Alexander was true to his word—the next few days were brutal. We worked around the clock to rebuild the campaign, sharing our strategy with only the necessary team members. By Thursday night, we had a plan that was not only ready to launch but was better than our original concept.
"We should celebrate," Alexander announced after the final meeting adjourned. "The teaser campaign launches tomorrow, and Nova won't know what hit them."
I was surprised by the suggestion. In the week I'd known him, Alexander Thornton had never struck me as someone who celebrated anything short of total market domination.
"What did you have in mind?" I asked cautiously.
"I'm attending an opening at the Hayworth Gallery tonight. Come with me."
Again, not a question. I glanced down at my work attire—a simple navy pencil skirt and cream blouse. "I'm not exactly dressed for a gallery opening."
Alexander checked his watch. "It's five now. The opening's at eight. Is that enough time?"
"Yes, but—"
"I'll pick you up at seven-thirty." He turned to leave, then paused. "Wear something that makes you happy, Eliza. Not something you think I expect."
Before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me staring after him.
Three hours later, I stood in front of my apartment building wearing a deep emerald dress I'd bought on impulse last year but had never had to wear. It was elegant but bolder than my usual style, with a neckline that dipped just low enough to be interesting without being inappropriate.
Alexander's car pulled up precisely at seven-thirty. When I slid into the passenger seat, he looked at me for a long moment before speaking.
"Emerald suits you," he said finally.
"Thank you. It makes me happy," I added, referencing his earlier comment.
A small smile played at his lips. "Good."
The Hayworth Gallery was in a converted industrial space in Chelsea, all exposed brick and soaring ceilings. As we entered, I realized this wasn't just any opening—it was one of the most anticipated events of the season, with New York's elite art crowd in attendance.
"Alexander!" A striking woman in her fifties approached us, air-kissing Alexander on both cheeks. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it."
"Margot. I wouldn't miss it." He turned slightly toward me. "This is Eliza Bennett, my new head of strategic marketing. Eliza, Margot Hayworth, owner of the gallery."
"Lovely to meet you," Margot said, appraising me with interest. "Alexander rarely brings guests to these events."
Before I could respond, Alexander placed his hand lightly on the small of my back. "Eliza has an excellent eye for innovative thinking. I thought she might appreciate Reyna's work."
Margot smiled knowingly. "I'm sure she will. Do enjoy yourselves." She squeezed Alexander's arm before moving on to greet other guests.
Alexander guided me through the gallery, his hand remaining at my back as we moved from piece to piece. The artist's work was stunning—large-scale abstract paintings that somehow managed to convey both chaos and perfect harmony.
"What do you think?" Alexander asked as we stood before a particularly striking canvas of deep blues and vibrant reds.
"It's like looking at a storm from above," I said, studying the movement in the piece. "Violent but beautiful. Controlled chaos."
Alexander looked at me with surprise. "That's exactly what Reyna said was her inspiration. A hurricane, viewed from a plane."
I shrugged, embarrassed by his attention. "Lucky guess."
"No, it wasn't." His voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. "You see things others miss, Eliza. It's what makes you exceptional."
The compliment caught me off guard, and I felt a flush creeping up my neck. To hide my reaction, I moved to the next painting, acutely aware of Alexander following close behind.
As the evening progressed, we fell into an easy rhythm, discussing the artwork, sipping champagne, and occasionally greeting people Alexander knew. It felt surreal to be moving through this world with him—a world so different from my own.
"There's someone I want you to meet," Alexander said after we'd viewed most of the exhibition. He led me to a young woman standing alone in a corner, studying one of the smaller pieces.
"Reyna," he called softly.
The woman turned, and I was struck by how young she was—perhaps my age or even younger. Her eyes lit up when she saw Alexander.
"You came!" she exclaimed, embracing him with genuine warmth.
"I promised I would." He stepped back and gestured to me. "This is Eliza Bennett. She has remarkable insight into your work."
Reyna turned her bright gaze to me. "Really? What do you see?"
