Avery didn’t intend to think about the previous day the moment she woke up, but her mind replayed it anyway—the meeting room, the whispers, the subtle shift in Alexander’s tone when he said her name. She tried to shake it off while brushing her teeth, tried again while tying her hair, and failed both times. By the time she left her apartment, her pulse was already too aware of something she had no business analyzing.

Work. It’s just work, she told herself.

But she didn’t entirely believe it anymore.

When she reached her desk, the lunch box was there again. Perfectly placed. Perfectly timed. Avery stood still for a moment, absorbing the sight like someone bracing for impact.

She set her bag down.

She didn’t touch the container at first. Instead, she sat and opened her email, forcing her attention onto spreadsheets and vendor codes. The numbers should have grounded her. They didn’t.

Around nine, Jenna stopped by. “Morning. Quick update—Reed wants the Q4 travel variance double-checked. He asked if you were available.”

Avery froze. “He… asked?”

“By name.” Jenna didn’t seem fazed by it, but her tone held a hint of curiosity. “You’re fine with that?”

“I—yes.” Avery swallowed. “Of course.”

“Good. Send it when it’s clean.”

As soon as Jenna stepped away, Avery released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She reached for the lunch box again, not to open it, but because grounding her fingertips on the cool edge made her feel a little less rattled.

It wasn’t normal to be asked by the CEO. Not for something like this. Not twice in two days.

And yet, part of her already knew why.

By midday she had the variance file finished, checked, and checked again. She emailed the draft first. Two minutes later, her phone pinged.

—from: A.Reed  

subject: Bring it up.

That was it. No greeting. No signature. Just three words.

Her heartbeat stuttered. She typed back a short acknowledgment and stood up before she could talk herself out of anything.

The elevator ride felt longer than usual. When the doors opened, she walked toward the analysis room—until she saw someone else waiting outside.

One of the senior analysts.

He glanced at her packet, then at her face. “Reed wants you again?”

Avery nodded, tight-lipped.

“Huh.” He folded his arms. “He’s never asked me to bring something up personally.” The implication hovered in the air for a beat. “Guess he likes your style.”

Avery’s stomach twisted. “It’s just work.”

“Sure,” he said, but his tone suggested he didn’t fully believe that.

She stepped into the analysis room before he could say anything else.

Alexander stood near the screens, reviewing projections. He didn’t look up until she was close enough that her footsteps softened on the carpet.

“Avery,” he said, the word landing with quiet certainty.

She handed the packet to him. “The variance is reconciled. The discrepancy came from—”

“I saw,” he said, already flipping through the pages. “Your notes are precise.”

His approval warmed her in places she didn’t know were cold.

He continued reading, then paused at one section. “You accounted for the supplier’s delayed invoices.”

“They usually lag,” she explained. “But the timing lined up with last quarter’s mistakes, so I flagged it.”

Alexander glanced at her with a slow nod. “Good.”

He said it in a way that made her feel like she had done more than her job.

When he finished the packet, he closed it gently, not dismissively. “Walk me through the assumption shifts from your earlier draft.”

So she did. He listened closely, occasionally asking a pointed question that nudged her to expand or clarify. It wasn’t criticism—it was engagement, and it made her focus sharpen.

When she finished, he rested a hand on the table. “You improve quickly.”

She looked down. “I’m just… trying to do it right.”

“You are,” he said, the words steady, not soft. “More than that, you’re adapting. Most analysts don’t adjust their framework this early.”

She blinked. “I didn’t know that.”

“That’s because you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Avery’s breath caught. He didn’t sound like he was trying to comfort her. He sounded like he was stating a fact.

She didn’t know how to respond.

He noticed.

His gaze held hers for a fraction longer, then eased away. “You’ll sit in the last portion of today’s cross-department meeting.”

She nodded. “Do you want me to take notes?”

“No.” The answer came immediately. “I want your read again.”

Her pulse skipped.

“Understood,” she murmured.

As she turned to leave, he stopped her with a quiet, “Avery.”

It was almost the same tone he had used the previous day, careful but deliberate.

“If anything comes up today that feels unclear,” he said, “come to me. Don’t wait.”

She felt the words all the way down to her stomach. “I will.”

When she walked out, she exhaled slowly. She needed to reset her thoughts before returning to the fourteenth floor, but she didn’t get the chance.

The senior analyst from earlier was still near the elevator.

“So?” he asked. “Special instructions?”

Avery’s throat tightened. “Just work. That’s all.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

Rumors weren’t floating yet—but the air had shifted, the same way it had inside her.

By afternoon, the cross-department meeting was already in motion when she stepped in for the last segment. A few heads turned. She pretended not to notice, taking the empty seat near the side.

Alexander noticed her entrance immediately.

He didn’t break his sentence, but something tightened in his posture—a silent acknowledgment.

She sat, hands folded. She tried to follow the discussion, and she did, but her awareness of him being exactly three seats away wouldn’t quiet down.

When someone mentioned a missing allocation, Alexander spoke without hesitation. “Collins flagged that earlier.”

Multiple heads turned toward her.

Avery froze. “I—yes, I did. The numbers didn’t align with—”

“She caught it,” Alexander said simply.

It was the simplicity that made her heart twist. He wasn’t boasting about her. He wasn’t defending her. He was… stating the truth. The way he saw it.

The meeting moved on, but the eyes on her lingered.

When it finally ended, Alexander dismissed everyone else first. Again.

Avery stayed seated, pulse thudding.

He approached her with that composed, steady gait she was beginning to recognize. “Good read today.”

“I’m not sure I did much,” she said honestly.

“You did enough,” he replied. “You see patterns earlier than others. That matters.”

She felt warm, overwhelmed, and unbalanced all at once.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded once, lingering for half a breath longer than necessary before stepping back. “Get some rest before you head down.”

It wasn’t an order. It wasn’t even a suggestion. It sounded more like… concern.

She stood, gathering her things. When she walked out of the room, her chest felt too tight with something she couldn’t sort through.

Outside the conference room, two managers passed behind her, speaking quietly.

“Why is she always here at the end?” one murmured.

“She must’ve caught his attention somehow.”

Avery’s steps faltered. She pretended she didn’t hear. She pretended she didn’t understand what they meant.

But she did.

And it frightened her—not because they were wrong, but because they were close to something she hadn’t dared say out loud.

Back on the fourteenth floor, she sat at her desk, staring at her monitor without seeing any of the numbers. The lunch box sat beside her, unopened but steady.

Her phone buzzed again. Riley.

—You’re being weird. Spill.  

Avery typed: Nothing happened.  

Riley’s reply came instantly:  

—Uh-huh. That’s what people say right before admitting EVERYTHING happened.

Avery dropped her face onto her hands.

She didn’t know what was happening.

But she knew one thing with terrifying clarity—

Whatever this was between her and Alexander, it wasn’t invisible anymore.

Not to her.  

Not to him.  

Not to anyone watching.