else did." Liam leaned forward. "Someone who knows she's important to you. Julian, think. Who else would send roses to a junior marketing associate the morning after she's seen with you?"
I went cold.
Derek.
Maya's ex-fiancé. The one who cheated. The one who worked at a rival firm.
I'd looked him up after reading Maya's personnel file. Derek Whitmore. Senior account executive at Pierce & Co. Wealthy family. Good connections. Bad reputation.
If he saw the photos…
"It's him," I said quietly. "Her ex."
Liam's face darkened. "The cheater?"
"He's trying to scare her. Or remind her he exists." I stood up. "I need to go to the third floor."
"Julian, wait." Liam grabbed my arm. "You can't just march down there. People are already talking. You showing up at her desk with roses in the building? That's gasoline on a fire."
"She's not safe."
"She's in a building full of security cameras and employees. She's fine." Liam released my arm. "But if you go down there right now, you're proving that you care. And caring makes you vulnerable. Vulnerable makes her a target."
I hated when he was right.
"Then what do you suggest?"
"Call her. Tell her about the roses. Let her decide how to handle it." Liam walked to the door. "And Julian? Stop pretending this is fake. The roses aren't from you, but the way you're pacing your office like a caged animal? That's real. She matters to you. Own it or end it. But don't stand in the middle. That's where people get hurt."
He left.
I picked up my phone.
Me: Someone sent roses to your desk. Twelve dozen. Red. No card. I didn't send them.
Maya: I know who sent them.
Me: Derek?
Maya: How do you know about Derek?
Me: I know everything about you, Maya. That's what terrifies me.
Maya: It should.
Me: Do you want me to send them back?
Maya: No. Let him waste his money. But Julian?
Me: Yes?
Maya: If you ever send me roses, send yellow. Not red. Red means love. Yellow means friendship. Start with friendship. The rest has to be earned.
I stared at her message for a long time.
Yellow roses. Friendship. Earned.
No one had ever asked me to earn anything before. They just wanted my money, my name, my power. They wanted the version of me that lived on magazine covers and quarterly earnings reports.
Maya wanted the version of me that noticed she looked good in gold.
I didn't know if that version still existed.
But for the first time in years, I wanted to find out.
Me: Yellow roses. Noted.
Maya: Good. Now stop texting me. I have work to do. Some of us actually earn our paychecks.
I laughed.
Alone in my office. Laughing at my phone.
Liam was right. This wasn't fake anymore.
And I was in serious trouble.
- Writer
