Chapter 2

ALINA'S POV

"You what?!"

"Yeah, I did.” I said, “Called out Joe in his office. The presentation's tomorrow and we're doing it."

“You're kidding," She squealed, throwing her hands around me. "Oh my God, you stood up to Joe! The ugly menace of the entire Creatives lane, and you survived? Girl!"

I shot her a look, "I survived yeah, but not for long. How are we going to pull this off, Cleo? The presentation is tomorrow and -

"We will pull it off,” she cut in, “Relax. Main point here is witch Nicole didn’t get her way. That’s what important, Lina."

Yeah.

That’s what’s important.

We had a chance. We still had a chance, and when there’s will, there’s always a way.

“Just think of our promotion after this,” she smiled, stepping back. “Think about parting ways with that ‘thing’ next to you.”

I glanced over, a bubble of laughter instantly leaving me. The printer. “Yeah, I can definitely see myself without it.”

And in response, the rickety black box protested. It's usual dying noise, like a horse before it’s slaughter filling the air. “Argh, so fucking loud.” I groaned out, “Really though, why do I have a seat right next to it?”

“Cause it suits you?”

“Suits me?” I tuned to find the voice, watching as the rest of department filed in. Marking the end of lunch break. “Something this worn out suits me? I don’t think so.”

I deserved more than that.

Would get more.

And Oxygen was the key to make that happen.

************

After that truly ‘inspirational’ reminder of my not so glamorous life, I dove right into work.

It didn’t matter how much workload I had left, or the time remaining before the presentation. Or, if Nicole and her dearest lover-Joe were intentionally wanting to make things difficult for me. I still had to get the job done.

“Joe wants you to check these and report back to him. Today.” She’d said with a smirk. A stack of folders landing on my desk with a loud bang. Deliberate, just as her smug features.

I so wanted to smack it right off then. Report in details to the management about all her ‘dealings’ in the company, all the while watching as she unraveled before my very eyes.

But, I knew better.

Learned better. Sometimes it was better to just suck it up than try to stand out.

Else you'll be at the losing end. And with the way my life currently was? Losing was pretty expensive. I couldn’t afford that.

“We’ll be good as new when I’m done.” Cleo said, applying concealer to our eye bags. “Nothing a little foundation can’t fix.”

It was all for the money anyways. For the contract!

Despite everything, the workload, showering and dressing up in the office bathroom the next morning for the presentation since we were unable to head home on time. I still felt motivated.

Determined, charged up more than ever to make this work. But maybe that was the problem.

That was the exact root of the problem, cause i didn’t expect anything to go wrong. At least not in the form it did.

********

"Boldlines?" A lady called, and I automatically raised my hand to signify. Breath caught, "You're up." She said simply and vanished behind the door she came out from. The same door we’re to go into.

"Ready?" Cleo breathed, our hands clasped in a desperate prayer. A silent cry to the heavens to at least help us out on this one, tensed as hell.

"Let’s go,” I said, and all at once she pushed the door open. Going in.

First thing that hit me was the air. The cold unbelievable air saturated in the room, by no doubt the work of an overworked AC.

Were they trying to freeze us to death before our nerves killed us first?

But my displeasure turned even more sour as my ended at the head of the table. The conference table in the room. The unmistakable figure seated there. Head down, sleeves rolled, slipping through a folder.

My breath caught, "Welcome, Miss Monroe! Miss Geller" a voice greeted but I barely heard it. Didn’t even realize my feet had slowed to a halt at the middle of the room. Neck angled, eyes and mind all fixed in that direction. The head of the table. The person seated there, the man!

My chest tightened.

It couldn’t be.

It couldn’t be him, right?

It couldn't actually b-

"Miss Monroe!" I turned sharply, eyes back to the front of the room I was supposed to be at. "Is everything alright, Miss?" the man asked, eyebrows furrowed.

I blinked, hard. Forcing my brains to work, “Err… yeah. Everything's fine! Totally fine." My lips stretched to a forced smile, legs moving forward immediately. Too fast. Cause my heels let out a loud screeching sound as I went slipping. My legs spreading in a very inappropriate manner for someone that actually came to land this contract.

“Jesus, why me?” I cried silently, abruptly pulling myself together from the floor and hurried to the table.

The air awkward as hell. Embarrassment covering me like a cloak. "You okay?" Cleo whispered beside me. "You're sweating. Apologize, quick."

Sweating?

In this high cold?

My hands shot up to my forehead, feeling the wetness there. I was sweating!

“Oh God,” We hadn’t even started yet and I was all shades of disorientation already!

“I- my apologies for earlier.” I said, bowing slightly to the men at the table.

“It’s fine.” he waved off, the man that initially addressed us. I watched him move to the head of the table.The same head of the table that caused all my entire disorientation.

