Chapter 7 – Rumors and Firelight

Monday morning arrived with sharp corners.

Evelyn stepped into the office, already feeling the shift in the air. The usual greetings from colleagues were stilted. Conversations paused when she walked by. In the elevator, someone cleared their throat pointedly and glanced at the ceiling instead of meeting her eyes.

By the time she reached her new workspace a corner desk outside the executive suite and the tension was undeniable.

Her email inbox confirmed it: vague memos, icy replies, people cc'ing Alexander unnecessarily, as if to remind her of the imbalance now looming over every interaction.

She kept her head down and worked, tuning out the noise. But when Natalie buzzed in just after noon, her voice was thinner than usual.

"Mr. Drake wants to see you."

Evelyn stood, palms damp, heart already anticipating another intense conversation. She stepped into his office, and the door whispered shut behind her.

Alexander sat by the window, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reading glasses in hand.

"You've seen it, haven't you?" he asked, not looking up.

"If you mean the memo with five unnecessary approvals for my media plan, then yes."

He gave a short laugh, humorless.

"They're testing you. Seeing how far the lines bend."

"I didn't ask for this much attention," she said quietly. "I was fine in the background."

He looked at her then. "No, you weren't."

Evelyn met his gaze. "You know what people are saying."

"I do. But I also know it doesn't matter unless we let it."

She hesitated, the silence stretching between them.

"But does it matter to you?" she asked finally. "That they think I'm here because of… something else?"

He stood and walked toward her, slow and deliberate. When he stopped just in front of her, his voice dropped to a near whisper.

"If I cared what people thought of me, I'd never have built this company."

Evelyn's breath caught. The room felt too still. Too warm.

Alexander stepped back. "You're smart, Evelyn. But smart won't protect you from envy. Only clarity will."

She nodded, absorbing the weight of his words.

Then, as if a switch had flipped, he turned brisk. "We're hosting clients tonight. I want you there."

"At the dinner?"

"At the firehouse loft downtown. Private setting. Small group. You'll learn more than in a dozen boardroom briefings."

Evelyn didn't know what to say. It wasn't exactly an invitation. It was something closer to an initiation.

She nodded.

The firehouse loft wasn't listed on any internal directory. When Evelyn arrived, a sleek black car waited at the curb. A driver opened the door without a word and handed her a keycard.

Inside, the space unfolded like a secret. High ceilings with exposed beams, iron staircases, a fireplace already glowing with amber light. It smelled faintly of woodsmoke and old leather.

Soft music played, and a tray of hors d'oeuvres rested on a long walnut table. Three executives from partner companies chatted near the bar. Alexander stood beside them, perfectly at ease.

He noticed her the moment she entered.

He crossed the room and greeted her without fanfare. "Good. You came."

"You didn't really give me a choice," she replied, lips quirking.

"I didn't hear you say no."

He offered her a glass of wine and motioned toward a corner near the fire.

As the evening unfolded, Evelyn found herself drawn into the rhythm of quiet strategy. This wasn't a party - it was a negotiation disguised as a casual dinner. The conversations were careful, the laughs calculated. Alexander moved between groups like a conductor, letting the evening swell and settle.

But as the night wore on, he returned to her side more and more.

At one point, he leaned in as she finished a well-timed insight on brand integration.

"You're good at this," he murmured.

She looked at him, firelight flickering in his eyes. "You sound surprised."

"I'm not. I'm interested."

Her heart stuttered.

Later, when the guests had gone and the fire had softened to embers, Evelyn helped him stack empty glasses into the kitchen sink.

"You do realize people will assume this means something," she said quietly.

He looked over, expression unreadable. "And if it does?"

Evelyn turned toward the window, the city below sparkling like a secret.

Then she said the most dangerous thing of all.

"Then I don't want to stop."

He was at her side a moment later, his hand brushing hers in a fleeting, deliberate touch. He didn't kiss her. He didn't speak.

But everything about that moment was an unspoken promise.

And a warning.

Whatever this was, whatever it would become, it was no longer deniable.