Avery arrived a few minutes later than usual on the seventh morning, delayed by a bus that crawled through traffic as if the entire city had decided to move slowly. She hurried through the lobby, crossed the security gates, and reached the 14th floor trying not to look out of breath.

Her desk greeted her the moment she turned the corner.

The lunch bag was already there.

Even before she fully approached, she recognized the familiar clean fold of the paper, the way the string was tied, the small printed label with her name. It wasn’t even close to noon.

She swallowed.

Someone had delivered it early. Earlier than any previous day.

She placed her bag down, smoothing her palms on her skirt. Her heart was doing that uncomfortable-but-not-exactly-unpleasant thing—a flutter that felt like pressure and warmth fighting for space.

Jenna passed by and paused. “Early delivery today.”

“Maybe their timing changed,” Avery tried.

Jenna lifted a brow. “Maybe.”

But the tone implied something else—something Avery pretended not to hear.

She pushed herself into her seat and opened her laptop, forcing her mind toward numbers and reports. She managed it for about nine minutes before her focus collapsed again.

The early delivery felt… intentional. Though she had no proof. And she refused to assume anything that would make her look foolish later.

Halfway through the morning, Jenna walked over with a file in hand.

“Collins, Reed’s office asked for the Q4 expense summary. They want it by noon.”

Avery froze. “Reed’s office? As in—”

“As in Reed,” Jenna said, tone dry. “Yes. You’re on his radar lately. Don’t ask me why.”

Avery’s stomach tightened. Her heartbeat dropped straight into her shoes. She took the file with both hands, hoping her palms weren’t visibly trembling.

“Understood. I’ll prioritize it.”

“Good.” Jenna lowered her voice just slightly. “And Collins—don’t overthink it. Just do the work.”

That advice was impossible to follow, but Avery nodded anyway.

She worked through the summary with the kind of focus she usually only had after three cups of coffee. Numbers made sense. Numbers didn’t ask questions. Numbers didn’t look at her like Alexander had looked at her yesterday, as if he was holding back something he wouldn’t say aloud.

At 11:47, she printed the report, checked every page, and slipped it into a folder. She took the elevator alone to the 39th floor, smoothing her blouse, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, forcing her expression neutral.

The hallway outside the CEO’s office was silent in its usual, expensive way. She approached the assistant’s desk—only to find it empty.

No assistant.

She looked toward his door. Closed, but the light under it was on.

She hesitated. Knock or wait?

Before she could decide, the door opened from the inside.

Alexander stepped out.

Not in a suit jacket this time—just a white shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to the forearms. The simplicity made him look sharper, almost too present for the quiet hall.

His eyes met hers immediately.

“Avery.”

Her name left his mouth differently this time. Softer. No title, no last name, no formality to hide behind.

Her breath caught. “Sir—I mean, good morning.”

He glanced at the folder in her hands. “The summary?”

“Yes.” She offered it, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

He took it from her, brushing her fingers lightly by accident. Or maybe the hallway air just shifted. She couldn’t tell.

His attention lowered to the folder, then lifted back to her. Longer this time.

“You came up yourself,” he said.

“Well… there was no one at the desk. I wasn’t sure if I should wait.”

“You did the right thing.”

A pause stretched between them—not awkward, not empty. Just… charged.

He looked like he wanted to say something else again, the same way he had yesterday. His jaw tightened slightly, then eased.

“You adjusted the expense categories,” he said. “It’s cleaner.”

“I thought it would make the comparisons more accurate.”

“It does.” A faint nod. “Good work.”

Her pulse warmed at the praise, too fast, too obvious. She hoped he couldn’t hear it.

Another pause. She wished he would either step back or say something, because the silence was starting to feel too full.

He stepped aside instead. “Walk with me.”

“Oh—where?”

“Just the analysis room.”

She followed him down the quiet corridor. Their footsteps echoed softly on the polished floor. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to—his presence was a kind of weight she felt without looking directly at him.

Inside the analysis room, he placed the folder on the desk and flipped through the pages. She stood a respectful distance behind him. Or tried to. The room wasn’t large, and every movement seemed amplified.

“You did all of this this morning?” he asked.

“Yes.”

A beat.

“That’s fast.”

“I wanted it accurate.”

“That’s more important,” he said.

Something in his tone—steady, sincere—hit her deeper than she expected.

He closed the folder and turned toward her fully. She wasn’t prepared for the closeness. The distance was professional, technically, but it felt thinner than it should.

“Collins,” he said quietly.

Her breath tightened. “Sir?”

“You’re doing well.”

Four simple words. But from him, they landed like something heavy.

And maybe she should’ve just thanked him. Maybe she should’ve looked away. But she couldn’t move.

His gaze held hers, steady, unreadable but intent. Like he was trying to decide something in real time.

A soft knock hit the door.

They both straightened instantly.

A junior assistant poked his head in. “Mr. Reed, your 12:15 call—”

“I’ll be there,” Alexander said without looking away from Avery. Then he added, “In a moment.”

The assistant nodded and vanished.

Avery stepped back first, putting a safer distance between them. She felt her heartbeat in her throat.

“I should… get back to the 14th floor.”

He nodded once. Controlled. “Send the digital file when you return.”

“I will.”

She turned, reaching for the door.

“Avery.”

Her hand froze on the handle.

He hadn’t called her that since she arrived on the floor. Once at the door. Once now.

She turned slightly.

He didn’t speak right away. His eyes held something—careful, restrained, but warm enough to unsettle every assumption she had about him.

Then his expression settled back into its usual calm.

“Thank you,” he said.

Not formal. Not required. Just… sincere.

She managed a soft, “You’re welcome,” and left before her chest gave away anything.

The elevator doors closed around her, and she let out the breath she’d been holding.

The lines between them were still there. Still intact.

But something had shifted.

Whether it was him, or her, or the air between them—

—she couldn’t pretend not to feel it anymore.