Chapter Seven

ELENA 

By noon, I’ve already made three enemies.

The first one shows up at 9:30. Marcus. He steps into my office like he’s entering a crime scene.

“Fifty thousand dollars is a significant investment, Ms. Martinez,” he says, voice sharp enough to slice paper. “Mr. Blackwood may enjoy gambling on untested strategies, but every dollar you spend comes out of the company’s bottom line. Which I’m responsible for.”

I keep typing. “Then you’ll be thrilled when that bottom line increases by fifteen percent.”

He blinks once. “Should be. We’ll see if I am.”

He leaves like he’s rehearsing my termination speech.

The second enemy arrives at 10:15.

Brian Chen. Traditional marketing. Fifteen years of experience and the ego to match.

He gives me a smile that’s all teeth. “Elena. May I call you Elena?”

“Ms. Martinez is fine.”

His smile twitches. “Of course. I came to welcome you. Offer guidance. Social campaigns have a learning curve. Missteps can reflect badly on you.”

Translation: he’s waiting for me to fall so he can swoop in and look like a hero.

“I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

He waits for me to soften. I don’t. He leaves.

Enemy number three walks in at 11:00 sharp.

Claire Harrison. Damien’s executive assistant. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect ability to make you feel like you’re trespassing.

She doesn’t knock. Just appears.

“Mr. Blackwood needs your campaign timeline by end of day.”

“I’ll send it by three.”

“He also needs to approve all expenditures above five thousand dollars. Personally.”

“That wasn’t mentioned.”

“It’s policy for new department heads during probation.” Her smile is thin. “Mr. Blackwood is careful about who he trusts.”

The word trusts stings.

“I’ll send approvals through you?”

“Through me. I handle all of Mr. Blackwood’s communications.” She pauses. “All of them. Professional and otherwise.”

So she’s territorial. Maybe even protective. Maybe more.

“Understood.”

She turns, then glances back. “A word of advice. Women who get special treatment from Mr. Blackwood don’t last long. He has high standards. Little patience for disappointment.”

She leaves before I can speak.

Three enemies. Three hours. A new record.

My phone buzzes.

Sophia: Escaping now. Lobby café?

I need air. And food. And maybe therapy.

I head downstairs.

The café is packed but Sophia has a corner table. Two salads wait for me.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I say.

“You’re a celebrity,” she replies. “The ninth floor is buzzing.”

“Let me guess—unqualified, arrogant, sleeping with the boss.”

She chokes. “What? No. Well—maybe the first two. But wait, are you sleeping with Blackwood?”

“No.” Too fast. Too sharp.

Her eyes narrow. “Something happened.”

“Soph—”

“We’ve been friends for seven years. I know when you lie. Spill.”

I stare at the table. I should deny it. But she’s my person.

“If I tell you, it stays here.”

“Of course.”

I exhale. “We met before the interview. The night before. At a hotel bar.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh my God.”

“We didn’t exchange names. It was one night. Just an escape.”

“And then you walked into the interview.”

“Yeah.”

“You should’ve filmed his face.”

“I wish I hadn’t seen it.”

“And he still hired you.”

“Eventually.”

She sits back. Shocked. Processing.

“This is… complicated.”

“I know.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“No. Just him. And you.”

She thinks for a moment. “Okay. Then you have to be flawless. No mistakes. No room for accusations.”

“That’s the plan.”

“And you need to stay away from him. No late-night meetings. No privacy. Nothing that can look like—”

“He called me to his office after the executive meeting.”

“Elena!”

“It was work-related.”

She groans. “This man is going to ruin you.”

“He’s the CEO. He can’t get ruined.”

“He can ruin you. And if the board finds out…” She shakes her head. “You need to be careful.”

“I know.”

“Marcus already doesn’t trust you.”

“I know.”

“So what do you do?”

“My job. Perfectly.”

She nods, squeezes my hand. “But think about whether this job is worth the risk.”

“It’s my dream job.”

“And dreams get messy.”

She hesitates, then asks, “Was the night with him… good?”

Despite myself, I smile. “It was perfect.”

She groans. “Of course it was. Why are the complicated ones always the best?”

“Personal experience?” I ask.

“Absolutely.” Her grin softens the tension.

My phone buzzes again.

Email from Damien:

Ms. Martinez,

I need your preliminary timeline by 3 PM. Also schedule a meeting tomorrow at 7 AM. Just the two of us—I want to understand your approach before presenting to the broader team.

DB

I show Sophia.

“Seven AM? Alone?”

“It’s work.”

“Is it though?”

I read it again. Just the two of us. He could’ve included anyone. He didn’t.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Professional. Straight to the point.”

“Mhm. And when he looks at you with those stupid blue eyes?”

“What look?”

“The look that says you’re the only person he sees.” She leans in. “He has never looked at anyone that way.”

My heart trips. “You’re imagining it.”

“Marcus noticed too. That’s why he’s suspicious.”

Great.

“I’ll be careful. In and out. No lines crossed.”

“Can you really keep this business-only?”

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know.

Sophia sighs. “Be honest. Are you over him?”

“I was never under him.” I pause. “Well. Technically—”

“Oh my God, shut up.” She laughs.

It feels good to laugh. To not pretend.

But the email sits heavy in my chest.

Tomorrow. Seven AM. Alone with him.

We eat in silence until Sophia says quietly, “I don’t want you hurt.”

“I won’t be.”

Another lie.

Because I am already hurt. Already invested. Already falling for a man who says the night we shared was a mistake—yet looks at me like it wasn’t.

But I’m stubborn. And I refuse to lose everything I’ve worked for.

So tomorrow, I’ll walk into his office.

Professional. Calm. Unaffected.

I’ll present my campaign.

I’ll pretend my heart doesn’t jump every time he’s near.

I’ll ignore the part of me still replaying that night over and over.

Because this job comes first.

It has to.

Even if I’m already in over my head.

Starting now.