Chapter Fifteen
Eliza
“Are you aiming for the world’s most intimidating clickety-clack record?” Calvin stopped at my door, leaned in, and made a production of peeking over his glasses at my screen.
I didn’t look up. “It’s called ‘productivity.’ You should try it sometime.”
“My therapist says I should avoid high-stress environments.” He shuddered, which might have been an attempt at humor, or an involuntary reflex from seeing the dashboard in progress on my screen.
The numbers were obscene, even for Valor’s current pace.
If I’d had anything approaching a soul left after last night, the burning beneath my skin would have been a warning sign.
Instead, I felt nothing. Or, I felt nothing I’d let anyone see.
“Heard you’re leading the offsite this weekend.” Calvin tried again, this time sidling inside the office to hover against the filing case, arms folded like a self-hug.
I finished the slide, hit send, and finally met his gaze. “Do you have a reason to be here or are you just trying to annoy me?”
Calvin let out a sound that could have been a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here to ask a serious question: Are you going to be okay with Gabriel?”
“Are you asking because of what happened last time? Because I wasn’t even there. They all set the meeting room on fire without me.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, then shrugged. “You’re in rare form today, Liz.”
My jaw twitched. “If I’m in ‘rare form,’ it’s because I have an actual job to do. Unlike some.”
Calvin finally took the hint and slipped away. I watched him go, the silence settling around me like dust after a demolition. If I squinted, I could almost see the outline of what I’d been before Gabriel Valor detonated my composure on my desk last night.
Now every surface in this office was a reminder. I couldn’t get the smell of his cologne off my skin, no matter how long I showered or how hard I scrubbed. I was sore from how rough we’d been. But worst of all, I wanted more.
I was not thinking about his hands or his mouth or the way he’d said my name like a secret. I was not thinking about how, after, I’d bolted. I was especially not thinking about how I’d overheard two of the assistants in the break room this morning, discussing my working relationship with Valor.
“Could never be me,” one said, voice carrying. “He’s like an ice sculpture. How does anyone even-?”
“Bet she cries during sex,” the other snorted.
I did not cry. I’d once made a therapist cry, if anything.
I had a meeting in ten minutes. I powered through three more emails, signed off on the B2B proposal, and added a snarky “please see me if you need a translation” to the end of the analytics summary I knew the executive team wouldn’t understand.
It wasn’t enough. The only thing that even came close to distraction was the ever-growing anticipation of running into Gabriel again.
Which was, of course, the moment he walked in.
He didn’t knock. Because, of course, he didn’t. Just materialized in the doorway, one hand already mid-gesture, the other holding his phone like a weapon.
He looked furious. Like he’d been fighting with someone for an hour and still had another three left in the tank. His suit was so sharply tailored it made my brain short-circuit as a wave of need washed over me.
“Reeves,” he said, voice low. “Private office.”
For a second, I debated telling him where he could stick that office. I stood instead, smoothing my skirt, and followed. Not because I wanted to, but because I wanted him to know I could walk away any time. And I didn’t want him to know how exciting the thought of being alone with him was.
The corner office had floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, a desk so clean it looked like a museum exhibit, and an espresso machine worth more than my monthly rent. Gabriel prowled behind the desk, jaw set, shoulders coiled, staring at the screen like it owed him an apology.
“Is this about the work trip?” I played it cool, but the tension in my calves told a different story.
He didn’t answer. He just rotated his laptop so I could see the screen. The inbox glared at me. Subject: BOARD-LEVEL CONCERN, URGENT.
The email was addressed to half the org, including every partner, department head, and, judging by the “cc” list, possibly some distant cousins of the Board. It was concise, brutal, and left nothing to the imagination.
Due to recent events, the Board formally requests a performance review of Ms. Eliza Reeves. Please submit any relevant feedback. Anonymity will be protected.
I stared. My heart thumped so loud I wondered if he heard it.
When I finally looked at Gabriel, he was watching me with that predator’s stillness. Not gloating, not even gloating-adjacent. Just waiting to see if I’d break.
“Obviously, you knew about this before I did,” I said, voice flat.
He nodded.
“And you’re telling me why?”
