Chapter 4: What's Wrong With Alton Donovan?

Scarlet did not sleep.

She lay on her couch long after Alton and Darren left, long after the building settled back into its usual nighttime groan.

The silence felt heavier than noise ever had. Every creak of the pipes, every distant siren made her heart jolt, her mind replaying the image of him standing at her door, lifting her up to her dining table, his breath on her bare skin.

Lock your door, Scarlet. Next time, I may not knock.

His last message to her.

She had done exactly that. Twice.

The deadbolt clicked into place, then the chain, then the extra latch she rarely used. Still, she felt like that wasn't enough, he'd badge in if he wanted to.

Hell, she'd open the door for him again.

She sat upright on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, phone clutched tightly in her hand. Darren’s name sat unread in her notifications. She could not bring herself to open the message, not yet.

The guilt sat thick in her chest, layered with fear and something else she refused to name.

She didn't do anything. But still…

She replayed the night over and over, searching for the moment where she could have stopped it.

All of this happened because she made one dumb mistake. What the hell was she thinking?! To her boss for that matter?!

Her stomach churned.

Would she lose her job? She doubts it. Heck, he asked if she liked him? What? The thought that he might have enjoyed this situation made her want to wail.

She poured the rest of the wine down the sink without tasting it, the sharp smell making her nauseous.

Sleep finally claimed her sometime near dawn.

Her phone vibrated at exactly 7:12 a.m.

Scarlet’s eyes flew open. Her heart began to race before she even checked the screen.

From: Donovan Alton

Subject: Saturday Meeting

She stared at the email header for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the screen. A knot tightened low in her stomach.

This is it, she's getting fired.

She opened it.

> Scarlet,

There has been a change in the investor schedule. You will attend the emergency meeting at 10:00 a.m. sharp.

Dress appropriately. Bring the revised projections and the Maxwell file.

This is non-negotiable.

– D.A.

That was it.

Scarlet exhaled in relief, almost in tears. She could afford to get fired now, her life would be over if she did.

There was no mention of the night before. No acknowledgment of the fact that he had stood in her apartment less than eight hours ago, close enough that she could still remember the scent of his cologne.

Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered the phone.

A weekend meeting.

She sat up slowly, this was not unusual. Alton had always treated weekends like a work day and she'd learned to live with it over the years.

But today, after everything that had happened, it felt deliberate. As though he were reminding her exactly where she stood.

She typed a response with stiff fingers.

> Understood. I’ll be there.

She did not add sir. She noticed immediately. She considered correcting it, then forced herself to leave it as it was.

The shower did little to calm her nerves. The water ran hot over her skin, but the tension refused to ease. She scrubbed harder than necessary. Every time her mind drifted, it circled back to the same question.

Why is he acting like nothing happened?

By the time she stepped into the office building, her shoulders were already tight with anticipation. The lobby was quieter than usual or maybe she was just overthinking.

Security nodded at her without comment. The elevator ride felt longer than it ever had.

Alton’s office door was already open when she got to their shared floor.

He was inside, standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear. Suit perfectly tailored. Hair neat. No trace of the man who had stood in her apartment with his voice lowered and his eyes too intent.

She paused just outside the doorway, steadying herself before knocking.

“Come in,” he said, not turning around.

She stepped inside.

“Good morning, Mr. Alton.”

He ended the call and turned to face her. His expression was neutral, professional even. His eyes flicked over her briefly, then moved away.

“You’re early,” he said. “Good.”

That was it. No lingering look.

Is that a good thing? Her chest tightened.

She set the files on his desk. She had done this for five years. She knew how to be invisible when necessary.

“The revised projections are here,” she said. “I also included the updated risk analysis.”

“Mm.” He flipped through the pages without really looking at her. “Did you recheck the figures on page seven?”

“Yes.”

“And the margins?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He set the folder down. “We’ll be meeting with the Eastbridge group first. They’re cautious. Don’t volunteer information unless I ask.”

She nodded. “Understood.”

He glanced at his watch. “You have twenty minutes. Sit.”

She did, perching on the chair across from his desk, spine straight, hands folded in her lap. Every nerve in her body was alert, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did.

The meeting followed soon after. And as always, Alton was articulate, commanding the room with ease and dismissed concerns with reassurances. Scarlet watched him from her seat, responding when prompted, passing documents when asked.

He did not look at her any differently than he had a week ago.

And yet, she felt exposed.

Scarlet remained calm, reaching for a file that he needed next but he was already gesturing for it. Before she could interject with a clarification, he had phrased the exact point she had been preparing to make in her head.

“Ms Scarlet, I want to know of any scheduling constraints for Q1, “ The chairman of Eastbridge asked.

Alton answered without pause.

“Scarlet will be unavailable the week of December twenty-third through the first,” he said smoothly. “After that, her schedule is flexible.”

Her head snapped up.

That was her Christmas leave. He was yet to approve it. Heck, she thought he hadn't even read it yet.

Later, as the meeting wound down and the investors filtered out, she gathered the papers slowly, buying herself time to think. Alton remained seated, reviewing notes on his tablet.

“You can cancel the lunch with procurement on Monday,” he said without looking up. “You’ll need that time to finalize the year-end audit.”

“I…” She hesitated. “That lunch was personal, sir.”

He looked up then, finally meeting her eyes.

“And you rescheduled it already,” he said calmly.

Her breath caught.

She had. Late last night, after Darren left. She had pushed it back by a week, telling herself she needed space anyway.

“How did you know?” she asked, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

His eyes met hers, suddenly intent like it had been last night.

“It’s my job to know my staff’s availability,” he said. “You keep your calendar synced with the company system.”

That was true.

Still, that means he had checked for her calendar specifically. He never checks for her calendar, he simply tells her she needed to be somewhere and that was it.

She glanced at him, brows knitting. What's with Alton Donovan anyway?!