Avery arrived earlier than usual—earlier than yesterday, earlier than the day before. She wasn’t trying to avoid people, not exactly. But she had learned something in the past week:

Quiet hours were the only hours she could breathe.

The fourteenth floor was still dim, with only a handful of monitors glowing. She walked toward her desk, shoulders tense, expecting the familiar sight she had grown used to.

The lunch box was there.

Of course it was.

But something else was there too.

A second container. Smaller. White. Labeled only with “Protein”.

Avery blinked.

This wasn’t a company meal item. It wasn’t part of any health program.

It was intentional.

She stared at it for a long moment before whispering to no one, “Why…?”

Footsteps approached. She nearly jumped as Jenna walked past, then slowed, eyes drifting toward the two containers.

“New addition?” Jenna asked carefully.

Avery swallowed. “I—I’m not sure.”

Jenna studied her for a breath too long, then simply said, “Email me if you need backup today,” and walked away.

Avery sank into her chair, heart racing. She touched the smaller container with the tip of her finger—it was cold, recently delivered.

Her phone buzzed.

—from: A.Reed  

subject: Morning  

body: Eat both.

Avery nearly dropped her phone.

The message wasn’t formal. No directive. No professional pretense. Just… *Eat both.*

Her pulse jumped so sharply she pressed a hand against her chest.

She typed a reply, deleted it, typed another, deleted that too. Eventually she sent the safest thing she could think of:

Understood.

She immediately regretted the word choice. It sounded stiff. Ridiculous. The kind of reply she’d send to an audit request, not to the man who kept sending lunch that somehow arrived before she did.

Before she could spiral further, two coworkers walked by.

“…that’s two containers today.”  

“He’s escalating.”  

“Can’t wait to see what happens next.”

Avery froze.

She hadn’t even taken off her coat yet.

By nine, the office had filled enough that her desk felt like the center of a slow-forming storm—one made of glances, whispers, and the unmistakable awareness that people were waiting for something from her.

Something she didn’t know how to give.

Then her inbox pinged again.

—from: A.Reed  

subject: 10:00  

body: Bring yesterday’s adjustment summary. Room 39.4.

She stared at the message, pulse starting up again.

It wasn’t the request that rattled her. He asked for her almost every day now. It was the ease of it—the quiet certainty that she would be there. That she would bring whatever he needed.

Her hands trembled slightly as she prepared the summary.

At 9:52 she headed to the elevators. As she passed the coffee station, she caught two voices mid-sentence:

“…she’s practically part of the CEO team now.”  

“Part of something, definitely.”

Avery pretended she hadn’t heard. She pretended she wasn’t burning inside.

When she stepped onto the thirty-ninth floor, she inhaled carefully, grounding herself before approaching the analysis room.

She knocked.

“Come in,” Alexander said.

She stepped inside.

He looked up immediately—too quickly. Too naturally.

“Avery.”

Her name sounded like he hadn’t said anything yet today and had been waiting to.

“I brought the summary,” she said.

“Good. Sit.”

He didn’t even check if she would—he just expected it, in a way that startled her and warmed her at the same time.

She sat while he flipped through the pages. He moved more quietly than usual, as if he were measuring each second.

When he finished, he set the packet down. “Your adjustments were clean.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“No,” he said softly, “you did well.”

Avery’s breath caught.

Then Alexander reached toward the desk drawer.  

Took out a water bottle.  

Set it beside her.

“Drink.”

Avery blinked at it. “I… I’m okay.”

“You’re pale.”

Her pulse stuttered. “I’m just tired.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Then drink.”

She obeyed without thinking.

He watched her—not in a scrutinizing way, but in a way she felt. A way that reached further than she knew how to handle.

When she lowered the bottle, Alexander’s gaze flicked briefly to the door, where a shadow passed by the glass wall.

He noticed it before she did.

He straightened subtly, jaw tightening.

“People are watching,” she whispered.

He didn’t look away from the door until the shadow disappeared.

“They can watch,” he said. “They don’t get to define anything.”

Her breath caught. “I know, but—”

“Avery.”  

Her name—low, steady, grounding.

She looked at him.

“You’re not doing anything wrong.”

His voice carried something she had no defense against.

Before she could answer, he changed the angle of the moment. “There’s a budget alignment meeting at three.”

She nodded slowly. “Do you want me there?”

“I do.”

Her chest tightened.

“Okay,” she said.

He watched her for a moment that stretched longer than necessary. Then:

“Eat,” he said quietly. “Both.”

She flushed. “I—okay.”

When she left, she was certain he waited until she stepped fully out before returning to his work.

Back on the fourteenth floor, conversations paused as she returned. She heard a few words slip through:

“…they talk every day.”  

“…it’s obvious.”  

“…she must know, right?”

Avery sat down, face warm, pulse unsteady. She opened her lunch mechanically, taking a few bites even though she tasted nothing.

Later, as she walked to the 3 p.m. meeting, two analysts stopped talking the moment she passed.

Another whispered, “There she goes again.”

The meeting room was fuller than usual. She took her seat quietly. Her pen shook slightly between her fingers.

Then Alexander walked in.

His eyes found her instantly.

Not startled, not searching—just *settling* on her, like he’d already known she would be there.

Someone close to her whispered:

“He doesn’t look at anyone else like that.”

Avery froze.

The meeting blurred around the edges. She answered a question when asked, but her voice felt too soft, too small.

Alexander referenced her twice.

“Collins flagged that.”  

“Collins has the correct timeline.”

Each time, more eyes shifted toward her.

At the end, Alexander dismissed the room.

Avery started packing up, but he approached her, stopping at a distance too small to be purely professional.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Her breath stilled. “I think so.”

“You look overwhelmed.”

She couldn’t lie. “A little.”

“Did someone say something?”

“No,” she whispered. “Just… everything.”

He nodded slowly, eyes searching her face. “Take a break before you go back downstairs.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he said, just as gently as before.

Avery’s fingers curled around her notebook. “…okay.”

He stepped back, giving her space. But she felt the weight of his attention even as he walked away.

Her body didn’t relax until he was gone.

And that scared her.

As she returned to her floor, a coworker whispered—not cruel, just curious:

“She can’t honestly believe this is only work.”

Avery pretended not to hear.

But her chest tightened sharply.

Because she wasn’t sure anymore either.

And that terrified her more than the whispers.

More than the glances.

More than the constant watching.

The truth was simple and dangerous:

She didn’t know how to keep pretending she didn’t feel something  

when every day he made it harder to deny.