8. Evander
Evander
As I arrive at the office on Monday morning, I'm filled with a sense of uncertainty.
The events of Saturday—the kite flying, the accidental fall, and most of all, that kiss—have been replaying in my mind all weekend.
I've barely slept, torn between the memory of Mireille's lips on mine and the knowledge that I can't allow anything to happen between us.
The office is quiet when I enter, Mireille isn’t due for another hour. I make my way to my office, steeling myself for the inevitable moment when she arrives. How will she act? How should I act? The uncertainty is maddening for someone who prides himself on always being in control.
I'm halfway through my second cup of coffee when I hear the familiar sound of Mireille's heels clicking on the tile floor. My heart rate speeds up involuntarily. Taking a deep breath, I focus on the financial report in front of me, determined to maintain my professional composure.
There's a soft knock on my door. "Come in," I call out, proud of how steady my voice sounds.
Mireille enters, looking as put-together as always in a crisp blouse and pencil skirt. But I notice the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she doesn't quite meet my eyes.
"Good morning, Mr. Prescott," she says formally. "I've brought your schedule for the day and the contracts that need signing."
The use of my last name stings more than I care to admit. "Thank you, Mireille," I reply, keeping my tone neutral. "How's your arm feeling?"
She glances down at her wrist, which is still wrapped in a bandage. "Much better, thank you. The doctor says I should be able to remove the bandage by the end of the week."
I nod, unsure of what else to say. The awkwardness between us is palpable, a stark contrast to our usual easy rapport.
Mireille shifts uncomfortably. "Is there anything else you need, sir?"
I wince internally at the 'sir'. "No, that will be all for now. Thank you, Mireille."
She nods and turns to leave. Just as she reaches the door, I find myself calling out, "Mireille?"
She pauses, looking back at me with a mix of hope and apprehension in her eyes. "Yes?"
I hesitate, the words I want to say—about Saturday, about us—are stuck in my throat. Instead, I settle for, "Good job on Saturday. With the kite flying, I mean."
A small smile flickers across her face. "Thank you. We made a good team."
With that, she's gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a mountain of work to distract me from them.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of meetings and phone calls.
I throw myself into work with even more intensity than usual, trying to keep my mind off Mireille and the lingering tension between us.
But despite my best efforts, I find my gaze constantly drawn to her through the glass walls of my office.
She's the picture of professionalism, efficiently handling calls and paperwork with her usual grace.
But I notice the little things —the way she bites her lip when she's concentrating, how she absently touches her bandaged wrist, the slight droop of her shoulders as the day wears on.
I want nothing more than to go out there, to make sure she's not overexerting herself, to see that brilliant smile that's been noticeably absent today.
But I can't. I'm her boss, and after what happened on Saturday, I need to maintain professional boundaries more than ever.
As the workday comes to a close, I watch Mireille pack up her things. She glances towards my office, our eyes meeting for a brief moment before she quickly looks away. The distance between us feels vast, and I hate it.
Before I can stop myself, I'm out of my chair and striding towards her desk. "Mireille," I say, causing her to look up in surprise. "Do you have a moment?"
She nods, her expression guarded. "Of course, Mr. Prescott. What can I do for you?"
I wince at the formality in her tone. "I... I wanted to talk about Saturday."
Mireille tenses visibly. "Mr. Prescott, I don't think-"
"Please," I interrupt softly. "Can we drop the formalities? At least for this conversation?"
She hesitates before nodding. "Alright... Evander."
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "What happened on Saturday... it was inappropriate. I'm your boss, and I crossed a line that should never be crossed."
Mireille's face falls slightly, but she nods. "I understand. It won't happen again."
"But," I continue, surprising myself, "I can't deny that there's... something between us. Something more than just a professional relationship."
Her eyes widen, a flicker of hope crossing her face. "Evander..."
"I don't know what to do about it," I admit, running a hand through my hair. "I value you as an employee - you're the best assistant I've ever had. But I also... I care about you, Mireille. More than I should."
Mireille is silent for a long moment, her green eyes searching my face. Finally, she says softly, "I care about you too, Evander. But you're right, this is complicated. We can't just ignore the fact that you're my boss."
I nod, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. "So where does that leave us?"
She gives me a soft smile. “Nowhere, we have the event this Friday and your friend is coming into town. We’ll get past the awkwardness and everything will be fine.”
I nod, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment at Mireille's practical response. "You're right, of course. We should focus on the upcoming events and maintain our professional relationship."
"Exactly," Mireille says, though I detect a hint of sadness in her eyes. "We've worked well together for a long time. I'm sure we can move past this... awkwardness."
An uncomfortable silence falls between us. There's so much more I want to say, but I know I can't. We've already crossed too many lines.
"Well," I say finally, "I should let you get home. Thank you for staying late."
Mireille gives me a small smile. "Of course. Goodnight, Evander."
As I watch her walk away, I can't shake the feeling that I'm making a mistake. But what other choice do we have? Our professional relationship has to come first, no matter how much it pains me personally.
I return to my office, trying to focus on the work still ahead of me. But my mind keeps drifting back to Mireille - her smile, her laugh, the feel of her lips against mine. I shake my head, forcing those thoughts away. It can't happen. It won't happen. No matter how much I might wish otherwise.
With a heavy sigh, I turn back to my computer. There's still work to be done, and I'm determined to lose myself in it. It's safer that way. Easier. Even if it leaves an ache in my chest that I'm not sure will ever fully go away.
I answer emails as I wait at the Starlight Bay Inn lobby for Greyson, and as per usual, I try to push thoughts of Mireille from my mind.
Greyson strides into the lobby, a grin spreading across his face as he spots me. "Evander, long time no see. How the hell are you?" Greyson booms.
"I'm doing well, Greyson. It's great to see you," I reply, feeling myself relax in the presence of my oldest friend. "How was your trip?"
We catch up as we head to the hotel bar for drinks. After some small talk about his business and my company, Greyson fixes me with a knowing look.
"Alright, spill it. What's got you so tense? And don't try to deny it—I can read you like a book."
I sigh, debating how much to reveal. "It's... complicated. There's this woman..."
Greyson's eyebrows shoot up. "A woman? Now this I've got to hear. The great Evander Prescott, brought low by matters of the heart?"
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling. "It's not like that. She's... she's my assistant, Mireille."
I give Greyson a quick lightened version of the situation with Mireille—the kiss at the beach and our agreement to keep things professional. He listens intently, nodding along.
"Sounds to me like you're in a hell of a lot deeper than you want to admit," Greyson says finally. "Why fight it? If you care about her and she cares about you, why not see where it leads?"
I shake my head. "It's not that simple. I'm her boss. There are ethical considerations, not to mention potential legal issues if things went south."
Greyson leans back, studying me. "Those sound like excuses to me. The Evander I know doesn't back down from a challenge. If you want her, fight for her. Just as I did with Skylar."
I tense at the mention of his wife. Skylar too was his assistant and the two of them have made things work.
His words give me pause. Am I really just making excuses?
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with a text from Mireille about tomorrow's schedule.
I feel a familiar warmth in my chest just seeing her name.
Maybe Greyson is right. Maybe it's time to stop fighting these feelings and see where they lead... After all, we have the gala event coming up, who knows where things could lead?