Chapter 17: Earthquakes in Heels

9:15 AM. Wednesday.

The office air was charged. Not the caffeine kind. The pre-thunderstorm kind.

Katherine stepped out of the elevator in wide-legged cream trousers, a coral blouse that said "I’m confident but haven’t slept", and heels that probably violated labor laws. Her hair was in a loose bun, with three rebellious strands doing their own thing — just like her.

She didn’t know why everyone looked… tense.

Until Cara whisper-sprinted to her side.

“She’s here.”

Katherine blinked. “Who?”

Cara widened her eyes like she’d just uttered the name of a demon.

“Maddison. Mason.”

Katherine froze. “Oh.”

The ex-wife.

The mythical unicorn of backstories.

The woman who once had a matching surname with Sebastian — and, apparently, still the entitlement to walk into the building like she owned it.

“She’s consulting now,” Cara continued. “Brand strategy alignment. Just for the quarter, but… yeah.”

“Wow,” Katherine muttered, adjusting her blouse. “Could’ve used a warning. Or holy water.”

---

9:47 AM. Conference Room A.

Katherine sat across the glass table from Maddison Mason, who wore tailored black like it was armor. Not a hair out of place. Not a smile too warm.

The presentation began.

Katherine tried to do her thing — bold, creative, unexpected slides, a metaphor involving spaghetti and market segmentation (don’t ask) — but somewhere between slide three and four, it happened.

A snide little comment.

From across the table.

“Well, that was an interesting take,” Maddison said with a too-sweet smile. “I suppose chaos has a charm when it’s dressed in color palettes and metaphors.”

Katherine blinked.

Smiled.

Bit her tongue.

Kept going.

But Maddison wasn’t done.

“As much as I enjoy whimsical storytelling,” she continued, turning slightly to Sebastian, “I wonder if the board might prefer… professionalism?”

The silence was brutal.

Everyone’s eyes flicked to Sebastian.

But he didn’t speak.

Not yet.

Katherine swallowed. “If you’re implying my pitch lacks merit —”

“I’m not implying. I’m stating.” Maddison’s tone was ice. “Marketing isn’t improv comedy.”

Katherine’s voice dropped a register. “You’re right. It’s not. But it’s also not a funeral. Unless you keep talking.”

Someone choked on their coffee. Probably Harold from finance.

Maddison raised a brow. “Interesting approach to leadership.”

Katherine opened her mouth — fire on her tongue.

But before she could launch it —

Sebastian stood up.

His chair scraped back.

And the whole room froze.

Because he never stood mid-meeting.

He never raised his voice.

Until now.

“Enough,” he said — not loudly, but sharply.

Directed straight at Maddison.

Everyone’s jaws collectively hit the desk.

“You don’t speak to my team that way,” he continued, voice low but lethal. “Not here. Not anywhere.”

Maddison’s lips parted, stunned.

Sebastian turned his gaze to the rest of the room. “Miss Brown’s approach is exactly why this company has a future. If you can’t see that, you’re not looking hard enough.”

Katherine forgot how to breathe.

Maddison narrowed her eyes. “Still defending the unstable ones, I see.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch.

“No. I’m defending brilliance when it’s under attack.”

Dead. Silence.

Maddison stood up. “Well then. I suppose I’m done here.”

Sebastian gave her a single nod. Cold. Final.

She left.

He didn’t sit back down for another minute.

Just stared out the window, jaw tight.

When he finally sat, he didn’t look at anyone.

But his hand — beneath the table — subtly tapped once on the edge of Katherine’s chair.

A silent apology. Or maybe… support.

She couldn’t tell.

But her heart was beating like war drums.

---

12:04 PM. Break room.

The gossip had detonated.

Every intern, assistant, and executive was whispering about the Great Mason-Mason Clash of the Century™.

Katherine sipped her tea slowly, pretending to scroll through emails.

Cara plopped into the chair next to her.

“Did you see him? I thought he was going to incinerate her with his glare.”

“I was in the blast radius,” Katherine muttered.

“You okay?”

