Now every surface in this office was a reminder. I couldn’t get the smell of his cologne off my skin, no matter how long I showered or how hard I scrubbed. I was sore from how rough we’d been. But worst of all, I wanted more.
I was not thinking about his hands or his mouth or the way he’d said my name like a secret. I was not thinking about how, after, I’d bolted. I was especially not thinking about how I’d overheard two of the assistants in the break room this morning, discussing my working relationship with Valor.
“Could never be me,” one said, voice carrying. “He’s like an ice sculpture. How does anyone even-?”
“Bet she cries during sex,” the other snorted.
I did not cry. I’d once made a therapist cry, if anything.
I had a meeting in ten minutes. I powered through three more emails, signed off on the B2B proposal, and added asnarky “please see me if you need a translation” to the end of the analytics summary I knew the executive team wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t enough. The only thing that even came close to distraction was the ever-growing anticipation of running into Gabriel again.
Which was, of course, the moment he walked in.
He didn’t knock. Because, of course, he didn’t. Just materialized in the doorway, one hand already mid-gesture, the other holding his phone like a weapon.
He lookedfurious. Like he’d been fighting with someone for an hour and still had another three left in the tank. His suit was so sharply tailored it made my brain short-circuit as a wave of need washed over me.
“Reeves,” he said, voice low. “Private office.”
For a second, I debated telling him where he could stick that office. I stood instead, smoothing my skirt, and followed. Not because I wanted to, but because I wanted him to know I could walk away any time. And I didn’t want him to know how exciting the thought of being alone with him was.
The corner office had floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, a desk so clean it looked like a museum exhibit, and an espresso machine worth more than my monthly rent. Gabriel prowled behind the desk, jaw set, shoulders coiled, staring at the screen like it owed him an apology.
“Is this about the work trip?” I played it cool, but the tension in my calves told a different story.
He didn’t answer. He just rotated his laptop so I could see the screen. The inbox glared at me. Subject: BOARD-LEVEL CONCERN, URGENT.
The email was addressed to half the org, including every partner, department head, and, judging by the “cc” list, possibly some distant cousins of the Board. It was concise, brutal, and left nothing to the imagination.
Due to recent events, the Board formally requests a performance review of Ms. Eliza Reeves. Please submit any relevant feedback. Anonymity will be protected.
I stared. My heart thumped so loud I wondered if he heard it.
When I finally looked at Gabriel, he was watching me with that predator’s stillness. Not gloating, not even gloating-adjacent. Just waiting to see if I’d break.
“Obviously, you knew about this before I did,” I said, voice flat.
He nodded.
“And you’re telling me why?”
“I want you to know who orchestrated it.” He didn’t blink. “It wasn’t me.”
“Wasn’t you?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “That’s rich, coming from the man who wrote the book on strategic elimination.”
He recoiled, just for a second, then seemed to clamp down harder. “I don’t burn assets I rely on.”
“You mean, you don’t burn assets you’re currently - what’s the word -using?”
His jaw tightened. “No one is replacing you, Eliza.”
I could feel the bruise at my neck, blooming in time with my humiliation. “No? Because I’m getting a lot of ‘replaceable’ vibes right now.”
He started to say something, then looked out the window instead. “If you want me to talk to the Board, I will.”
“What I want,” I said, “is to be left the hell alone for the next twenty-four hours so I can do my job and not have to explain to fifty people why my head is on the chopping block.”
He considered, then nodded once, an acquiescence so cold it could have frozen a lake.