Chapter 3
Alison
I walked away from Lucas and his fiancée, whose eyes tracked me as I walked. I could feel the hate effusing out of her, and I knew what she must be thinking. Her fiancé and I are alone at the office at night.
Yes, me and her husband-to-be once hooked up, but that was before I knew who he was. But she had nothing to fear. She can keep the man all to herself.
The way he treated me the next morning, I knew he was the kind of man I wanted nothing to do with. It was rather inconvenient that I now find myself working for him, but he seemed determined to act like nothing happened between us, and I was more than happy to keep up that ruse.
I needed this job, and I wouldn't let some man who has been consumed by paranoia take it from me. I was ready to take on whatever he threw at me. I headed into the bathroom to wash my face and then headed home. The thought of the welcoming comfort of my bed brought a smile to my face.
The bathroom door swung open, and I straightened quickly, reaching for a paper towel. Victoria Black glided in, her crimson lips curving into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Ms. Miller, was it?" Her voice was honey-sweet with an undertone of venom.
I nodded, maintaining what I hoped was a professional expression. "Yes, Ms. Black."
She approached the mirror, checking her immaculate appearance. "You know, I always make it a point to get to know Lucas's... employees." She emphasized the word in a way that made it sound dirty.
Her perfectly manicured hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. "Let me be clear, darling. I saw the way he was looking at you. Lucas may have... distractions from time to time, but he always comes back to me. We have an understanding."
My stomach churned with embarrassment and anger. "I think you've misunderstood, Ms. Black. I'm just an analyst working on the Eurozone project."
"Oh, I understand perfectly," she said, releasing my wrist and adjusting her designer bracelet.
Victoria's smile widened. "Just know your place, Ms. Miller.
Lucas and I come from the same world. We understand each other.
Whatever little... connection you think you might have with him?
It's temporary. Fleeting. Like a shooting star—pretty to look at, but gone in an instant. "
Connection? Well, the alcohol-addled night we had certainly made me feel like I was on top of the world, but that was all the connection we'll ever have.
I felt deep in my heart that I hated the man, and it must be true.
Still, why did my heart race whenever he was around me?
Why did I keep looking towards the hallway to check if he was in his office and would come around to check on the work I was doing?
Why did my stomach flutter with some sort of inexplicable excitement whenever he called me into his office?
I hated the man. It was important that I do.
Victoria checked her lipstick one last time, then headed for the door. "Have a lovely weekend, Ms. Miller. Do try not to work too hard."
The door swung shut behind her, leaving me shaken and humiliated. Victoria's words had hit their mark, reminding me painfully of Charlie's rejection. People like Lucas don't end up with people like me. It was a truth I'd learned the hard way, and I had no intention of forgetting it again.
I squared my shoulders and exited the bathroom. I had real work to do, and I wouldn't let Victoria's thinly veiled threats distract me from proving my worth at this company.
One week later, I was beginning to think I was losing my mind. Files I was certain I'd saved were mysteriously corrupted. Data I'd verified personally came back with inexplicable errors. Emails I'd sent to clients never arrived, while responses to questions I'd never asked appeared in my inbox.
"Ms. Miller." Earl's voice made me jump. "The Henderson account numbers are still incorrect. This is the third time this week."
I stared at the spreadsheet in disbelief. "I don't understand. I triple-checked these figures yesterday."
He sighed heavily. "Look, I know the Eurozone project is demanding, but these basic errors are unacceptable. Fix it before the meeting this afternoon."
As he walked away, I fought back tears of frustration. I hadn't made those errors—I was certain of it. Each night before leaving, I meticulously reviewed my work, yet somehow by morning, figures were changed, decimals moved, and names misspelled.
That afternoon, I arrived early for the department meeting, determined to double-check the presentation one last time. The conference room was empty, giving me a few precious minutes alone with my materials.
As I reviewed the slides, my blood ran cold. The figures had been changed again—subtly, but enough to make the projections completely wrong. If I presented this, I'd look utterly incompetent.
"No, no, no," I whispered, frantically trying to restore the correct data from my backup files. But it was too late—people were filing in, taking their seats around the table. Earl nodded at me to begin.
With my heart in my throat, I started the presentation, hoping no one would notice the discrepancies. I hadn't even reached the third slide when a cold voice cut through the room.
"These numbers are wrong." Lucas Hawkins stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, amber eyes boring into mine. "According to the original data, the Frankfurt returns should be 12.3%, not 21.3%."
The room fell silent. Earl cleared his throat, looking at me expectantly.
"I... There must have been a mistake in the transfer," I stammered, feeling my face flush with embarrassment.
"A mistake that completely changes the investment recommendation?" Lucas's voice was razor-sharp. "Ms. Miller, I expected better from someone with your academic record."
Whispers rippled through the room. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
"Should we postpone until the data can be verified?" Earl suggested.