Katherine exhaled. “I don’t know. I think I just got defended. By Sebastian Mason. In public. Loudly. That can’t be real.”

Cara leaned in. “Girl. That man is unraveling for you.”

Katherine blushed. “Don’t. I’m still recovering.”

---

3:45 PM. Sebastian’s office.

She knocked.

“Come in.”

She stepped inside, nervous energy wrapped in confidence.

“You okay?” she asked.

He looked up from his desk, something unreadable in his eyes.

“No. But I will be.”

She hesitated. “I didn’t mean to start a war.”

“You didn’t. She did.”

“You didn’t have to —”

“I did.”

Silence.

Then he stood, walked toward her.

“Miss Brown…”

He paused.

Then, softer:

“Katherine.”

Her name, again. Spoken like a choice.

He reached up — just a hand on her arm this time.

“Don’t ever shrink in front of people like her.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good.”

And for the first time… she saw it.

Not just the power.

Not just the control.

But the crack in the armor. The man beneath it.

And maybe, just maybe —

The reason he couldn't stop looking at her.

---

4:08 PM. Sebastian’s Office.

Katherine hadn’t said a word after the explosion in the conference room.

After he’d shouted her name.

After he’d defended her — no, roared for her.

She was still trying to decide if she should say thank you or just throw herself out the window when—

Splash.

Hot latte.

Right on his lap.

“Shit,” Sebastian hissed, jerking back instinctively, the paper cup tipping from his hand as he sat down.

“Oh God — don’t move!” Katherine yelped.

She didn’t think.

She leapt.

In a blink, she was in front of him, kneeling, grabbing napkins from his desk with the agility of a caffeinated superhero, and —

She pressed them right between his thighs.

And froze.

Realization.

“Oh no.”

She looked up.

Eye contact.

He was staring down at her, brows raised, lips slightly parted.

Her hands were still on his inner thigh.

His very inner thigh.

“Oh God,” she whispered again, yanking her hands back like she’d touched a live wire. “I—this was—That wasn’t—I mean—your pants were—”

“It’s fine,” he said, but his voice was hoarse.

She jumped to her feet. Or tried to.

Instead, she smacked her shoulder into the desk and knocked over his pen holder.

More things spilled.

They stared at each other amid the chaos.

Silence.

Then — he laughed.

Not a chuckle.

A real, deep, absolutely-unbothered laugh.

She gaped at him. “You’re laughing?! I just accidentally reenacted a very specific category of office p**n!”

He leaned back, eyes shining. “Is that what that was?”

“Shut up!” She flailed, face on fire. “I was trying to help!”

“You did. Admirably. My pants are mostly dry. My dignity, less so.”

She groaned and covered her face. “Kill me.”

“No,” he said, quieter now. “Never.”

She peeked at him through her fingers.

He was still smiling.

But softer. Something else in his eyes.

Something dangerously close to fondness.

“I don’t regret defending you,” he said.

She dropped her hands. “I know. That’s the part that scares me.”

He stood, slow and smooth, moving toward her.

She backed up a step. Then another.

Until she hit the wall.

He stopped a breath away.

Neither of them spoke.

Then —

His hand reached up.

Not to touch her. Not quite.

Just hovered near her jaw.

Permission. Hesitation.

Tension so thick it could have its own nameplate.

But just before anything happened —

Knock knock.

Cara’s voice, muffled: “Hey, Sebastian, Katherine — uh, some of the clients are still lingering, and someone’s asking about the next steps — should I say you’re both… in a meeting?”

A pause.

Sebastian didn’t break eye contact.

Katherine’s heart tried to make an exit through her ears.

Then he said, perfectly calm:

“Yes. Tell them we’re discussing alignment.”

Katherine choked on her soul.

Cara didn’t ask questions.

Footsteps faded.

And inside that office, the two of them were still way too close.

“I should go,” Katherine said.

“You should.”

But neither of them moved.

Then finally — finally — he stepped back.

“See you tomorrow, Miss Brown.”

She turned to the door, paused, and threw over her shoulder:

“Try not to spill anything else. I might not survive another rescue mission.”

And she left.

With knees that had absolutely no structural integrity left.

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