But as I did, his eyes fell on me. This time already staring first. Those unmistakable green orbs that I could’ve sworn were straight out of my imaginations stared right back at me.

He was staring at me.

Me.

My pulse raced immediately. My mind even worse as a solid truth i couldn't even ignore surfaced on my mind.

Roman.

This was Roman Ward.

My ex.

“Almost done, we’ll start soon.” Cleo whispered, her words registering but not really registering.

Hell, my mind was spinning. A truckload of thoughts all in one minute, washing all over me like some pile of dog shit on a rainy day.

What was he doing here?

Why was he here? At Oxygen’s pitch room of all places.

Did he work for them somehow? And why the hell was he staring at me like that?

He looked the same. Older, sharper maybe—but those eyes. They still carried that same pull, that same danger. With recognition flickering in them, and something darker beneath.

Something I didn't want to face. Not now. Not ever. But what was that they said about the past?

They never really stay buried, do they? And just like that, I felt it all. Again.

The sudden bolts of electricity that came with the laughter, panic, sadness, the hospital. And then the blood. All of it coming back together with full force, mom's voice at the end of it all;

“I warned you, Alina. I warned you, he's just like your damn father you bitch!"

And just like that, I turned away.

Trembling breaths leaving my lips, air rushing back in ragged bursts. My hands trembling.

I knew what this was.

Suffocation.

That's what he's always been, suck the life out of me. Even right now too.

I was lucky to have survive to this point. Been able to even have the chance to make something out of my life, be here for this pitch today. Right now.

And I wasn't giving that up. Never going back there. Ever.

"Alina, what’s going on with you?" Cleo asked worriedly, seeing how I was rattled. I didn’t respond. Just took those few moments to calm myself, take extra breaths, ground my expression and clear my mind.

“I’m fine.” I said after, “Perfectly fine. Let's start.”

I've got bills to pay.

"Can we start?" I asked aloud, standing. My eyes on that head of the table again, but this time with much more stability.

They didn’t say anything. The man beside him returning to his seat, so I took that for a yes and headed to the podium in front of the room.

“Sure you’re capable enough?”

I froze mid-step. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His voice was smooth — too smooth. “You walked in here like a nervous intern and expect me to believe you can handle this? You don’t even look prepared.”

My pulse kicked up, heat crawling to my face. “Why don’t I prove you wrong with our ideas, then?”

“Prove me wrong?” He taunted, smirk ghosting his lips. “I don’t think you'll ‘ever’ be capable of that.”

What?

Okay, I may have come in here…somewhat unceremoniously but that shouldn't decide everything about my capacity.

“You should judge after the presentation, sir. Not right now.” I said, holding his gaze. Defiant.

The room stilled, waiting for his retort. None came.

So, “Good day everyone,” I began. “We’re representing Boldlines Creatives. I’m here with my partner, Cleopina Geller. And I am Alina Monroe.”

His eyes twitched at my name. Eyebrows furrowed, glaring.

Recognition confirmed. Good.

I didn't care. Not enough not to focus on my work. Slides rolled behind, lights dimed and a couple of minutes later I was done.

“Boldlines really put to thought how we’ll make extra profit while also creating a new signature brand experience. Love it.”

I breathed in relief, smiling.

But not so fast.

“The inner working lines…” he started, “They're manageable.”

Huh?

“The lines are manageable, but the feeling is lost. You call this ‘temptation’ and still, we don't get that vibes from you at all.”

Excuse you.

“Am I supposed to do what you the women do in there?” I shot back, “What, come in with a lingerie or something? Dress half naked to sell my pitch?”

He shrugged, “No one here would mind, I won’t. They sure as hell wont either. We’ve seen enough women try to sell ideas with their bodies. Plenty, yours wouldn’t even make the list.”

My mouth parted, fury rising.

He wasn't insulting me by any chance, was he? It was one thing to complain about the presentation but it was another to insult my character. All with a straight face while doing It.

Who the hell does he think he is?

“I am not a prostitute, Mr. Ward.” I spat sternly, “Neither am I auditioning to work at your lounge. I am a Creative Consultant, one that you need. A professional that you asked for, so treat me with respect.”

“Or what?” he leaned forward. Eyes racking me slow, up and down, condescending at the very least. “You still don't get it. Do you, Alina? I am the reason you’re here. Reason you got up on that podium. This is my project. My podium. My rules. You can't do what I asked? I’ll just cross you off the chart, that'll be the end of this.”

The end? Of course.

Crossing off, abandoning, asking to go fuck and die… that’s your specialty isn't it Roman? Isn’t it?

Lucky you. I won't be allowing you to do that to me. Twice.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Ward.” I said coolly, grabbing my stuff. Cleo following suit. “Looking forward to working with you, Sir.”

Maybe not Cleo.

Maybe not.