CHAPTER 9: The First Week

The next few days were a masterclass in professional torture.

I saw Alexander exactly three times.

Once in the elevator on Tuesday morning. We were alone for seven floors. Neither of us spoke. He stared at his phone. I stared at the floor numbers. When the doors opened, he gestured for me to exit first with a curt "Ms. Martinez."

The second time was Wednesday afternoon. I was in the break room making coffee when he walked in with David Park, his CFO. They were deep in conversation about quarterly projections. Alexander's eyes flicked to me for less than a second before he grabbed a water bottle and left without acknowledging my existence.

The third time was Friday morning in a department-wide meeting. He sat at the head of the table, commanding and professional, while I sat six seats down taking notes. Our eyes never met. He never said my name.

It was like that night had never happened.

Which was exactly what we'd agreed to.

So why did it feel like I was being erased?

"You're doing it again," Claire said, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

I blinked, coming back to the present. We were in the marketing bullpen—an open floor plan with dozens of desks that made privacy impossible. "Doing what?"

"Staring into space with that sad puppy look."

"I don't have a sad puppy look."

"You absolutely do." She perched on the edge of my desk, lowering her voice. "Look, I know the James thing is weird. But you're doing great work. Everyone's impressed with your ideas for the Nakamura campaign."

The Nakamura campaign. Right. Work. The thing I was supposed to be focusing on instead of obsessing over a man I'd slept with once.

"Thanks," I said, trying to inject enthusiasm into my voice.

"Plus, James has been weirdly absent this week. So that's a win."

That was true. After that threatening conversation in Conference Room B, James had been scarce. A few emails about project timelines. One team meeting where he'd been uncharacteristically professional. No private conversations. No loaded comments.

It should have been a relief.

Instead, it felt like the calm before a storm.

"Bella Martinez?"

I looked up to find a woman in her early forties standing by my desk. Professional but warm, with kind eyes behind stylish glasses.

"That's me."

"Dr. Emily Roberts. I'm the company physician." She extended her hand. "I wanted to introduce myself to all the new Martinez employees. Let you know we have a full medical office on the tenth floor. Annual checkups, flu shots, general wellness. My door is always open."

"Oh. Thank you." I shook her hand, noting the strength of her grip. "That's—that's really comprehensive."

"Sterling Corporation takes care of its people." She smiled. "Stop by anytime. Even if you just need someone to talk to. Everything is confidential, of course."

Something about the way she said "confidential" made me think she'd heard things. Seen things. Kept a lot of secrets in this building.

"I will. Thanks, Dr. Roberts."

After she left, Claire leaned over. "She's great. I go to her for everything. Way better than my regular doctor."

"Good to know."

My phone buzzed. A calendar notification.

REMINDER: Dinner at Marcus's - 7 PM

Right. Friday night dinner with my brother. The standing appointment we'd maintained since our parents died. Usually it was just the two of us, but lately he'd been bringing his new girlfriend, Amanda.

I glanced at the clock. 5:47 PM. Most people were already packing up for the weekend. I should do the same.

I was gathering my things when James appeared.

Of course.

"Bella. My office. Now."

Several heads turned. Claire gave me a sympathetic look.

"I was just leaving—"

"This won't take long."

I followed him to his office—smaller than Alexander's but still impressive. Glass walls that gave the illusion of transparency while actually broadcasting every interaction to the entire floor.

James closed the door but left the blinds open. Smart. Nothing inappropriate could happen with forty people watching.

"Sit," he said.

"I'd rather stand. I have plans."

"With who? That hotel mystery man?"

I froze. "Excuse me?"

"Sarah's I*******m story. Last week. You in a hotel lobby early morning, looking thoroughly disheveled. Care to explain?"

Shit. Sarah had posted that? I didn't even remember her taking a photo.

"That's none of your business."

"It is when it affects your work performance." He leaned back in his chair, enjoying this. "You've been distracted all week. Jumpy. And I can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with a certain rebound hookup."

"My personal life has nothing to do with you."

"Doesn't it?" He smiled. "See, here's what I think happened. You were upset about our breakup—understandable, I'm quite a catch. You went to a hotel to wallow. Maybe had too much to drink. Made a poor decision with some random guy."

Every word was designed to diminish me. To make that night—that perfect, beautiful night—sound sordid and meaningless.

"Are we done here?" I asked coldly.

"Almost." He stood, coming around the desk. "I just want to make sure this... mistake... isn't going to be a problem. You can do your job, right? You're not going to fall apart because you're pining for some stranger?"

"I can do my job just fine."

"Good. Because I'd hate to have to report performance issues to my father."

The threat was clear. Step out of line and he'd make my life hell.

"Anything else?"

"Just one thing." He moved closer, lowering his voice even though no one could hear through the glass. "I know you're hiding something, Bella. I don't know what yet. But I will figure it out. I always do."

"There's nothing to figure out."

"We'll see."

I left his office with as much dignity as I could muster. The entire marketing floor had definitely witnessed that conversation. By Monday, there would be rumors.

Gold digger. Sleeping her way up. Couldn't handle the breakup.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the elevator, desperate to escape.

The doors were closing when a hand shot through, forcing them open.

Alexander.

"Going down?" he asked, stepping in.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

We were alone again. Just us and the mirrored walls and the memory of another elevator ride a week ago.

"Rough day?" he asked quietly as the elevator began its descent.

