Chapter 7: Losing Ground
1331 Words
I told myself I was in control. That nothing had changed. That this was still just a job.
But by the third day, I knew that wasn’t true.
Because control wasn’t just about what you did. It was about what you felt. And lately, I was feeling too much.
“You’re quiet today.”
I looked up from my screen. Adrian stood by my desk, watching me with that same calm, observant expression.
“I’m working,” I said.
“You were working yesterday too.”
“And?”
“And you weren’t this distracted.”
I frowned slightly. “I’m not distracted.”
He didn’t respond immediately, just held my gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then, “He’s noticing.”
My chest tightened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You do.”
I looked away, focusing back on my screen. “If this is about work, I’m meeting expectations.”
“You are.”
“Then there’s no issue.”
“There isn’t,” Adrian said. “Not yet.”
That didn’t sound reassuring.
I exhaled quietly. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
A brief pause. Then—
“You’re reacting.”
I looked back at him. “To what?”
“To him.”
The words landed exactly where he intended them to. Direct. Unavoidable.
“I’m not reacting,” I said.
“You are,” he repeated calmly. “You just don’t realize how obvious it is.”
Something about that irritated me. “I’m doing my job,” I said. “That’s all.”
Adrian studied me for a moment, then nodded once. “Good.”
And just like that, he walked away, leaving that statement sitting in my chest longer than I wanted it to.
I tried to shake it off. Tried to focus. Tried to prove—to myself more than anyone else—that I was still in control.
But the problem was—every time I thought I had settled into something stable, Ethan changed it.
“Ava.”
I didn’t even look up this time. “Yes?”
“My office.”
Of course.
I saved my work and stood, ignoring the slight tension that settled in my chest. This was normal. Just work. Nothing else. It had to be.
When I stepped into his office, he didn’t look up immediately. Again. Like he knew I was there. Like he expected me to wait.
I didn’t. “What do you need?” I asked.
His eyes lifted slowly and landed on me. Direct. Focused. Assessing.
“You’re adjusting,” he said. Not a question. A statement.
“I told you I would.”
“You did.”
A pause. Then—
“But not like this.”
My brows furrowed slightly. “What does that mean?”
He leaned back in his chair, watching me. “You’re more careful now.”
“That’s called doing my job properly.”
“It’s called holding back.”
I stilled slightly. “I’m not holding back.”
“You are.”
The certainty in his voice was starting to get under my skin.
“You don’t know me well enough to say that,” I replied.
“I know enough.”
Silence stretched between us. Tight. Controlled.
“And what exactly do you think you know?” I asked.
Another pause. Then—
“You’re trying not to react to me.”
My stomach dropped slightly, but I didn’t let it show. “That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“You’re assuming.”
“I’m observing.”
I held his gaze, refusing to give him anything—anything he could use.
“Then observe this,” I said calmly. “I’m here to work. That’s all.”
A slight shift in his expression. Not disbelief. Something more like interest again.
“Still holding that line,” he said.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“As long as necessary.”
Another pause. Then—
“You’re already slipping.”
That hit harder than it should have. “I’m not.”
“You hesitate more now.”
“That’s not hesitation.”
“It is.”
I shook my head slightly. “You’re reading too much into things.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m reading exactly what’s there.”
My fingers tightened slightly at my sides. I didn’t like this—the way he spoke like he could see through everything, like nothing I did was neutral.
“You called me here for a reason,” I said, redirecting. “What is it?”
He held my gaze for a moment longer, then finally—
“Sit.”
I didn’t hesitate this time. I sat. Because standing there felt like giving him more space to read me, and I needed less of that.
“There’s a new account,” he said, sliding a file across the desk toward me. “You’ll be handling part of it.”
I reached for it, flipping it open. The numbers—the scale—it was big. Bigger than anything I had handled before.
“You’re assigning this to me?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
A pause. Then—
“Because I want to see how you perform under pressure.”
That again. Testing. Always testing.
“I won’t disappoint,” I said.
“I’m counting on that.”
His tone was calm, but there was something underneath it—something sharper, more intentional.
I closed the file slowly. “Is that all?”
“No.”
Of course not.
I waited. And then—
“Dinner tonight.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Dinner,” he repeated. “We’ll be discussing the account.”
I stared at him. “That’s not necessary.”
“It is.”
“No, it’s not,” I said firmly. “We can discuss it here. During work hours.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I prefer not to.”
“That doesn’t make it appropriate.”
A pause. Then—
“You think this is personal.”
“I think this is unnecessary.”
“It’s efficient.”
“It’s not professional.”
Silence. Heavy. Then—
“You’re refusing?” he asked.
I held his gaze. “Yes.”
Another pause. Longer this time. And something in the air shifted. Subtle, but real.
“Be careful,” he said quietly.
My chest tightened slightly. “With what?”
“With the lines you’re drawing.”
I frowned. “I’m setting boundaries.”
“You’re testing them.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“To you, maybe.”
I stood. Slowly.
“Is there anything else related to work?” I asked.
A beat. Then—
“No.”
“Then I’ll get started on this,” I said, lifting the file slightly.
I turned toward the door.
“Ava.”
I stopped. Of course.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
I looked back. “And you’re making it something it shouldn’t be.”
Another pause. His gaze held mine. Steady. Unshaken.
“Not everything is what you think it is,” he said.
“Then make it clear.”
A slight tilt of his head. “Where’s the challenge in that?”
And there it was—that honesty again, that quiet admission that this—whatever this was—wasn’t just about work.
My chest tightened. Not fear. Not exactly. Something else. Something closer to frustration.
“You don’t get to play games with me,” I said.
His expression didn’t change. “I don’t play games.”
“You do.”
“Only when they’re worth it.”
Silence. Then—
I turned and walked out.
Because staying any longer would mean engaging. And engaging meant losing ground.
And right now, that was the one thing I couldn’t afford to do.
- Writer
