“You have it,” he said.
He returned to the computer, typing with the precision of a sniper, already erasing me from his immediate vicinity. I left, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the adjacent windows.
In the hallway, no one met my eyes. There’s nothing like an open season on your reputation to clear the air of small talk.
My office, once a minor oasis, was now a glass box where the entire company could watch me squirm. I sat, closed the blinds, and stared at my own hands.
I thought about my dad, the first time he told me I had to fight for my seat at the table. “You’ll always be judged twice,” he’d said. “Once for being a woman, once for being smarter than the room. Try not to let either ruin your appetite.”
I was hungry, all right. Hungry for revenge, or maybe just for the next thing that would make me feel less disposable.
My phone vibrated with a new notification. Anonymous feedback form: “Arrogant. Overcompensates for lack of people skills. Not a team player. Makes everything about her.”
I deleted it, then opened my next project and started in on the code. I was not going to give them the satisfaction.
But every few minutes, my mind drifted. Not to the Board. Not to the anonymous attacks. To the sensation of Gabriel’s hands at my hips, the warmth of his breath at my ear.
Stupid. Distracting. Irrelevant.
I chewed my lip and forced myself to keep typing, until the pink at the top of the screen was gone and my inbox was empty.
But I could still feel it, just beneath my skin. The urge to prove that I was untouchable. The worse the humiliation, the more I wanted to bite back. Even if biting back meant going through Valor to do it.
I wondered if that’s why he kept circling. If he needed someone just as ruthless as he was.
If so, he’d gotten his wish. I had no intention of making it easy for any of them.
I dug in, smiled my best “fuck you” smile, and got back to work.
I’d done my best to make myself invisible for the rest of the day. Which, in this company, meant ducking into unused meeting rooms and answering emails from the unisex bathroom, a move both tactical and deeply humiliating. By the time I got to the airport, I’d convinced myself that whatever self-destructing dignity I had left could survive forty-eight hours in the same airspace as Gabriel Valor.
That delusion lasted until I saw the seating chart.
“Is there a problem?” asked the flight attendant, who had the kind of high-gloss manicure that implied emotional violence.
I glanced at my phone, then at the laminated chart in her hand. “I’m not sitting next to him.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s a plane, Ms. Reeves. Technically, you’re sitting next to everyone.”
“No.” I stabbed a finger at the printout. “You’ve got me next to Gabriel.”
“Mr. Valor requested it personally.” She said this like it was supposed to be impressive.
I weighed my options. Bribe the attendant? Dramatic fainting spell? Ask to ride in the luggage hold?
Instead, I smiled, sweetly, and made sure to stay calm. “Is there any way I can switch seats?”
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry. He also requested your favorite sparkling water and, um, said you’d want a blanket in case you get cold.”
“I don’t get cold,” I lied, checking in my bag and making my way to the gate.
He was already there, of course, in his seat, looking relaxed. His voice was clipped, the kind of tone that made entire IT departments wet themselves in terror. The moment he saw me, he ended the call, all business gone.
“Ms. Reeves,” he said, as if we were adversaries in a cold war summit.
“Mr. Valor.” I pointedly ignored the way his gaze tracked every move.
I took my assigned seat, angled my body away from Gabriel, and extracted my phone like it was a weapon. We sat in tense silence. For a while, I was fine. For a while, I even let myself believe the next two hours would be, if not pleasant, at least survivable.