Notepad

Susan

By the time I left the office that evening, the weight of the day pressed heavily on my shoulders. Seeing Elliot again wasn't just an emotional challenge...it was a test of my resolve.

Meera was waiting for me at our favorite bar, a cozy, dimly lit spot tucked away from the city's bustling streets. She waved as soon as she spotted me, a knowing grin on her face.

"Well, if it isn't the woman of the hour," she teased as I slid into the seat across from her.

I sighed, signaling the bartender for a drink. "Don't start."

"Too late... How's Mr. Billionaire Ex treating you?"

I hesitated, swirling the glass of wine that the bartender had set in front of me. "Professionally."

Meera raised an eyebrow. "And...?"

"And what?"

"And how are you dealing with it? Come on, Su. You can't just sit there and pretend this isn't a big deal. You two have history."

I took a sip of my wine, savoring the warmth it brought. "It's complicated, okay? He's my boss...well, technically my client...and I need this project to go smoothly. That's all that matters right now."

Meera leaned back, studying me. "You know, for someone who's always so in control, you're awfully good at dodging your feelings."

I opened my mouth to argue, but she held up a hand.

"Don't even try to deny it," she said. "Look, I get it. You don't want to go down that road again. But pretending you don't feel anything? That's not going to help."

"I don't feel anything," I insisted, though the words felt hollow even to me.

Meera snorted. "Sure, and I'm the queen of England. Just... be careful, okay? You deserve better than to get hurt again."

Her words lingered in my mind long after our conversation ended.

****

Elliot

The office was quiet as I worked late into the night, the only sound the occasional rustle of papers and the soft tapping of my keyboard.

I couldn't stop thinking about Susan...her sharp responses, the way her lips tightened when she was trying not to say something she'd regret, the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes when she thought no one was looking.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand down my face. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to let her get under my skin again.

But here I was, drowning in memories I'd tried so hard to forget.

There was a knock at the door, and Gerald poked his head in.

"Still here, sir?"

I nodded. "Just wrapping up."

"Sir, Ms. Hart left her notepad in the meeting room," my assistant, Claire, said, holding the familiar leather-bound book.

I stared at it for a moment, my mind flashing back to the way Susan had clutched it earlier, her knuckles tight against the edges. It was her shield, the same way her words had been. Polished. Detached. Professional.

"Leave it on my desk," I said casually, though my fingers itched to open it.

Claire hesitated. "Should I courier it to her?"

"No need. I'll handle it."

Her brow arched, but she said nothing, placing the notepad down before leaving my office. The silence returned, pressing heavy against my chest.

I glanced at the notepad again, debating whether to flip through it. Would it be filled with work notes, or something more personal? Would it have little doodles in the corners like it used to, back when we were younger, freer?

I shook my head and leaned back in my chair. She probably didn't even notice she'd left it behind.

But that didn't mean I wasn't going to use it as an excuse to see her again.

****

Susan

The clink of glasses and hum of low music wrapped around me like a cocoon as I leaned back against the bar stool. Meera, my best friend and occasional life coach, was in the middle of one of her infamous rants.

"I'm just saying," she began, waving her cocktail for emphasis, "you can't let him intimidate you. You're Susan-freaking-Hart! You've faced worse than some smug billionaire."

"It's not that simple, Meera," I said, taking a sip of my drink. "He's not just some guy. It's...complicated."

"Complicated is code for 'I still care,'" she quipped, narrowing her eyes at me.

I groaned, resting my forehead against my hand. "I don't care, okay? I'm over it. Over him. Over everything."

Meera's skeptical look said she didn't believe me for a second. "Then why are you practically vibrating with unresolved tension every time his name comes up?"

"I am not vibrating," I muttered.

"Oh, you are." She leaned closer, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're a ticking time bomb, Susan. And I, for one, cannot wait to see the fireworks."

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed on the bar counter. I picked it up, my heart stuttering when I saw the name on the screen.

Elliot Prescott.

"What?" Meera asked, noticing my reaction.

"It's him," I said, holding up the phone.

Her eyes widened. "Answer it!"

I glared at her. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not ready for whatever game he's playing."

Meera snatched the phone before I could stop her and pressed it to her ear. "Hello, Mr. Prescott! This is Susan's assistant speaking. How can I help you?"

My jaw dropped as I tried to grab the phone, but she twisted away, laughing as she listened.

"Oh, her notepad?" Meera said, giving me a sly grin. "I'll let her know. Thanks for calling."

She hung up and handed the phone back to me, looking way too pleased with herself.

"Meera!" I hissed.

"What?" she said, feigning innocence. "He wanted to return your notepad. Sounds like a perfect excuse to see him again."

"I don't want to see him again," I said, though the words felt hollow even to me.

"Keep telling yourself that, babe."

****

Elliot

By the time I reached the bar, the notepad tucked under my arm, I wasn't sure what my plan was. I'd told myself this was just about returning her property. A simple, professional gesture.

But as soon as I stepped inside and spotted her sitting at the bar, her head thrown back in laughter, I knew I was lying to myself.

She looked...radiant. Her hair framed her face in soft waves, and the glow of the dim lights made her skin shimmer. The way she laughed with her friend...genuine, unguarded...was a stark contrast to the tightly controlled version of her I'd seen in my office earlier.

I approached slowly, feeling more like an intruder than an old acquaintance. Her laughter died when she spotted me, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Elliot," she said, her voice neutral but her posture stiffening.

"Susan," I replied, holding up the notepad. "You left this behind."

Her gaze flickered to the notepad and back to me. "Thanks. You didn't have to bring it yourself."

"Thought it'd be faster than couriering it," I said lightly.

Her friend, who I recognized from college as the sharp-tongued Meera, leaned forward with a sly grin. "Well, well. If it isn't Mr. Billionaire himself. Fancy running into you here."

"Meera," I said with a nod, not missing the glint of mischief in her eyes.

"Is this where you deliver lost items to all your business clients, or is Susan just special?" she teased, earning a sharp look from Susan.

"Meera," Susan said, her tone a warning.

I smirked, enjoying the brief flash of color that rose to Susan's cheeks. "Just doing my part as a responsible business partner."

Susan grabbed the notepad from my hand, her fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. The spark that shot through me was unexpected, almost unwelcome.

"Well, thanks again," she said quickly, clutching the notepad to her chest like it was a lifeline. "Have a good night, Elliot."

She turned back to the bar, effectively dismissing me. But I wasn't ready to walk away just yet.

"Enjoy your evening, ladies," I said, my voice smooth. "And Susan...we'll talk soon."

I walked out before she could respond, a small smile tugging at my lips.

****

Susan

I watched him leave, my pulse racing for reasons I didn't want to examine.

Meera let out a low whistle. "Well, that was intense. You okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, though I wasn't sure if I was convincing her...or myself.

"You're definitely not fine," she said, sipping her drink. "But don't worry. I've got front-row seats to the drama of the decade."

I groaned, dropping my head onto the bar. This night was going to be a long one.