Chapter four:collateral attachment
1316 Words
The next week unfolded like a slow dance—measured, tense, and strangely intimate.
Zara had fallen into a rhythm. Coffee at 7:30 a.m., a barrage of emails by 8, meetings at 9, crisis control by noon, and an aftershock of more meetings until the sun dipped below the skyline.
And Xavier Cole? Still rich. Still brooding. Still confusing.
But now… something had changed.
He didn’t bark orders anymore. He asked, occasionally. He even—brace yourself—held the elevator open for her once.
Zara wasn’t sure if she was earning his respect or if he was slowly going insane. Either way, she kept showing up.
Until the Monday everything flipped.
—
It started with an argument.
Zara entered Xavier’s office, only to find him leaning against his desk with that look—the one that meant something was already on fire and she was about to be handed the lighter.
“Cancel the Wilkins merger,” he said.
Zara blinked. “I’m sorry—what? You’ve been building that deal for months.”
“I said cancel it.”
“No offense, but have you hit your head today?”
His eyes narrowed. “Ms. Wilson.”
“No, seriously. You flew to Tokyo. You signed contracts. You made me make three separate slide decks. You don’t just cancel that.”
“It’s a liability now.”
Zara crossed her arms. “You’re making an emotional decision.”
His jaw tensed. “I make strategic decisions.”
“No, you make control-freak power moves when you’re upset.”
The air turned ice-cold. Xavier stared at her like he couldn’t decide whether to fire her or propose.
“I’ll handle the press,” she added, softening her tone. “But at least give your board a reason.”
He said nothing.
Zara turned to leave.
Then: “He lied to me.”
She paused.
“Wilkins,” Xavier added. “He lied. About everything.”
Zara turned back. “Then we expose him. Quietly. With class.”
He blinked. “You really think like a shark.”
She smiled. “Better than a wounded whale.”
—
By noon, Zara had drafted the internal memo, framed the narrative for PR, and discreetly instructed legal to back out without leaving a stain.
Miranda gave her a rare approving nod. “He listens to you.”
Zara sipped her lukewarm coffee. “He tolerates me. That’s different.”
But inside, she wasn’t sure.
Something about the way Xavier had looked at her—after she challenged him, after she stood her ground—lingered.
It wasn’t hate.
It wasn’t admiration either.
It was curiosity.
—
That night, Tasha stormed into their apartment carrying two bags of takeout and the energy of a conspiracy theorist.
“I have news.”
Zara barely looked up from her laptop. “If it’s about the missing leftovers, it was the cat. We don’t have a cat.”
“No. It’s about him.”
Zara sighed. “Who?”
Tasha plopped onto the couch. “Xavier Cole. Aka Billionaire McIceberg.”
“Do I even want to know how you got this info?”
“Internet. Duh. Plus, I may or may not be in a f*******: group called Billionaire Watchers Anonymous.”
Zara stared.
Tasha grinned. “Turns out, your boss used to be engaged.”
Zara’s eyes widened. “No way.”
“Yup. Her name’s Ava Sinclair. Model. Gorgeous. Basically the human form of intimidation.”
“What happened?”
Tasha’s grin dimmed. “She left. Days before the wedding. Some say she ran off with a French prince.”
Zara leaned back, the pieces shifting in her mind.
“Maybe that’s why he’s so guarded,” Tasha offered. “Abandoned twice. That stuff carves into you.”
Zara nodded slowly. “He hides it well.”
“Maybe too well.”
—
The next morning brought a storm—literally and emotionally.
Xavier’s ex-fiancée, Ava Sinclair, had returned to the city. And she’d called his office.
Zara was the one who answered.
“Hello, this is Xavier Cole’s assistant.”
“Tell him Ava wants five minutes. That’s all.”
The voice was smooth, elegant, and cold.
Zara hesitated. “He’s in a meeting—”
“He’ll take my call. Trust me.”
Zara hung up and stared at the phone like it had insulted her ancestors.
Two hours later, Xavier called her into his office.
“She’s back,” he said.
Zara didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “She called.”
He looked out the window. “I don’t care what she wants.”
Zara waited.
“I loved her once,” he said after a long pause. “Thought I’d found someone who could… stay.”
“And now?”
“I’m not the same man.”
Zara stepped closer. “So prove it.”
His eyes snapped to hers. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t let her control the narrative. Meet her. On your terms. Closure isn’t weakness.”
He considered it.
Then: “You’ll come with me.”
Zara blinked. “I… what?”
“I want her to see I’ve moved on.”
Zara’s stomach flipped. “Moved on?”
“Professionally,” he added, a little too quickly.
She raised an eyebrow. “Right.”
But she said yes.
—
The café was upscale, intimate, and painfully awkward.
Ava Sinclair looked like she walked out of a magazine shoot. Long legs, flawless hair, and a presence that screamed confidence.
Zara suddenly regretted her choice of blazer.
Xavier remained calm. Collected. Glacial.
“Xavier,” Ava purred. “You look… sharp.”
“You look exactly the same,” he replied. “Zara, this is Ava. My assistant.”
Zara smiled politely. Ava’s eyes swept her like a scanner.
“Assistant,” she repeated, lips twitching. “Of course.”
The conversation was brief. Polite. Fake.
Ava talked about her new charity. Xavier nodded. Zara sipped overpriced tea.
When Ava finally left, Xavier exhaled like he’d been holding his breath.
“You okay?” Zara asked.
He nodded. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem. Just doing my job. You know, pretending to be your emotional support assistant.”
His lips twitched. “You do it well.”
—
The ride back to the office was quiet. But not tense. More… comfortable.
Zara glanced at him. “You ever thought about actually dating again?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a suggestion?”
“What? No! I meant… in general.”
He smirked. “Noted.”
Zara groaned. “Can I resign from this conversation?”
“Denied.”
—
The week closed with a late Friday meeting. Just the two of them, going over projections.
Zara stood by the window while Xavier read through the data.
“You’re unusually quiet,” he noted.
“Just tired. Long week.”
He set the tablet down. “You’ve done well, Ms. Wilson.”
She turned. “That almost sounded like praise.”
He crossed the room slowly. “Maybe it is.”
Their eyes met.
Something hung in the air.
Tension. Curiosity. Maybe… possibility.
He was close now.
Too close.
Zara swallowed. “This is wildly inappropriate.”
“Extremely.”
Silence.
Then he stepped back.
“Good night, Ms. Wilson.”
Zara’s heart pounded. “Good night, Mr. Cole.”
—
Back home, Tasha pounced.
“Spill. Every. Detail.”
Zara flopped onto the couch. “He almost kissed me.”
“OH MY GOD.”
“I said almost.”
“But it’s happening. This is it.”
Zara groaned. “I am so screwed.”
Tasha grinned. “Only emotionally. The physical part is next.”
Zara buried her face in a pillow.
This wasn’t just a job anymore.
It was a problem.
A billionaire problem.
- Writer