“I want you to know who orchestrated it.” He didn’t blink. “It wasn’t me.”
“Wasn’t you?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “That’s rich, coming from the man who wrote the book on strategic elimination.”
He recoiled, just for a second, then seemed to clamp down harder. “I don’t burn assets I rely on.”
“You mean, you don’t burn assets you’re currently - what’s the word - using?”
His jaw tightened. “No one is replacing you, Eliza.”
I could feel the bruise at my neck, blooming in time with my humiliation. “No? Because I’m getting a lot of ‘replaceable’ vibes right now.”
He started to say something, then looked out the window instead. “If you want me to talk to the Board, I will.”
“What I want,” I said, “is to be left the hell alone for the next twenty-four hours so I can do my job and not have to explain to fifty people why my head is on the chopping block.”
He considered, then nodded once, an acquiescence so cold it could have frozen a lake.
“You have it,” he said.
He returned to the computer, typing with the precision of a sniper, already erasing me from his immediate vicinity. I left, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the adjacent windows.
In the hallway, no one met my eyes. There’s nothing like an open season on your reputation to clear the air of small talk.
My office, once a minor oasis, was now a glass box where the entire company could watch me squirm. I sat, closed the blinds, and stared at my own hands.
I thought about my dad, the first time he told me I had to fight for my seat at the table. “You’ll always be judged twice,” he’d said. “Once for being a woman, once for being smarter than the room. Try not to let either ruin your appetite.”
I was hungry, all right. Hungry for revenge, or maybe just for the next thing that would make me feel less disposable.
My phone vibrated with a new notification. Anonymous feedback form: “Arrogant. Overcompensates for lack of people skills. Not a team player. Makes everything about her.”
I deleted it, then opened my next project and started in on the code. I was not going to give them the satisfaction.
But every few minutes, my mind drifted. Not to the Board. Not to the anonymous attacks. To the sensation of Gabriel’s hands at my hips, the warmth of his breath at my ear.
Stupid. Distracting. Irrelevant.
I chewed my lip and forced myself to keep typing, until the pink at the top of the screen was gone and my inbox was empty.
But I could still feel it, just beneath my skin. The urge to prove that I was untouchable. The worse the humiliation, the more I wanted to bite back. Even if biting back meant going through Valor to do it.
I wondered if that’s why he kept circling. If he needed someone just as ruthless as he was.
If so, he’d gotten his wish. I had no intention of making it easy for any of them.
I dug in, smiled my best “fuck you” smile, and got back to work.
I’d done my best to make myself invisible for the rest of the day.
Which, in this company, meant ducking into unused meeting rooms and answering emails from the unisex bathroom, a move both tactical and deeply humiliating.
By the time I got to the airport, I’d convinced myself that whatever self-destructing dignity I had left could survive forty-eight hours in the same airspace as Gabriel Valor.
That delusion lasted until I saw the seating chart.
“Is there a problem?” asked the flight attendant, who had the kind of high-gloss manicure that implied emotional violence.
I glanced at my phone, then at the laminated chart in her hand. “I’m not sitting next to him.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s a plane, Ms. Reeves. Technically, you’re sitting next to everyone.”
“No.” I stabbed a finger at the printout. “You’ve got me next to Gabriel.”
“Mr. Valor requested it personally.” She said this like it was supposed to be impressive.
I weighed my options. Bribe the attendant? Dramatic fainting spell? Ask to ride in the luggage hold?
Instead, I smiled, sweetly, and made sure to stay calm. “Is there any way I can switch seats?”
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry. He also requested your favorite sparkling water and, um, said you’d want a blanket in case you get cold.”
“I don’t get cold,” I lied, checking in my bag and making my way to the gate.
He was already there, of course, in his seat, looking relaxed. His voice was clipped, the kind of tone that made entire IT departments wet themselves in terror. The moment he saw me, he ended the call, all business gone.
“Ms. Reeves,” he said, as if we were adversaries in a cold war summit.
“Mr. Valor.” I pointedly ignored the way his gaze tracked every move.
