Close Calls and Missteps.

CHAPTER 9

The morning started with a coffee spill.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. Everything lately seemed to go wrong the second I set foot in the office. My hands were shaking slightly from nerves—and maybe lack of sleep—and the cup tipped before I could even react. Coffee splashed across the edge of my desk. My heart sank.

“Not again,” I muttered, grabbing paper towels like my life depended on it.

A shadow fell over my desk. I looked up. Reign. His brow was slightly raised, lips pressed together in that infuriatingly calm way. His arms were crossed. “You okay?” he asked.

I nodded, though my voice came out too high-pitched. “I… yes, just a little clumsy.”

He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly. “Clumsy or distracted?”

I swallowed. How could I explain? That Ivy’s words still echoed in my head? That my pulse spiked every time he stood near me? That every task felt like walking a tightrope over a pit full of sharks?

“Distracted,” I admitted. My cheeks warmed.

His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but something close. He leaned just enough that I felt the heat from his body without meaning to. “Focus, Maya,” he said softly. “You’ll do better than you think.”

I nodded quickly, still flustered. His gaze lingered a moment longer, almost… assessing me. Protective. Encouraging. Dangerous. All at once.

The rest of the morning went by in a blur.

Calls, emails, urgent updates from the Henderson team….Each time I thought I had a handle on things, another problem popped up. A missing signature here, a misfiled document there. Every mistake felt amplified under Ivy’s looming presence in the office, even when she wasn’t around.

I tripped over a cable near the conference room door. My face flushed as a coworker smirked, whispering something to their friend. I cursed under my breath. Not loud enough to be heard by Reign, I hoped.

But of course, he appeared, like he always did, quietly observing me. He didn’t scold. Didn’t lecture. Just… stood there, letting me feel the weight of his presence.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, almost gently. “Learn from it. That’s what matters.”

His voice had a calming effect I didn’t understand. One moment, my chest was tight, and my nerves were fraying; the next, I felt a strange sense of grounding.

By mid-afternoon, I was buried in Henderson’s latest projections. The numbers were messy, convoluted, and, frankly, terrifying. One wrong move, and the deal could fall apart. I double-checked formulas and triple-checked spreadsheets. My fingers ached from typing, but I couldn’t stop.

Reign appeared again, leaning over my shoulder. His proximity made it impossible not to notice how sharply defined his features were. Jaw tight, eyes focused. He didn’t touch me this time, but even standing behind me, he made my heart race.

“You missed a minor inconsistency,” he said softly, pointing at the spreadsheet. “But it’s easily fixed.”

I bit my lip, grateful yet embarrassed. “I… I thought I caught everything.”

He straightened, eyes lingering on mine for a second. “You will. Just… pay attention. One step at a time.”

Later, as I was printing the final batch of documents, I realized I’d misfiled the wrong set of charts. Panic hit instantly. My pulse raced. I could hear Ivy’s voice in my head: Mistakes are costly. Especially when people are watching.

I grabbed the charts and ran toward Reign’s office. He was on a call but motioned me inside when he saw the panic on my face.

“I… I messed up,” I said, barely able to get the words out.

He raised an eyebrow, listening intently to my stammering explanation. When I finished, he leaned back, crossing his arms. “You’re worried because you care. That’s not bad. It’s human. Mistakes happen. What matters is how you fix them.”

I nodded, swallowing. He sounded calm. Unshakable. And yet, I noticed the slight tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicked to the door as if expecting Ivy to appear at any moment.

The next hour was a test of my nerves. Every call felt urgent, every email demanding. And all the while, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Ivy was watching, even from miles away.

Then came the real test.

Reign’s phone buzzed. He read the message, expression unreadable. Then, in his calm, controlled voice, he said, “Maya, I need you to present the Henderson updates in the interim meeting. The board is waiting, and I have another call. You can handle it.”

My stomach dropped. Me? Present? The room would be full. Executives. Ivy probably hovering somewhere nearby.

“I… I’m not sure I—”

“You are,” he interrupted softly but firmly. “I’ve seen what you can do. Just… trust yourself.”

The boardroom was intimidating. Even without Ivy, my nerves would have been shot. But I walked in, holding my notes like armor, telling myself over and over: You can do this. You’ve got this. Don’t mess up.

Ivy was there. Of course. Leaning against the wall with that smug, perfect posture. I could feel her eyes cutting into me, judging every movement. My chest tightened.

I cleared my throat. “Good afternoon. I’ll be presenting the Henderson merger updates.”

The next thirty minutes were a blur of questions, clarifications, and small missteps I managed to recover from. Each time I faltered, I glanced at Reign. His eyes were steady on me, giving me the tiniest nods. Encouragement. Confidence.

By the end of it, Ivy smirked, clearly disappointed that I’d held my own. And Reign… he looked impressed. Just enough that my chest swelled, but my nerves were still raw.

Afterward, I slumped into my chair back at my desk, letting out a shaky breath. I’d survived. Barely.

Reign appeared beside me, offering a small, rare smile. “You did well,” he said quietly. “More than well, actually. You’re learning fast.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But my thoughts kept drifting to Ivy. To the danger she represented. To the storm I couldn’t avoid.

Then my phone buzzed again. Another unknown number. My stomach clenched.

Be careful. You’re not ready for what comes next.

I froze. Hands trembling. Heart racing. And somewhere deep inside, I knew: whatever Ivy was planning, it wasn’t just a test. It was a game. A dangerous game.

And I was already in the middle of it.