Chapter Eleven

ELENA

The champagne cork pops and Rachel cheers so loud half the floor looks over.

“To Elena!” she yells, glass in the air. “Proof that the craziest ideas sometimes win!”

Everyone joins her. Even Marcus lifts his glass, though he looks like the champagne might be poison.

I smile. Say thank you. Act normal. Try not to notice Damien watching me from across the room, that look that makes my skin feel hot and too tight.

Two weeks. We agreed on two weeks of distance.

We can survive two weeks.

“Speech!” David shouts.

“Oh no—”

“Speech! Speech!” The chant grows.

I set my glass down, inhale slowly. Try to find words that are not: I’m falling for our CEO and it scares me.

“I just want to thank everyone for trusting me. I know my ideas were… different. But this campaign worked because of this team. David’s creativity. Lisa’s numbers. Rachel’s coordination. All of you.”

Applause. Real smiles. For the first time since I started here, I feel like I belong.

“And thank you to Mr. Blackwood,” I add, voice steady, “for letting me try something new.”

Damien’s eyes find mine. Hold too long. Sophia sees it. Raises a brow.

I look away. “So yeah… thank you. Let’s see what week two brings.”

More applause. The party rolls on. I talk numbers and future campaigns and someone asks if I’ll consult on their product launch.

This is everything I wanted. Recognition. Respect. Proof I earned this.

So why does it feel empty when I can’t share the moment with the person I want to rush to first?

“You’re not drinking that.”

Marcus appears, half-finished champagne in hand.

“Not much of a drinker,” I say.

“Smart. Alcohol clouds judgment.” He pauses. “I owe you an apology.”

“You already apologized this morning.”

“That was professional. This is personal.” His eyes meet mine. “I thought Damien hired you for reasons that weren’t… qualifications. I was wrong.”

My stomach flips. “What made you think that?”

“In fifteen years working with him, I’ve never seen him hire someone so quickly. Or defend the decision so fiercely. It made me wonder.”

“And now?”

“Now I think he saw what the rest of us missed. A mind this company needs.” He sips. “Just don’t make me regret changing my mind.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. Because I’m recommending you for a permanent role. With a raise.”

I should be jumping. Screaming. Instead my heart sinks.

If he already suspected something before… what happens when he learns the truth?

“Thank you,” I say. “That means a lot.”

He nods and moves away. I down my champagne in one go.

“Easy there, rockstar.”

Sophia appears with water. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“Marcus offered me a permanent position.”

“That’s incredible! So why do you look sick?”

“Because he said he was suspicious about why Damien hired me. If he finds out—”

“He won’t. You earned this. The results prove it.” She lowers her voice. “But you need to be careful. He was staring at you during that speech like—yeah. Not subtle.”

“We haven’t—”

“I know you haven’t. But you want to. He wants to. And everyone with eyeballs knows it.”

“Two more weeks,” I say. “We just have to survive two more weeks.”

“Two weeks is a long time when you’re in denial,” she mutters.

Sophia’s eyes suddenly widen behind me. “Incoming.”

I turn.

Claire Harrison. Stone-cold expression. Coming straight for us.

“Ms. Martinez. Congratulations.” The words sound like a threat. “Mr. Blackwood would like to see you in his office.”

My heart stops. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.” A thin smile. “Alone.”

Sophia grips my arm the second Claire walks away.

“Do not go alone. Not tonight. Not with half the company already whispering.”

“He’s my boss,” I say weakly.

“He is your boss who you kissed on a rooftop. Bad idea.”

She’s right. I know she’s right.

But I go anyway.

“In and out,” I tell her. “Five minutes.”

“Famous last words,” she says.

The executive floor is quiet. Just computers humming and city lights against glass.

His door is open. He’s working, tie gone, sleeves rolled up.

I knock.

“Close the door,” he says.

Every alarm inside me screams.

But I close it.

“You wanted to see me?”

He leaves the desk. Leans back against it. “How are you holding up?”

“Good. The team’s happy.”

“They should be. Marcus is impressed. The board loves the numbers.” His gaze warms. “You should be celebrating.”

“I was. At the party. That you dragged me away from.”

“Because watching you celebrate with everyone except me was driving me insane.”

His honesty pulls the air from my lungs. “Damien—”

“I know. Two weeks. Professional distance.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But when you were speaking up there… do you know what I wanted to do?”

“No.”

“Kiss you. In front of everyone. Tell them you’re—” He stops, jaw tight.

“I’m what?”

“Mine.” The word is rough. Dangerous. “Which is stupid because you’re not. I don’t own you. And we haven’t even defined… whatever this is.”

I should be angry.

Instead, I step closer. “What if I want to be?”

His eyes darken. “Don’t say that when I’m trying to behave.”

“You asked me up here.”

“Because I needed to see you. Alone.” He exhales. “And because I have something for you.”

He reaches behind him. Hands me a small wrapped box.

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

Inside: a vintage fountain pen. Elegant. Expensive. Professional.

But engraved: For E. Because you were right. -DB

My chest aches. “Damien…”

“I can’t give you what I want—not yet. I can’t take you to dinner or hold your hand or tell everyone that you are the most brilliant and infuriating woman I’ve ever met.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “But I can give you this. Something professional. With a message only you’ll understand.”

“It’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” he says.

“I’m not.”

“You are to me.”

The words hang heavy between us.

“We should go back,” I whisper. “Before people notice.”

“I know.”

Neither of us moves.

“Elena.” My name is a prayer. “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks,” I echo.

We are both lying. Two weeks feels impossible.

His phone rings. He ignores it.

Rings again.

“You should answer,” I say.

He checks the screen. Groans. “The board chair. I have to.”

“I’ll go first. Separate. Smart, right?”

A tiny smile. “One of us is.”

He pauses. “For the record? I’m glad it was you.”

“What was me?”

“That night in the bar. If someone had to wreck my life, I’m glad it was you.”

Before I can answer, he picks up the call, voice instantly cold and businesslike.

I slip out. Take the stairs. Count to one hundred.

Back in the party, Sophia is waiting.

“Well?” she asks.

“Professional talk about the campaign.”

“Mhm. And the invisible hickey on your neck?”

My hand flies up. “What? Where—”

She laughs. “Got you. But your face says everything.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me. Now tell me. Or I’ll ask him.”

I drag her into the hallway.

I show her the pen.

She reads the engraving and her shoulders drop.

“Oh, honey. You’re in so deep.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t just flirting anymore. This is—”

“Don’t.”

“This is love.”

“Sophia—”

“You’re falling for him. And he’s falling for you.”

The truth lands in me like a quiet, scary yes.

“It’s too fast. Too risky. Too—”

“Too late,” she says softly.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Survive probation. Prove you deserve the job. Then…” She shrugs.

“Then see if I can have him and the career.”

“People do,” she says. “But not when the man is your boss. Not with this power imbalance. Not with Claire and Marcus staring like snipers.”

“I earned this. They can’t take that from me.”

“They will try,” she warns. “If they find out before probation ends, the morality clause—”

“I’ll be fired.” I finish the sentence. “I know.”

“Can you really stay away from him for two weeks?”

I don’t answer.

But we both know the answer is no.

We return to the party. More congratulations. More champagne. Fake smiles.

Across the room, Damien watches me.

Our eyes meet. Hold.

Two weeks, his look says.

Two weeks, mine whispers back.

The longest two weeks of my life.

Starting now.