CHAPTER 8- PROFESSIONAL DISTANCE

POV: Elena

I walked into Laurent International the next morning with one clear goal. That I was going to treat him like any other client. The elevator ride up to the 42th floor felt longer than it should have. Every time the numbers climbed, I forced myself to remember the version of him from the day before. Flat voice, professional distance, acting like nothing had happened in that stuck elevator.

That was the version I needed today. Not the one who had said my name like it meant something to him. Not the one whose fingers had been warm against my jaw. Priya met me in the lobby and handed me a visitor badge without small talk.

“He’s already in the conference room, materials are ready” she said.

I thanked her and walked down the hallway alone. My heels sounded too sharp against the floor. I straightened my shoulders before pushing the door open. Mike stood at the head of the long table, sleeves rolled up, scanning a stack of documents. He looked up when I entered. His face stayed controlled and neutral. Exactly the way I hoped it would be.

“Ms. Martinez,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”

‘Ms. Martinez. Not Elena? Well…good.’ I thought

“Mr. Laurent. Let's get started. ”

I set my bag down and took the seat across from him. We worked in near silence for the first twenty minutes. He slid folders toward me. I read every page, highlighted, and made notes. The numbers were dense, the kind of acquisition paperwork most people would skim. I didn’t skim, I focused on the work as it was the only way to keep my mind from drifting back to the elevator moment.

At some point he poured coffee and placed a cup near my hand without asking. I didn’t thank him. He didn’t seem to expect it either. Halfway through the third folder, I stopped.

“This projection, the revenue forecast for the third quarter after the merger is too clean.” I said, tapping the page.

“Explain.” He said while standing up.

“You’re assuming the client retention rate stays at 92 percent. But two of their top accounts have contracts up for renewal in the same window, and both have been complaining about service delays for six months. If even one leaves, your number drops. If both leave, the valuation you based this offer on becomes inflated.”

He pulled the folder closer and scanned the section I had marked. The silence stretched longer.

“How did you know about the service complaints?”

“It’s in the appendix on page forty-seven. It's buried under vendor reports. Most people wouldn’t bother reading that far.”

He sat back and studied me. The neutral mask slipped for half a second, just long enough for me to see he was recalculating again.

“You’re right, we missed that.”

he said.

I nodded once and kept writing. I refused to look at him longer than necessary. The rest of the afternoon dragged under the weight of everything we weren’t saying. Every time our hands reached for the same document, we both pulled back a second too late. Every time I glanced up, I caught his eyes already on me before he looked away. The air between us felt tighter than the numbers on the page.

By late afternoon my neck ached and the coffee had gone cold. I closed the last folder and stacked my notes.

“I guess that’s everything for today, I’ll send the full summary tomorrow morning.” I said, standing up.

Mike stood as well and walked with me to the door, but instead of opening it, he stopped and turned to face me. The space between us suddenly felt too small.

“There’s a private company dinner tomorrow night,I need you there,” he said.

I stared at him. “No.”

“It’s not a social invitation. Several stakeholders from the deals you just reviewed will be present. Your insight could matter in the room.”

“I already gave you my insight. On paper, that's what you paid for.”

“I’m asking you to be in the room when the questions come up.”

“And I’m telling you I’m not interested in playing decorative consultant at your company dinner.”

His jaw tightened for a moment, the professional mask slipped completely, and I saw the man from the elevator again, the one who hated being refused at.

“It’s not a request,” he said, voice low and final.

The words hit harder than they should have and my pulse jumped. Part of me wanted to push back until he dropped it. Another part already knew I was going to end up in that room tomorrow night whether I liked it or not. I held his gaze, refusing to look away first. The silence stretched until it felt dangerous.

“Fine,” I said at last. “But I choose what I wear, and I leave the second the business portion is over.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Not victory as such, something closer to relief, quickly hidden.

“Good. I’ll have a car pick you up at seven.”

I stepped past him and opened the door myself. I didn’t look back as I walked down the hallway. My hands stayed steady, and my breathing stayed calm. On the outside I was exactly as cold and professional as I had promised myself I would be.

Inside, the tension from that last exchange still sat tight in my chest. The worst part was that some small, traitorous part of me was already counting the hours until tomorrow night.