Chapter Two – He Didn’t Ask
1014 Words
The building was taller than I expected.
Glass and steel, the kind that reflected the city back at itself like a warning. I stood across the street for a moment, staring up, phone clenched in my hand, pretending I was just another person waiting to cross.
I checked the time.
8:56 a.m.
Of course he’d chosen a time that made being late impossible and being early uncomfortable.
Inside, the air was cold. Too cold. The kind that made you aware of your skin. The receptionist didn’t smile when I gave my name. She didn’t need to.
“Top floor,” she said, already reaching for the phone.
The elevator ride was silent. No music. Just the soft hum of ascent and my reflection in the mirrored wall. I adjusted my dress. Smoothed it again. Pointless.
The doors opened directly into his office.
No waiting area. No buffer. Just space.
He was standing by the window, back to me, phone pressed to his ear. He raised one finger without turning around.
“Hold,” he said into the phone. Then he ended the call and finally faced me.
Up close, he was… quieter than I expected. Not softer. Just controlled. Like someone who never wasted movement.
“You came,” he said.
I didn’t answer. I walked in and stopped where the carpet changed shade, like an invisible line had been drawn there for me.
“You said nine,” I replied.
A corner of his mouth twitched. Barely.
“Sit.”
I stayed standing.
Something passed through his eyes then. Not anger. Interest.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s start like this.”
He walked past me, not touching, but close enough that I caught the scent of his cologne. Clean. Subtle. Annoyingly calm.
He sat behind the desk and slid his tablet toward me.
I didn’t pick it up.
“You should,” he said.
I did.
The screen showed the photo. Then another. Then another. Zoomed. Cropped. Captioned. Analysed.
One of them had circled my hand placement in red.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.
“Yes,” he agreed. “But irrelevant.”
I looked up. “You don’t seem very concerned for someone trending nationwide.”
“I’m concerned,” he said. “I just don’t panic.”
He leaned back, fingers steepled, eyes on me like he was waiting for something to crack.
“This will get worse,” he continued. “By tonight, they’ll dig into your past. Your clients. Your finances. Someone will exaggerate something small. Someone else will turn it into truth.”
My jaw tightened.
“You didn’t bring me here to scare me.”
“No,” he said. “I brought you here to offer you a way out.”
That finally got my attention.
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a thin folder. Placed it on the desk. Didn’t push it toward me.
“Public alignment,” he said. “Temporary. Controlled.”
I stared at the folder.
“You want me to deny the rumours?” I asked.
“I want you to confirm them.”
The room went very still.
“Excuse me?”
“We appear together,” he said calmly. “Consistently. Publicly. We give them a story simple enough to swallow.”
“You’re joking.”
“I don’t joke about reputation.”
I laughed once. A short, sharp sound that surprised even me.
“You think I’ll pretend to date you to save your image?”
“To save yours,” he corrected. “Mine will recover regardless.”
That stung. Because it was true.
I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t raise his voice. He simply waited.
Silence stretched. Thick. Deliberate.
Finally, he spoke again.
“I’ve already spoken to two of your clients.”
My breath caught before I could stop it.
“They were… hesitant,” he continued. “I reassured them. For now.”
“For now,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
I felt heat rise up my neck. “So this is blackmail.”
“No,” he said evenly. “This is leverage.”
I stepped closer to the desk. “You don’t get to decide my life because someone took a picture.”
“You’re right,” he said. “Social media already did.”
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
“You’ll be compensated,” he added. “Generously.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why this will work.”
I stared at him. Really looked.
This wasn’t a villain. This was worse. This was someone who believed he was being reasonable.
“And if I say no?” I asked.
He held my gaze.
“Then I step back,” he said. “And the city does what it always does.”
I imagined tomorrow’s headlines. The pauses in emails. The polite distance. The sudden silence where work used to be.
I hated that he was right.
I hated that he knew it.
I looked down at the folder.
“How long?” I asked quietly.
His eyes sharpened. Just a fraction.
“Three months,” he said. “No interviews without approval. No surprises. No emotional attachment.”
I snorted. “You really think you can control that?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t open the folder. I didn’t need to.
This wasn’t an offer.
It was a trap lined with velvet.
“I need time,” I said.
He shook his head once.
“You don’t have it.”
My phone vibrated in my hand.
I looked at the screen.
A new post. Already viral.
“Sources confirm Xander Cole’s mystery woman will be revealed soon.”
I swallowed.
When I looked back up, he was watching me.
Waiting.
And for the first time since this started, I realised the most dangerous part wasn’t the scandal.
It was the fact that saying yes might change me in ways I couldn’t undo.
- Writer
