Chapter Twelve

ELENA

Week two did not knock politely. It barged in with disaster.

I reach my floor and stop cold.

My office door is open. Lights on.

Marcus Vale is sitting in my chair like he owns me along with the room. Papers everywhere. My papers.

“Mr. Vale?” My voice catches in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even bother to glance up. “Routine audit. Two-week internal review for all new department heads.”

“No one mentioned an audit to me.”

“It’s in your contract.” He flips a page like he can’t be bothered to care. “Section twelve. Subsection four.”

He pulls out a folder. My influencer contracts.

“These payments. Explain them.”

My stomach dips. “Those are all approved partnerships. Every contract went through review—”

“You submitted them to Claire,” he snaps. “Who signed off on Mr. Blackwood’s behalf.”

Now he looks at me. Eyes icy, sharp. “Convenient, isn’t it? The person signing your expenditures is the one with direct access to the CEO.”

The accusation hits harder than a slap.

“Are you implying—”

“I imply nothing.” He stands, gathers the files like a verdict. “I audit. That’s the difference.”

He heads for the door. “I want every communication tied to these partnerships. Emails. Contracts. Payment schedules. Everything. On my desk by noon.”

“That’s confidential campaign strategy—”

“That is company property purchased with company funds.” His tone turns surgical. “And I, as CFO, can review anything I see fit.” He pauses at the doorway. “Don’t be late.”

When he’s gone, I fall into my chair. My hands won’t stop shaking.

This isn’t a review.

He wants something. Any excuse to prove I don’t deserve the air I’m breathing in this office.

My phone buzzes.

Damien: My office. Now.

Of course.

I grab my tablet, inhale once, and head upstairs into the lion’s den.

His blinds are closed. That’s never good.

I knock. “You wanted to see me?”

“Close the door.”

I do. He’s pacing, jaw tight, phone clenched like it personally offended him.

“Marcus called me,” he says. “He’s auditing your department.”

“He was in my office this morning. Digging.” My pulse won’t calm. “He’s looking for impropriety.”

Damien curses under his breath. Fingers rake through his hair. “He suspects something.”

“You think?”

“I don’t know.” He stops, palms flat on his desk. “He asked questions. Why I interviewed you personally. Why HR wasn’t involved.” His eyes lift to mine. “He’s trying to connect dots.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That your résumé demanded executive attention.” His jaw flexes. “But he didn’t buy it.”

“So what do we do?”

“You give him everything he wants. Loudly. Proudly. Perfectly.”

His steps carry him closer. “Your work is legitimate. We just need to make sure it looks undeniable.”

“It already is.”

“I know.” He swallows. “But he doesn’t. Not yet. He sees you as someone who got close to me too fast. Someone I’m… protecting.”

He hesitates on that word.

“He sees a pattern,” he continues quietly, “and he’s trying to name it.”

A heavy knot settles between my ribs. “We’ve been too obvious.”

“Maybe. Or he’s just thorough.” His voice lowers. “Either way, we need to be careful.”

I laugh without humor. “More careful than barely speaking? More careful than pretending we’re strangers in elevators?”

Heat touches my cheeks. “We haven’t even been alone except—”

His silence answers for us both.

“In your office,” I finish. “Multiple times. Claire notices everything.”

“And Marcus listens.” Damien exhales. “I did this wrong. Should’ve brought more people into meetings. Should’ve—”

“Should’ve what? Ignored me? Pretended you didn’t think I was qualified?”

“Should’ve protected you.” His voice is soft and furious at himself. “Because if he finds a crack, he’ll go after both of us. Hard.”

That fear—real fear—in Damien Blackwood’s eyes?

It’s new. It’s terrifying.

“What aren’t you saying?”

He hesitates. Then:

“The board has a morality clause. Executives and subordinates must disclose any relationship within two weeks of… inception. If we don’t, termination. Both sides.”

Two weeks. Like a gun clicking.

“When did the clock start?” I whisper.

“The day you signed.”

He does the math. “Twelve days ago.”

“So two days left.”

“Two days,” he echoes.

