Chapter 5 The Promotion

The next morning, the email went out at 9 AM.

Subject: Leadership Announcement

Please join me in congratulating Nerissa Sullivan on her promotion to Vice President of Strategic Operations...

My inbox exploded within minutes. Congratulations from people who'd never spoken to me. Questions from colleagues. A calendar invite from HR for a "transition meeting."

At 9:15, my phone buzzed. Not a call. A text.

Zane: I heard you're getting promoted. We need to talk. Call me.

I stared at the message. A cold trickle of understanding dripped down my spine.

I heard.

The announcement was 15 minutes old. It was internal. For Astera employees only.

Zane didn't work here. He had no friends here. He wouldn't be on any industry mailing lists that would get this news this fast.

There was only one person who would have seen this email immediately and had a reason to run to tell him. One person with a vested, panicked interest in making him question my sudden rise.

Jovi.

She had eyes here. Someone was feeding her information. An assistant? A friend in HR? The realization turned the office air colder. My promotion wasn't just a career move; it was a move in a game where my opponent had spies in my camp.

I didn't call Zane back.

By 10 AM, the whispers had started. I felt them as I walked to the break room. The looks—some curious, some jealous, some outright hostile.

Maya from accounting cornered me by the coffee machine.

"So, VP," she said, her voice sweet but her eyes sharp. "That was fast. Especially after... everything."

"After what?" I asked, my voice neutral, but my mind was racing. Was it you? Are you Jovi's eyes?

She smiled tightly.

"You know. The rumors. About you and Mr. Blackwood being seen together."

"I work closely with the CEO on the Zenith merger," I said, pouring my coffee. "It's not surprising we'd have meetings."

"Late dinners at the Lexington Club are more than meetings," she murmured before walking away.

My face felt hot, but I kept walking. This was part of the plan. The rumors were the point. But now, every side glance felt like a potential leak. Every tight smile felt like a secret sent to my husband's lover.

At 11 AM, I had to go to HR. Linda, the director, offered me a tight smile.

"Congratulations, Nerissa. This is quite the jump. Usually, we'd have a longer process, but Mr. Blackwood was... insistent."

"Was there a problem?" I asked, watching her carefully. Was she the leak? Did she report to Jovi?

"No, no," she said too quickly, avoiding my eyes. "It's just unusual. But your work on Harrington speaks for itself."

She was lying. There had been problems. Vance had pushed this through. And Linda's discomfort could be professional... or it could be personal loyalty to the CEO's wife.

I signed the papers. The salary number made my head spin.

When I got back to my desk, Vance's assistant was waiting.

"Mr. Blackwood wants to see you in your new office."

"My new office?"

She smiled, and it seemed genuine.

"Follow me."

She led me to the executive floor. To a corner office with a window. Not as big as Vance's, but real. With a door that closed.

Vance was standing inside, looking out the window. He turned when I entered.

For a second, I saw the same look from last night—that brief, unguarded appreciation. Then it was gone, replaced by professional assessment.

"It's yours," he said.

I walked in, closing the door behind me.

"Zane knows about the promotion already."

Vance went still.

"How?"

"He texted me. 'I heard you're getting promoted.' The announcement went out 15 minutes ago. He's an architect. He has no access to our internal memos."

Vance's expression didn't change, but his eyes turned icy.

"Jovienne."

"It has to be. She has someone here. Feeding her information."

He was quiet for a moment, thinking.

"This is useful to know. It means she's scared. And she's trying to use your husband to destabilize you." He looked at me. "Did you reply?"

"No."

"Good. Let her wonder. Let him wonder. Uncertainty is a better weapon than any accusation." He walked toward me, stopping a few feet away. "This changes nothing about your job. Except now you know the walls have ears. Be careful what you say, and to whom."

"I will be."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"The promotion changes things. People will watch you more closely. Every mistake will be magnified. Every success will be questioned."

"I know."

"Good." He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "One more thing. You handled yourself well last night. Better than I expected. The laugh was particularly effective."

He could praise me about it yesterday, but he casually mentioned it just now. He didn't wait for my respond. Then he was gone, closing the door behind him.

I sat in the new chair. It was too big. The office was too quiet. Outside my window, the city spread out like a promise and a threat.

My phone buzzed again.

Zane:Why would Blackwood promote you NOW? What did you do to get this?

