Chapter 5

‎The Moore Holdings Skyscraper pierced the sky like a blade, twenty-two stories of stark white concrete and floor-to-ceiling glass that reflected the grey clouds and traffic in cold, distorted waves. There weren’t any other buildings in the area. On either side were vast fields, and straight ahead a stone pathway led directly to the 22-story building. I stood on the pavement in my best black trouser suit, hair scraped into a tight bun that pulled at my scalp, clutching my purse tightly.

‎My heels felt glued to the concrete.

‎Just turn around. Call a cab. Mum would understand.

‎But every time that thought rose, her pale face in that hospital bed pushed it back down. After what felt like an hour, I exhaled sharply, and crossed the plaza before I could overthink it again.

‎~*~

‎Miss Estelle was in the lobby; she spotted me from afar and started typing something on her computer.

‎“Mees 'All. Four minutes late on your first day. Not a strong start, non?”

‎“Good morning to you too,” I said.

‎She sniffed. “Come wiz me. We will finish ze paperwork quickly. Ze last girl in your position, Martha, lasted only six weeks. Try to beat zat record, won’t you?

‎I signed where she pointed, barely reading. “What happened to her?”

‎“Ask Monsieur Moore,” Estelle said with a tight smile “We will be heading to the twenty second floor. Shall we?” she said already walking toward the elevator.

‎Within ten minutes we were in the elevator going upward. As the floors ticked by, my mind drifted back to Thursday. I’d stayed at Mum’s bedside all night until Aunt Viv practically shoved me out at 2P.M. with strict orders to sleep. I’d thought about dragging myself to the support group, but then dismissed it. It wasn’t a good idea really; instead I’d lain on my childhood bed for hours, staring at the wall crack I used to trace with my finger as a girl. Every reason not to come here, had been scattered by my visit to the hospital. That’s how I found myself here.

‎In the elevator Miss Estelle kept going. “You report directly to ‘im cher. Files, briefings, presentations, meeting notes. ‘E ‘ates repeating ‘imself. Don’t make ‘im.”

‎“Noted”

‎The elevator dinged on the twenty-second floor.

‎Stepping out felt like entering a different world. The entire floor opened up vast and unnervingly white, with glass walls on the left and right offering dizzying views of the city below. At the far end, a wall of tinted glass reflected my own uncertain expression back at me. I caught myself smiling.

‎Guess you’re not afraid of heights after all, Heath.

‎Miss Estelle noticed. “Something the matter?”

‎“Nothing,” I said quickly.

‎She muttered something to herself in French about English girls, before proceeding to what would be my desk. “Apart from your usual tasks, most of your work is ehh… customized. One day eet’s fetching files, anozer personalized shopping, ze next booking flights. Like ehh, what do you English girls call it?”

‎“Yes… a sec-reh-taire” she finally said snapping her fingers

‎Her eyes shifted uneasily to the tinted glass, then quickly snapped back to me. “Your desk is zere, in front of the tinted panel. Files are on ze bookshelf, and your computer’s already set up. Any questions?”

‎I set my bag down. “I would be reporting directly to Mr Moore…”

‎“Zat’s right”

‎“Where exactly is Mr. Moore’s office?"

‎Estelle gestured at the tinted glass. “Right behind zere. You’ll be working practically on top of each ozzer. ‘E likes to keep an eye on things.”

‎So now I’m running chores and being watched

‎“Great,” I muttered.

‎Estelle checked her watch. “ ’E is in a call. I suggest you settle in and wait. ‘E will find you when ‘e needs you.” She turned on her heel. “Good luck, cherie. You will need it.”

‎~*~

‎One hour passed. Then two. Then three. I kept imagining his hazel-green eyes on the other side, watching every shift in my chair, and goose bumps spread over me at the thought.

‎Enough.

‎I stood, marched over to the door set into the tinted glass and knocked, barely pausing before I pushed the door open.

‎Heath sat behind a wide C-shaped oak desk, looking unfairly composed in a stark-white suit that probably cost more than my rent. His jet-black hair perfectly styled. But when his hazel-green eyes lifted to mine, something flickered briefly. Not quite the smug triumph I’d expected. Almost like wariness mixed with relief.

‎He tapped his phone screen, stopping a timer. “Three hours and twelve minutes.” A stupid grin spread across his face “I was starting to think you’d actually outlast me. How are you doing, Kattie?”

‎I hated when he called me that

‎You do now, don’t you? My inner voice asked me back. Sometimes I just wished she would shut-up.

‎“It’s. Katherine. Not Kattie.”