Lucas strode forward, taking control of the situation. "No. The client meeting is tomorrow. Mr. Yang, you'll take over the Henderson account. Ms. Miller, my office. Now."
He left without waiting for a response, leaving me to gather my materials with shaking hands while my colleagues studiously avoided my gaze. Lucas was waiting behind his desk when I entered his office, his expression unreadable. "Close the door."
I did as instructed, then stood before him, determined not to break down despite the humiliation burning through me.
Despite the awkwardness of the moment, I couldn't ignore the fire smoldering inside me or the way being this close to Lucas stirred something I didn't fully understand.
My palms grew clammy, my breath caught in my throat, and I couldn't shake the image of his bare chest from my mind.
It was the wrong time to be thinking such things—I knew that.
I scolded myself and tried to focus on the matter at hand.
It was a serious situation, one that genuinely had me worried.
"Explain," Lucas said simply, the gravity of the situation weighing down on me.
"The data was correct when I reviewed it last night," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I've been having... issues with my files this past week. Things are changing, data being corrupted."
"You're suggesting someone is tampering with your work?" His eyebrow arched skeptically.
"I know how it sounds," I admitted. "But yes, I think someone is sabotaging me. I'm not making these mistakes, Mr. Hawkins."
He studied me for a long moment, his amber eyes intense. "That's a serious accusation, Ms. Miller. Do you have any proof?"
I deflated slightly. "No. Just my word that I'm more competent than I've appeared this week."
To my surprise, something like respect flickered across his face. "Most people would blame system errors or their own oversight. Not many would suggest sabotage to their boss's face."
"I'm not most people," I said simply. "And I value honesty, even when it's uncomfortable."
Lucas leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving mine. "I'll have IT analyze your computer for any unauthorized access."
I blinked in surprise. "You believe me?"
"Let's say I'm... open to the possibility that you're being set up. This company has its share of internal politics, and as a newcomer assigned to a high-profile project, you make an easy target."
Relief washed over me. "Thank you, Mr. Hawkins."
He nodded once. "Don't thank me yet. I'm still holding you to the highest standards. One more slip-up like today, and I'll have no choice but to reconsider your position here."
"Understood."
As I turned to leave, he added, "And Ms. Miller? If someone is trying to sabotage you... Be careful. Office politics can get... vicious."
"I will," I promised, then left his office with my head held high despite the whispers that followed me through the open floor plan.
The next two weeks were a careful dance of vigilance and documentation.
I backed up every file, took screenshots of every completed project, and kept meticulous records of who accessed my work and when.
Lucas's intervention had helped—with IT monitoring my systems, the tampering became less overt, though small annoyances continued.
By Friday evening, I was exhausted but satisfied with my progress. The revised Eurozone analysis had earned a grudging "satisfactory" from Lucas, which from him seemed equivalent to high praise.
I was gathering my things to leave when an email notification blinked onto my screen. It was from HR, the subject line stark and cold: "Resignation Acknowledged."
Frowning, I opened it. A formal letter stared back at me, thanking me for my service and confirming the acceptance of my resignation—effective immediately.
I froze. Resignation?
"But I never resigned," I whispered to the empty office.
Before I could process it, another email arrived. This one was harsher, more pointed:
"Ms. Miller, we regret your decision to depart the company so abruptly, especially given the considerable trust placed in your role on the Eurozone project.
While we had hoped for more professionalism, we will honor your decision.
Your final paycheck will reflect two weeks' notice, which we presume you intended to give. "
At the bottom of the letter was the signature I had come to recognize since I started working at the firm. Lucas's. It was neat and unmistakable.
My legs gave out, and I sank into my chair. They thought I quit. He thought I quit. And it was done. Final. Irreversible.
My blood turned to ice.
I tried calling HR, but at 7 PM on a Friday, no one answered. I drafted desperate emails to both HR and Lucas, explaining that I'd never requested any transfer, but the system returned delivery failure notices. Somehow, my email access had been restricted.
With shaking hands, I printed the resignation and Lucas's email, then gathered my personal items. I had the weekend to figure out how to fight this, to prove I was being set up.
But the sick feeling in my stomach told me it was already too late.
There was a finality in the message that couldn't be traced back.
Not only had I lost a job I desperately needed, but I'd been publicly humiliated and my professional reputation potentially ruined. All because I'd had the misfortune of a one-night stand with the wrong man.
I was so caught up in my misery that I almost missed the notification on my phone.
Opening it with numb fingers, I stared in disbelief at the message from my doctor.
I had been feeling funny lately and decided to do a routine check at the first opportunity I got because I couldn't afford to let a sickness affect my job. The job I ironically no longer have.
Ms. Miller, your blood test results are in. Please call our office as soon as possible to discuss your pregnancy and prenatal care options.