⸻
ELENOR
The next morning felt… different.
She hadn't changed. Same blazer. Same notebook. Same steady walk in heels.
But the looks were new.
Too many people greeted her with plastic smiles. Some too friendly. Some not friendly at all. And when she passed the breakroom, two women went silent mid-sentence.
She knew that look. She'd worn it herself once — years ago, when she watched the boss's favorite intern walk by and wondered what she had that the rest of them didn't.
Now she was that girl.
All because of an elevator.
She hadn't even done anything. Nothing happened.
But in a place like Wolfe Holdings, the truth didn't matter.
Perception did.
She buried herself in her desk, trying to ignore it — until someone cleared his throat in front of her.
"Hey," said a tall man with dimples and a confident lean. He wore a navy suit and a playful smile. She vaguely remembered him from HR orientation. Something-Ken.
"Elijah," he said, like he read her thoughts. "We met in training last week."
"Oh. Right. Hi."
"I was wondering… maybe we could grab dinner sometime? Unless you're seeing someone."
She blinked. "I'm not. I mean… I'm not seeing anyone."
Not unless staring at your boss's mouth during a malfunctioning elevator ride counted.
Elijah smiled. "Cool. There's this tapas place around the corner. I promise the food's better than the rumors flying around here."
She laughed before she could stop herself.
Then a voice behind them sliced through the air.
"Miss Vale."
Her stomach dropped.
Alexander stood just a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. Brows slightly raised. Eyes unreadable — except for the sharpness behind them.
She straightened. "Yes, sir?"
"You're needed in the conference room. Bring the legal files."
His gaze didn't even flick toward Elijah. But the tension in the room shifted immediately.
"Right away," she said, grabbing the folder.
As she passed him, Alexander spoke low, just for her.
"You're making quite the impression."
She didn't reply.
She didn't have to.
Because when she looked up, his eyes lingered — not on the folder. Not on her notes. But on her mouth.
⸻
ALEXANDER
The whispers didn't bother him.
The looks didn't matter.
It was him. Elijah.
The way the man leaned over her desk like he belonged there.
The way Elenor laughed — soft, light — like it was easy to laugh with him.
It wasn't jealousy. Not exactly.
It was the reminder that she wasn't his. Not officially. Not even close.
But the thought of someone else touching her, flirting with her, being with her — it made something sharp twist in his chest.
He watched her walk ahead of him into the boardroom, her back straight, her chin up. A perfect assistant.
No trace of the girl who'd worn his shirt two days ago.
No sign of the woman whose body had pressed into his in a dark elevator.
But he remembered.
Every second of it.
The way her breath hitched. The way she stood still. The way her perfume lingered after she left.
And now she was laughing with Elijah.
He sat at the head of the table and didn't look at her again for the rest of the meeting.
But when she leaned in to pass him a document, her fingers brushed his.
She pulled away quickly.
He didn't.
That night, he stood in his office after hours, alone, lights dim, city glowing through the glass behind him.
And all he could think about was her.
Her laugh.
Her scent.
The way she looked at him like she wanted to hate him but couldn't quite pull it off.
She was the first thing to throw him off balance in years.
He wasn't used to losing control.
And he didn't like