Avery arrived early on the tenth morning—not accidentally early, not because traffic ran smoothly, but because she couldn’t sleep past sunrise. The air felt unusually crisp for Riverton City, the kind of morning that hinted at changing seasons. She held her coffee tighter than usual as she crossed the lobby, trying to ground herself in the familiar warmth.

She wasn’t nervous. At least that wasn’t the word she would allow herself to use. It was something softer, quieter. A sense of waiting that sat below her thoughts, like an undercurrent she kept pretending she couldn’t feel.

When she reached the 14th floor, the office was still half asleep. Only a handful of early starters sat at their desks. The lights above her section were dimmed to their automatic morning setting, making the floor feel gentler than usual.

She rounded the corner.

The lunch bag was already there.

Not just placed—centered. As if someone had made sure it sat exactly where she would look first.

Her breath caught, unprepared for the tiny, private relief blooming in her chest.

She sat down slowly. The bag looked crisp, newly packed, undisturbed. She hesitated before touching it, almost as if acknowledging it too quickly might reveal something she wasn’t ready to name. But she brushed the top lightly anyway, feeling the familiar fold beneath her fingertips.

Jenna arrived five minutes later, coat half-on, hair slightly windswept.

“You beat me today,” she said.

“I woke up early,” Avery replied.

Jenna’s gaze flicked to the lunch bag. “Of course you did.”

Avery chose not to respond to that.

The morning passed in a steady rhythm—emails, budget drafts, a revised report from the procurement team. Avery found herself checking the clock more often than she wanted to admit, not because she was waiting for something specific, but because her thoughts had developed a pattern she could no longer ignore.

Every day this week, she had been called upstairs.

Would it happen again?

Should she hope for it?

By ten-thirty, she was reviewing a spreadsheet when a shadow passed across her desk. She looked up.

It wasn’t a junior staff member.

It was Jenna.

“Reed wants the updated variance sheet,” she said, tapping a finger on the edge of Avery’s desk. “Wants it in person.”

Avery blinked. “In… person?”

“That’s what they said,” Jenna replied with a shrug. “Analysis room.”

Avery’s heartbeat stuttered so visibly she hoped it wasn’t obvious.

She printed the sheets, checked them twice, then headed to the elevator. The ride felt longer today, as if the elevator sensed the anticipation she wasn’t willing to admit aloud.

The 39th floor opened into its usual quiet—polished floors, controlled air, a stillness that seemed to recognize her by now.

The analysis room door was slightly ajar.

She knocked softly and stepped inside.

Alexander was alone this time. No directors, no assistants, no tension from a table full of high-level staff—just him, standing at the table with his jacket off, sleeves rolled to the elbows, posture precise but somehow relaxed.

His head lifted immediately when he heard her.

“Avery.”

Her name again—steady, familiar, always catching her off guard.

“I have the variance sheet,” she said, holding the folder a little too carefully.

“Come in,” he said, gesturing her closer.

She approached the table and handed it to him. He didn’t take it right away. Instead, his eyes met hers for a moment longer than she expected.

Then he accepted the folder, flipping through the pages. “You adjusted the threshold.”

“Yes. It seemed misleading otherwise.”

“It was,” he said. “Good.”

Avery nodded, clasping her hands lightly in front of her. She couldn’t tell if the air felt tight or if it was just the way he occupied space—quietly dominant, a gravity she didn’t know how to resist.

He closed the folder. “You’ve been consistent.”

She blinked. “Consistent?”

“Accurate. Thorough.” His gaze flicked toward her again. “Reliable.”

Heat crept slowly up her neck. Reliable wasn’t a dramatic word, but coming from him, it carried weight she wasn’t prepared for.

He continued, calmer than she felt. “Consistency is rare. I notice it.”

Her breath caught. “I’m… glad it’s helpful.”

“It is.”

Silence followed—not awkward, just full. Full of the things neither of them seemed willing to say first.

Then he spoke again, voice quieter. “How’s the workload? Manageable?”

“Yes.”

“And the review preparation? Any issues?”

“No.”

“If you find yourself struggling with—”

“I won’t bother you,” she blurted.

The words spilled too fast. Immediately, she regretted them.

His brows lowered slightly—not with irritation, but with a kind of quiet concern.

“You wouldn’t be bothering me.”

She swallowed. “I just don’t want to seem—demanding.”

“You aren’t,” he said, firm without being sharp. “If anything, you handle too much alone.”

Her eyes lowered. “I’m used to it.”

He paused, as if the words unsettled him more than he let show.

“You don’t have to be,” he said. “Not here.”

The sentence hung between them like a line drawn from his side of the room to hers. A line she wasn’t sure how to cross, even if part of her wanted to.

Before she could answer, a knock hit the open door.

A young assistant poked his head in. “Mr. Reed, the call with Zurich is—oh. Sorry. I didn’t see—”

Alexander’s tone shifted immediately. “I’ll be there in three minutes.”

The assistant nodded and disappeared.

Avery stepped back. “I should get out of your way.”

His eyes returned to hers. “You’re not in the way.”

Her breath caught, a tightness under her ribs. He looked at her for a moment that felt weighted—like something he wasn’t saying pressed against the back of his throat.

Then he lowered his gaze to the folder. “Send me the digital copy.”

“I will.”

She reached the door. Her hand touched the frame when she heard him speak again.

“Avery.”

She turned.

He said nothing for a few seconds. Just looked—steady, certain, like he was memorizing the moment before deciding what to say.

Then, soft but unmistakably sincere:

“You’re doing well.”

Her chest tightened. “Thank you.”

He nodded once, then turned back to the desk, slipping into CEO mode so smoothly she almost wondered if the last few minutes had happened at all.

Avery took the elevator back down, heart beating unevenly all the way to the 14th floor.

At her desk, she stared at her computer screen without seeing anything. The world around her moved normally—phones ringing, keyboards tapping, printers humming—but none of it reached her.

Because beneath the routine, beneath the quiet habits of the past week, beneath the lunches and the meetings and the way he said her name—

something was shifting.

Something was unmistakably real.

And she finally understood:

She wasn’t imagining it.  

She wasn’t overthinking it.  

She wasn’t misreading anything.

Alexander Reed didn’t treat everyone this way.

He treated *her* this way.

And she had no idea what to do with that truth—  

except keep breathing, keep moving, and hope she didn’t break whatever was forming between them.