‎“Kattie, I think you have failed to notice that I am your employer. The name ‘Katherine’...” he said slowly, “wastes useful time. Kattie, on the other hand is efficient”. He stood from his chair and in that time crossed the room to stand right in front of me.

‎“My name is Katherine” I spat back

‎“Oh well…if you insist” his eyes lit up, heading back to lean on his table “Where are my manners, please take a sit. Feel free”

‎I didn’t move. “Is my desk positioned so you can watch my every move?”

‎Heath glanced at the tinted glass. “My last EA was stealing from me. The glass made it easy to catch her. It will be removed shortly.” He met my eyes. “I’m not the psychopath you clearly think I am.”

‎“Could’ve fooled me.”

‎A low chuckle escaped him. “Of all the places in London… you chose mine” he said his voice lowering

‎I shrugged. “I was bored. It pays well. Why not?”

‎He studied me for a long moment, jaw tightening. For once the perfect mask slipped; irritation and something sharper—maybe hurt—flickered across his face before he buried it. Or maybe I was just hallucinating it. “Bored. That’s the story you’re going with? You suddenly decided working for me would cure your boredom?”

‎“You can believe what you want, that’s the story you’re getting.”

‎He studied me again, then nodded once. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…” Then his voice went back to his usual arrogant tone. “I expect you here tomorrow and Sunday too. Then you begin normal hours starting Monday.”

‎I stared at him, was this man serious. “Most people get weekends off.”

‎“I don’t pay two hundred thousand pounds for normal.” His tone was arrogant, but his eyes weren’t. They were watching me too closely, like he was waiting for me to crack first.** “You chose to wait, Kattie. Live with it.”

‎“You’re unbelievable.”

‎“So I’ve been told.” He stepped back. “But you’re here now. And I need those quarterly reports analyzed by end of day. Can you manage that”

‎“I’ll survive,”

‎A ghost of a real smile touched his mouth, almost soft. Almost proud. Then it was gone, and immediately he was back to the files on the desk.

‎~*~

‎The rest of the afternoon was a blur of “Kattie, bring me the Emerson file,” “Kattie, summarize page seventeen,” and “Kattie, I need this rewritten before the call.”

‎By six-thirty I was exhausted. He appeared at my desk as I was shutting down the computer.

‎“You did well today,” he said quietly.

‎I stood, grabbing my purse. “Thanks.”

‎Before I could step away, he reached out and gently tucked the loose strand of hair behind my ear, the same piece I always twisted when anxious. His fingertips lingering a bit too long.

‎“You still do that when you’re overthinking,” he murmured.

‎“Don’t,” I whispered.

‎My breath hitched. I should have pulled away immediately. Instead I stayed there, letting the warmth of his skin sink in. I hated that my first instinct hadn’t been retreat. I hated even more that his first instinct had still been to reach for me.

‎He lowered his hand slowly. For once the mask was thin; something vulnerable and hungry flashed in his eyes before he hid it behind that familiar half-smirk. But it was too late. I’d seen it.

‎“See you tomorrow, Katherine.” His voice had roughened. “Try to get some sleep. You look…” He stopped himself, jaw flexing.“ You look exhausted… more than just today”

‎I didn’t answer. I just walked out, his touch still burning on my cheek the entire way home.

‎All the way home—through the taxi ride, over cold dinner, and later in bed—his touch kept burning on my cheek. I pressed my fingers to the same spot and cursed him.

‎I should have shifted back immediately, but I didn’t, and a part of me was glad I didn’t. I hated it. I hated it even more how part of me had leaned into that tiny touch instead of pulling away. And I hated how I’m lying here thinking of if he wanted the same.

‎I turned to my side pulling the bedside drawer open. The book was still there. Heath had done this before, pulling me closer and closer till I became collateral damage. If I was entering into his world, I had to be smart and careful

‎I pulled out the green book opening the first page. Heath’s world had only two things predator and prey, and I refuse to be prey. This was my safety net, if it all went down. This would guarantee, I got in with insider information, before the walls come crumbling down. I opened the book and scribbled impulsively

‎Step one: Make him fall for you.

‎I crossed it out and stared at the book for a long time. No. that was too risky. But it would be worth it— if at the end you're safe, I thought.

‎I wrote it again, adding a comma at the end. This would happen, only if it came to it.

‎Even through this, all the alarms in my brain kept pulling me to six years ago, as if reliving it would make me hate his touch. I tried fighting it; I had promised myself I wouldn’t remember that day, that night too. It was going great for two hours, until I slipped and it finally pulled me under.

‎