"Is it that obvious?"

"I saw you leave James's office. You looked..." He paused. "Upset."

"I'm fine."

"Bella—"

"Ms. Martinez," I corrected. "And I said I'm fine, Mr. Sterling."

His jaw tightened. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"If he's harassing you—"

"He's not. He's just being James." The elevator passed the twentieth floor. Halfway down. "You don't need to protect me."

"Maybe I want to."

The words hung between us. Dangerous. Loaded with everything we weren't supposed to feel.

"You can't," I said softly. "People will notice. They'll talk."

"Let them."

"Easy for you to say. You're the CEO. I'm the new hire who dated your son. If you show me any favor, they'll assume I'm—" I stopped.

"You're what?"

"That I'm using you. Or that we're—" I couldn't finish the sentence.

"That we're involved," he finished for me.

The elevator dinged. Tenth floor. The doors opened but neither of us moved.

"We're not," I said. "We can't be."

"I know."

But he was looking at me like he didn't know. Like he wanted to forget every rule we'd set and—

The doors started closing. He caught them.

"This is my floor," he said, voice rough. "The medical office. I have a meeting with Dr. Roberts."

"Right. Of course."

He stepped out, then turned back. "Bella—Ms. Martinez. For what it's worth, you're doing excellent work. The Nakamura pitch was brilliant."

He'd read my pitch? When?

"Thank you, sir."

The formality of it seemed to pain him. But he nodded and walked away, leaving me alone in the elevator with my pounding heart and confused feelings.

The ride down to the lobby felt endless.

By the time I made it to Marcus's apartment in Brooklyn, I was emotionally exhausted.

"You look terrible," Amanda said cheerfully, handing me a glass of wine the moment I walked in.

"Thanks. You look great too."

She laughed. Amanda was a pediatrician—warm, funny, perfect for my serious lawyer brother. They'd been dating for six months and I was pretty sure Marcus was going to propose soon.

"Rough week?" Marcus asked from the kitchen where he was cooking pasta.

"You could say that."

"How's the new job?"

Where did I even start? "It's... complicated."

"Complicated how?" He started draining pasta. "The CEO hitting on you or something?"

I choked on my wine.

"Bella?" Amanda patted my back. "You okay?"

"Fine. Wrong pipe."

Marcus gave me a suspicious look but didn't push. We ate dinner on his small balcony, Amanda telling stories about her tiny patients, Marcus complaining about a difficult case. Normal. Easy. Exactly what I needed.

"So," Marcus said as we were clearing dishes. "When do I get to meet your mysterious hotel man?"

I nearly dropped a plate. "What?"

"Sarah may have mentioned something about a very hot rebound hookup." He grinned. "As your big brother, I need to vet this guy. Make sure his intentions are honorable."

"There's nothing to vet. It was one night. I'll never see him again."

The lie tasted bitter.

"That's too bad," Amanda said. "Sarah made him sound perfect."

Perfect. He had been perfect. Which was exactly the problem.

I left Marcus's place around ten, taking the subway back to Sarah's apartment in Manhattan. She was already asleep when I got in, thank God. I wasn't ready for her inevitable questions.

In the guest room that had become my temporary home, I pulled out my laptop and did something I'd been avoiding all week.

I googled "Alexander Sterling."

New articles had been published since I'd last looked. Photos from a charity gala he'd attended Wednesday night. He looked devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo, standing next to an elegant older woman the caption identified as his mother, Catherine Sterling.

There were also older articles. About his wife's death. About his "extended period of mourning." About how he'd "finally returned to the social scene" in the past six months.

One gossip column speculated about whether the eligible widower was dating again.

"Sources close to Sterling say he's been more social lately, attending events he previously avoided. Could love be in the air for the billionaire CEO?"

I closed the laptop before I could read more.

This was torture. Unnecessary torture.

Alexander Sterling wasn't mine. Had never been mine. That one night was a beautiful mistake that I needed to forget.

Even if forgetting felt impossible.

I fell asleep around midnight, dreaming of storm-grey eyes and hands that knew exactly how to touch me and a voice saying "Isabella" like a prayer.

When I woke Saturday morning, I felt off.

Not sick, exactly. Just... wrong.

Probably stress. The week had been emotionally exhausting. My body was reacting to the constant tension of seeing Alexander and pretending I didn't want him. Of dealing with James and his veiled threats. Of starting a new job while feeling like I was walking through a minefield.

I made coffee and settled on the couch with my laptop. Work emails. Nothing urgent but enough to keep me busy.

Sarah emerged from her room around ten, looking concerned.

"You okay? You look pale."

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"You sure? Because you were up twice last night. I heard you in the bathroom."

Was I? I didn't remember that.

"Probably just adjusting to the new job stress," I said.

"Maybe." Sarah didn't look convinced. "When was your last period?"

"I don't know. Three weeks ago? Four? I'm irregular."

"Hmm."

"Don't 'hmm' me."

"I'm not 'hmm'-ing." But she was still looking at me with that concerned doctor-friend expression. "Just... if you start feeling worse, maybe see someone?"

"I will. I promise."

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur of laundry, job searching for my own apartment, and trying not to think about Monday.

By Sunday night, the off feeling was worse. My stomach felt unsettled. My breasts were tender. I was exhausted despite sleeping ten hours.

Stress, I told myself firmly. Just stress.

Monday would be better.

It had to be.