The Archive

I didn't sleep.

Couldn't sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Kerry's smudged lipstick and Foxe's face in the dim glow of the car's interior.

By the time my alarm goes off at six, I have already been awake for three hours.

I drag myself out of bed, shower until the water runs cold, and pull on the most boring, professional outfit I own—black slacks, white blouse, blazer that makes me look like I work at a bank. The kind of shit you wear when you need to disappear into the background.

The metro is packed with the usual morning crowd of tired office workers holding coffee like it's stimulants, students with headphones in, and a guy in a suit who smells like he'd bathed in cologne. I wedge myself into a corner and check my phone.

June: Partnership finalized. Contracts signed. Shield arrives at 9 AM for briefing.

My stomach drops.

He's coming here. To the office.

June: You'll handle the preliminary documents. Conference room reserved for 10.

Of course I will.

Me: Understood.

I shove my phone back in my pocket and spend the rest of the ride trying not to throw up.

The Jeremy & Co. building looks the same as it always does. Forty-three floors of corporate excess in the heart of New Greenland's financial district. I badge in through the lobby, nod at Mari the security guard who's worked here longer than I've been alive, and take the elevator up to forty-two.

My desk is exactly where I left it yesterday, buried under a mountain of paperwork, three different coffee cups I forgot to throw away, and a sticky note from June that just says DON'T FORGET in his aggressive handwriting.

I sit down, power on my computer, and pull up the partnership files.

Foxe Shield.

CEO of Shield Industries.

Twenty-nine years old.

Net worth estimated at somewhere north of five hundred million.

Specializes in tech acquisitions and venture capital.

No social media presence, not even LinkedIn.

No scandals. No messy public breakups. Nothing.

The man is a freaking ghost.

The only photo I can find is a professional headshot from some business magazine article, and even that looks like it had been taken under duress. He's wearing a suit with a blank expression on and his dark eyes are unreadable.

The same eyes that looked at me yesterday like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

I close the file before I can spiral.

June's office door opens, and he steps out looking like he slept even less than I do. His tie is crooked, something that never happens, and there are shadows under his eyes that makeup can't hide.

"Coffee," he says flatly.

"Already brewing, sir."

"Strong."

"Always."

He almost smiles. Almost. Then he looks at me properly and frowns. "You look terrible."

"Thank you, sir. You're too kind."

"I'm serious, Anella. Are you sick?"

No, I'm just having a mental breakdown because your fiancée is cheating on you with your new business partner and I can't tell you without losing my job and my brother's surgery money.

"Just tired," I say.

He studies me for a long moment, then nods and disappears back into his office.

I sag in my chair and press my palms against my eyes until I see stars.

My phone buzzes.

Melly: you alive?

Me: barely

Melly: did you talk to Jericho last night?

Guilt twists in my chest. I meant to call him. I promised I'd call him. But after the alley incident, I went straight home, locked myself in my apartment, and stared at the ceiling until my alarm went off.

Me: i'll call him tonight. promise.

Melly: he misses you. says PT is going well tho

Melly: also he asked if you're eating enough

Melly: which. are you?

I look at my breakfast—a protein bar I find in my bag that is probably three months expired.

Me: define enough

Melly: ANELLA

Me: i'm FINE. worry about your patients, not me

Melly: you ARE my patient. emotionally.

I am about to respond when the elevator dings.

And Foxe Shield walks into my office.

He looks different in daylight.

Less like the man I caught in a dark alley and more like someone who belongs on the cover of Forbes. His charcoal suit fits to perfection, white shirt, no tie, top button undone just enough to be casual. His hair is dark, pushed back from his face, and his eyes are the same dangerous shade of brown I remember.

He stops in front of my desk, hands in his pockets, and smiles like we are old friends.

"Good morning."

I stare at him.

Say something. Anything.

"Mr. Shield." My voice comes out flat and professional. "You're early."

"I like to be punctual." He glances around the office, taking in the organized chaos of filing cabinets and motivational posters that June's assistant before me put up and no one bothered to remove. "This is cozy."

"It's an office."

"It's very… beige."

I grit my teeth. "Mr. Jeremy is expecting you at ten. If you'd like to wait in the lobby—"

"Actually, June sent me to you." He pulls out his phone, taps something, and shows me the screen.

June: Anella will handle the preliminary briefing. She has the files you need.

Of course he did.

I stand, smoothing down my blazer, and grab the folder from my desk. "Follow me."

"Lead the way."

We walk in silence down the hall toward the archive room, which is a glorified storage closet where we keep all the physical copies of contracts and legal documents that haven't been digitized yet. I can feel him behind me, too close, and my skin prickles with awareness.

Don't think about last night. Don't think about Kerry. Don't think about the emails.

I push open the archive door and flick on the lights. The room is narrow, lined floor to ceiling with metal shelves, and smells like old paper and dust.

"Everything you need is in here," I say, setting the folder on the small desk in the corner. "Contracts, financial projections, risk assessments—"

"Why are you avoiding looking at me?"

I freeze.

What?

"I'm not—"

"You haven't made eye contact once since I walked in." He moves closer, and I step back on instinct, my hip hitting the edge of the desk. "Are you scared of me, Anella?"

"No."

"Liar."

I finally look up, meet his eyes, and regret it immediately because he is staring at me like I am the only thing in the room that matters.

"Last night—" I start.

"You ran" He tilts his head. "Why?"

"Because I wasn't supposed to see that."

"And yet you keep showing up everywhere I am." He takes another step forward. "Makes a man wonder if it's really June sending you… or if you're just curious."

My pulse spikes. "You're delusional."

"Am I?" He is too close now. I can smell cedar and some expensive cologne that probably costs more than I care to imagine. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you can't stop watching me."

"I was doing my job—"

"Your job is to be June's secretary. Not his spy." His voice drops lower. "So why are you really following me?"

I lift my chin. "Maybe I just don't trust you."

"Smart." He smiles slowly. "You shouldn't."

And then he moves.

One second there is space between us, and the next he has backed me fully against the shelves, one hand braced beside my head, the other still in his pocket like this is casual. Like cornering women in archive rooms is something he does every Tuesday.

"What are you doing?" My voice comes out breathier than I want.

"Testing a theory."

"What—"

He leans in, close enough that I can see the way his pupils dilate when he looks at my mouth.

"You think you're clever," he says softly. "Sneaking around, taking photos, reporting back to June like a good little employee."

"I don't—"

"But here's the thing, Anella." His hand comes up, fingers brushing my jaw so lightly I almost think I imagine it. "You're not as invisible as you think you are."

My heart is doing something horrible and erratic in my chest. "Get away from me."

"Make me."

I should push him, slap him, just do literally anything other than stand there frozen while his thumb traces the curve of my cheekbone.

"You're insane," I whisper.

"Probably." His eyes drop to my mouth again. "But you're not scared of me."

"Yes I am."

"No." He leans closer. "You're scared of yourself."

And then he kisses me.