The suspicion had curdled into a direct accusation, just as Jovi had intended. I could almost see her, feeding his fears, painting a picture of a transactional, sordid arrangement.

I wrote back, my fingers steady.

Me:My work earned it. Something you'd know if you'd ever paid attention. And tell Jovi her spy network is getting sloppy. The news took a whole 15 minutes to reach you.

I put the phone away. I didn't wait for his reply, or for the panic that message would surely cause in both of them.

I looked around the empty office. It was mine. I had earned it. It was also a new front in a war I hadn't known was being fought on so many levels.

And somewhere in this building, a woman who had been my best friend was watching me through someone else's eyes, trying to pull my strings.

That, more than anything, hardened my resolve.

My intercom buzzed later—Linda from HR.

“Ms. Sullivan, Mr. Blackwood would like you in the main conference room. The Harrington follow-up.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I gathered a fresh notebook, my laptop, and the Harrington file. My hands were steady. The woman in the elevator mirror this morning had looked like she belonged in this office. I was starting to believe her.

Vance was already in the conference room, standing at the head of the table with two other senior directors. He glanced up as I entered.

“Sullivan. You’re on the Harrington board call at three. You’ll lead the data review.”

One of the directors, a man named Chen, shifted in his seat.

“Shouldn’t Finance run the numbers presentation?”

“Sullivan compiled the Scandinavian models. She understands the gaps in our own projections.” Vance’s tone left no room for debate. “She presents.”

The meeting moved on. I took notes. I answered questions when asked. I was professional, capable, invisible in the right ways. After twenty minutes, Vance stood.

“Sullivan, walk with me. I need the Q3 projections from your floor before the call.”

I followed him out. We didn’t speak in the hallway. He led me not toward the file room, but to the executive elevator bank. He swiped his key.

The elevator was empty. The doors closed.

“Chen is nervous,” Vance said, his eyes on the descending floor numbers. “His department’s projections were off by eighteen percent last quarter. He thinks you’re being positioned to replace him.”

The blunt assessment didn’t surprise me. “Am I?”

“That depends on you. The board call today isn’t just about Harrington. It’s about who in this company can talk to tough clients without flinching.” He looked at me. “Can you?”

“Yes.”

The elevator shuddered.

The lights flickered once, then held. The digital display went dark. We were stopped between floors.

Silence, thick and close, filled the small space.

Vance didn’t look surprised. He leaned against the brass railing. “It seems we have a moment.”

“Is this part of the plan?” I asked, my voice low.

“A fortunate malfunction.” His gaze was steady on me. “Now we wait.”

Minutes stretched. The air grew warmer. Closer. I could smell his cologne—something clean and sharp, like winter air. My shoulder brushed his arm as I shifted. I didn’t move away.

“You’re not afraid,” he observed.

“Should I be?”

“Most people dislike confined spaces with their bosses.”

“Most people haven’t already hit rock bottom,” I said quietly. “There’s nothing left to be afraid of.”

He studied me.

“You’re wrong. There’s always further to fall. But you’ve decided not to. That’s what frightens them.”

Them. Zane. Jovi. Chen. The world waiting outside this stuck box.

Another shudder. The lights dipped. In the sudden dimness, I stumbled. My files slipped. His hands shot out—one steadying my arm, the other catching the files. We were close. Chest to chest. My back against the cool wall.

The lights surged back. We were frozen in the pose.

I could see the precise weave of his white dress shirt. The faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. His eyes weren’t cold. They were focused, intent. But something in them shifted as I didn’t pull away.

Time seemed to slow. My heart hammered against my ribs, not with fear, but with a wild, reckless certainty.

Before I could second-guess myself, I moved.

I rose onto my toes, closed the last inch between us, and pressed my lips to the warm skin just above his collar. It wasn’t a kiss of passion. It was a brand. My mouth lingered for a breath against his neck, the edge of my lip catching the starched white cotton.

Then I stepped back.

The world rushed back in with a roar of static. What had I just done? This wasn't in the plan. This was the kind of desperate, possessive marking Jovi would do. The taste of his skin—clean cotton and salt—was on my lips like an accusation.

For a long, silent moment, Vance didn’t move. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable. His eyes were wide, his breathing slightly uneven. He looked…stunned. Not angry. Not calculating. Truly, visibly thrown.