For the next twenty minutes, we discussed her art, her process, and her inspirations. Alexander stood slightly apart, watching our interaction with an expression I couldn't quite interpret.
When Reyna was called away by Margot to meet a potential buyer, Alexander handed me another glass of champagne.
"You were right about the hurricane," he said. "And about the series representing transitions in her life."
I took a sip of my champagne. "She's incredibly talented. How do you know her?"
"I sponsored her first show three years ago. She was working as a waitress and painting in a closet-sized apartment in Queens."
"That's... unexpectedly generous of you."
Alexander raised an eyebrow. "Did you think I only invested in tech companies and restaurants?"
"I'm learning there's a lot about you I don't know," I admitted.
"Then perhaps you should ask."
His gaze held mine, and I felt that now-familiar flutter in my stomach. Before I could respond, a man in an impeccably tailored suit approached us.
"Thornton! I thought that was you."
Alexander's expression cooled instantly. "Harrington."
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your lovely companion?" the man asked, his eyes moving over me in a way that made me feel like I needed a shower.
"James Harrington, Eliza Bennett," Alexander said stiffly. "Eliza is our new head of strategic marketing."
"Ah, mixing business with pleasure?" Harrington smirked. "Always a dangerous game."
I felt Alexander tense beside me. "Eliza is a colleague, Harrington. And a brilliant one."
"Of course she is," Harrington replied, his tone suggesting he didn't believe it for a second. "Nova's new campaign is impressive, by the way. I hear it's cutting into your market share already."
I inhaled sharply, and Alexander's hand found the small of my back again, his touch steadying.
"You should check your sources," he replied coolly. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we were just leaving."
Without waiting for a response, Alexander guided me toward the exit. Outside, the night air was cool against my flushed skin.
"I apologize for Harrington," Alexander said, his jaw tight with anger. "He's Nova's advisor and takes particular pleasure in trying to get under my skin."
"It's fine," I assured him. "Though I'm looking forward to seeing his face when our campaign makes Nova's look derivative."
A slow smile spread across Alexander's face, transforming his features. "You're quite something, Eliza Bennett."
His car arrived, and we slid into the back seat together, Alexander giving my address to the driver. As we pulled away from the curb, I realized he wasn't taking me home in his car this time but had arranged for a car service.
"Not driving tonight?" I asked.
"I thought we both deserved another glass of champagne," he replied, producing a bottle and two glasses from a compartment in the car. "To celebrate our imminent success."
He poured the champagne with practiced ease, handing me a glass. Our fingers brushed, and I felt that now-familiar jolt of awareness.
"To making Nova regret the day they stole from us," I toasted.
Alexander's eyes darkened. "To partnerships that exceed expectations."
We sipped our champagne as the city lights blurred past the windows. The space between us in the back seat seemed at once vast and infinitesimal.
"Why marketing?" Alexander asked suddenly, echoing his question from our dinner.
"I told you—I like understanding what moves people."
"And what moves you, Eliza?"
I hesitated, caught off guard by the directness of his question. "Authenticity," I said finally. "Intelligence. Purpose." I took another sip of champagne, feeling bold. "And you? What moves the great Alexander Thornton?"
His expression softened slightly. "The unexpected. I've found that most things in life are predictable. Most people, too." His eyes held mine. "You are not."
The car slowed as we approached my building, and I felt a pang of disappointment that the evening was ending.
"Thank you for tonight," I said as the car stopped. "For the gallery and for trusting me with the campaign."
Alexander studied me for a long moment. "Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night? Not to discuss work."
My heart skipped. "Not to discuss work?"
"No."
"Then... as a date?"
"Yes, Eliza. As a date."
I knew I should say no. He was my boss. This was complicated, potentially disastrous. But the word that came out of my mouth was:
"Yes."
Alexander's smile was slow and genuine. "I'll pick you up at eight."
As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, I couldn't stop smiling. Tomorrow night, I would be having dinner with Alexander Thornton. Not as his employee, but as his date.