I took my assigned seat, angled my body away from Gabriel, and extracted my phone like it was a weapon. We sat in tense silence. For a while, I was fine. For a while, I even let myself believe the next two hours would be, if not pleasant, at least survivable.
Then the plane lurched.
I didn’t scream, because I was not an animal. But I did shoot out a hand, which found Gabriel’s forearm before I even realized it. His skin was warm, and the muscle beneath was tight, bracing against the movement.
He looked down at my hand, then up at my face, and then, in the lowest voice imaginable: “Afraid of flying?”
I jerked back. “No. I’m afraid of crash statistics.”
He watched me for a beat, then leaned in so close I could feel his breath. “Would you prefer I held your hand the whole time?”
The rational response was to tell him to eat a bag of glass. Instead, I said, “If you think that’s necessary for safety, by all means, do your duty.”
He smiled. Dimples. Infuriating. “Consider it done.”
He flagged the attendant. “Could you bring Ms. Reeves something to help her relax?”
“Coming right up, sir.”
I glared at him. “I don’t drink.”
“You do now,” he said, and when the attendant delivered two glasses, he raised his. “To surviving the offsite.”
The glass was sleek, filled with something that looked like orange juice but wasn’t. I gave it a perfunctory sniff and took a sip.
It was not juice.
My tongue shriveled, my throat went thermonuclear, and before I could stop myself, I coughed so violently I launched a spray of the stuff directly onto Gabriel’s lap.
The next one minute unfolded in slow-motion horror.
Gabriel looked down, blinking. The attendant gasped. Some random stranger, who had apparently been watching, let out a cackle.
I scrambled for napkins, mortified. “Shit – sorry – fuck-”
Gabriel took the napkin, dabbed his pants, and deadpanned, “I didn’t take you for a spitter.’”
Strangers around us were laughing, and the double meaning didn’t escape my notice.
I set the glass down with a clatter and steeled my expression. “Next time you want to poison me, warn a girl.”
Gabriel’s mouth twitched, half amusement, half something else I couldn’t place. “It’s a Sauternes. Not exactly a classic choice to off someone.”
He kept dabbing at his lap, but his gaze was fixed on me, not his pants. The flight attendant brought a fresh glass and an entire roll of paper towels, and I busied myself with mopping up the seat tray, my face on fire.
“Are you okay?” the attendant asked, sympathy warring with judgment in her voice.
I squared my shoulders. “No. I’m fine. In fact, bring me the whole bottle.”
That got a tiny laugh out of Gabriel. “Didn’t know you were a connoisseur.”
“I’m not. But if this flight crashes, I want to die drunk.”
He smiled, slower this time, like he was seeing me for the first time. “I’ll drink to that.”
We sat in silence. Not comfortable, not exactly hostile, but… something else. My nerves were shot, my pride was in tatters, but my hands didn’t shake anymore. I watched the clouds out the window, and when turbulence hit again, I braced myself, this time keeping my hands firmly on my knees.
Eventually, he leaned over, voice so low it was meant for me alone. “You know the Board can’t touch you, right? Even if they try.”
I snorted. “You overestimate your ability to fix things with threats and six-figure bonuses.”
He shrugged. “You underestimate your own value.”
This was so off-script I almost missed it.
“Is this supposed to be a pep talk?” I asked.
“Just an observation.”
He turned back to his laptop, but I caught him glancing over once, then again. Like he was checking for visible damage.
The rest of the flight passed awkwardly, but with an unspoken truce between us. When we landed, I waited for the others to disembark, then stood to grab my carry-on.
Gabriel blocked the aisle with a hand, gentle but firm. “We should talk.”
I shook my head. “We really shouldn’t.”
He let his hand drop, but the look on his face was, what? Regret? That seemed impossible. But it lingered, and I felt it, a hook behind my ribs.
I made it to the exit, down the steps, and into the cool night before he could follow.
I breathed deep, then checked my phone: fifteen unread emails, seven new feedback submissions, and one message from a blocked number.
It read: “If you want to win, start by acting like you already have.”
No signature, but I didn’t need one.
Somehow, that pissed me off less than I expected.
I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and started toward the terminal. Not running. Not hiding. Just ready for whatever came next.