“And Marcus is already sniffing around.”

“That leaves us with one question.” He steps closer. Shadows move with him. “What is this? What are we risking?”

The question that’s been haunting my sleep.

“What do you want it to be?” I ask.

He closes his eyes, like the answer hurts.

“I want to take you out to dinner. Want people to know you’re someone I… care about. Not just a name on payroll.” His voice dips. “I want everything we tried to pretend wasn’t real.”

“But?” I whisper.

“But I want you to keep this job.” His throat moves on a swallow. “I want your success to be yours.”

“We’re not—sleeping together.”

“Not yet.” His gaze is heat. “But we know where this is going. And if we cross that line, we need to have disclosed first.”

The truth chills my spine.

Disclosure means scandal. Gossip. Whispering behind doors I haven’t even earned yet.

“So we wait,” I say. “Let Marcus finish his power trip. Let me prove my worth. Then disclose after probation.”

“That’s eight days. Deadline is two.”

“Then we lie.”

His eyes flash. “What?”

“There’s nothing to disclose. We kissed. Twice. That’s… gravity. Not a relationship.” My voice drops. “Not yet.”

“Elena, if they find out we lied—”

“How would they? No one knows but Sophia.” I cling to that. “She won’t say anything.”

“Claire will. Marcus will. They already smell blood.” He steps so close my breath stutters. “I cannot let you risk everything for me.”

“Isn’t that my decision?”

“No.” His voice breaks on something rough. “Not when I’m the reason you’re in danger.”

My phone buzzes.

Marcus again: Files. Noon. Don’t forget.

Reality slams down.

“I have four hours to prove my innocence,” I breathe. “I need to go.”

“I’ll extend—”

“No.” I back toward the door. “That’s exactly what he wants. More leverage.”

“Elena—”

“What?” I turn. His expression is carved with words he won’t say.

“Be careful,” he manages.

I leave before I can shatter.

The rest of the morning is war.

Print. Compile. Sort. Triple-check.

Sophia appears at 11:30, coffee in hand, worry in her eyes.

“I heard about the audit,” she whispers. “Scale of one to ten?”

“Ten,” I say. “He wants a body.”

“And are you… clean?”

“My work is.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Her brow lifts.

I swallow. “There’s nothing documented.”

“Elena.” She sighs. “ ‘Nothing documented’ isn’t the same as ‘nothing happened.’ ”

I know. God, I know.

11:55.

I march into Marcus’s office with a box heavier than my heartbeat.

“Everything,” I say. “Chronological. Cross-referenced. Projected ROI beside actual returns.”

He digs through like a vulture.

“You’re thorough,” he admits finally.

“It’s my job.”

“Yes. Your job.” He fixes me with a knowing look. “Tell me—did your previous roles involve such… direct interaction with the CEO?”

There it is. The dagger.

“No.” My voice is calm, even if my pulse is chaos. “But I wasn’t leading campaigns of this scale either.”

“And Mr. Blackwood being… hands-on with your work. Is that standard?”

“I can’t speak for what’s standard,” I answer. “It’s been two weeks.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs. “Two weeks. And already so… elevated.”

“I earned my place.”

He smiles without warmth. “I’m sure hard work isn’t the only reason.”

My fists clench.

“If you have an accusation, make it.”

“I don’t accuse without evidence.” He closes a file. “I’ll finish the audit by week’s end. If everything passes, you go permanent. If not—”

“It will pass,” I say. “Because there’s nothing wrong.”

“We’ll see.”

I walk out with my head high and my stomach in open free-fall.

Back in my office, my desk isn’t empty anymore.

A plain envelope waits. No name.

Inside are printed timestamps. Screenshots.

Me entering the executive floor after hours.

Leaving Damien’s office late.

Again.

And again.

A typed note:

Two weeks to disclose. Clock’s ticking.

My fingers go numb.

Someone is watching us.

Someone wants us caught.

I text Damien:

We need to talk. Tonight. Not here.

His reply hits instantly:

My place. 8 PM.

Address incoming.

This is reckless.

It’s also the only plan left.