Eight o'clock couldn't come fast enough. I spent the day alternating between anticipation and panic, questioning my decision to go on a date with Alexander. By evening, my apartment looked like a fashion boutique had exploded, clothes strewn across every surface as I tried to find the perfect outfit.
I finally settled on a burgundy dress with a subtle slit up one side—elegant but with just enough edge to make me feel confident. When the doorbell rang at exactly eight, my heart leapt into my throat.
I opened the door to find Alexander standing there in charcoal slacks and a navy cashmere sweater that made his blue eyes even more striking. Without his usual suit, he looked different—still commanding, but somehow more approachable.
"You look beautiful," he said, his eyes taking me in appreciatively.
"Thank you. You look... not like my boss."
A smile played at his lips. "That's the idea."
The restaurant was tucked away in the West Village, small and intimate with warm amber lighting and exposed brick walls. No white tablecloths or crystal glasses—just excellent food and a genuine atmosphere. It wasn't what I'd expected from Alexander Thornton.
"Surprised?" he asked, noticing my expression as we were seated in a secluded corner.
"I thought you'd choose somewhere more..."
"Pretentious?" he supplied, his eyebrow quirking up.
I laughed. "I was going to say formal."
"This is my favorite restaurant in the city. Few people know that." He leaned in slightly. "I value my privacy, Eliza. The public Alexander Thornton is... a necessary facade."
"And which Alexander am I with tonight?"
His eyes held mine. "The real one. If you want to know him."
"I do," I said softly.
Over dinner, Alexander revealed pieces of himself I'd never expected. He told me about growing up as the son of a demanding father who'd built Thornton Industries from nothing, about the pressure to exceed everyone's expectations, about losing his mother when he was twelve.
"She was the only one who saw me as just Alexander," he said, swirling the wine in his glass. "Not an heir or a prodigy or a disappointment. Just her son."
"Is that why you helped Reyna?" I asked. "Because she saw you as just Alexander?"
He looked surprised by my insight. "Perhaps. She had extraordinary talent but no connections. No advantages. Everything she's achieved is through her vision and determination." His eyes met mine. "Like someone else I know."
The compliment warmed me, and I found myself sharing things I rarely discussed—my parents' divorce, my struggle to be taken seriously in previous jobs, my determination to succeed on my terms.
After dinner, Alexander suggested a walk. The night was clear and crisp, stars surprisingly visible for the city. We strolled through the quiet streets, close but not touching, until I shivered slightly in the cool air.
Without a word, Alexander removed his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. The weight of it, still warm from his body and carrying his scent, was intoxicating.
"Better?" he asked, his voice low.
"Yes."
We reached a small park and sat on a bench, the city lights twinkling around us. The conversation flowed easily now, punctuated by comfortable silences. In one of those silences, Alexander's hand found mine, his fingers intertwining with my own.
"I shouldn't be doing this," he said quietly.
My heart sank. "Because you're my boss."
"Yes." His thumb traced circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. "It complicates things."
"You said you like complicated," I reminded him.
Alexander turned to face me, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek. "I do. But I don't want to risk your career, Eliza. People will talk. They'll say you're succeeding because of... this. Whatever this is between us."
"Let them talk. I know my worth."
His eyes darkened. "Do you know how extraordinary you are?"
Before I could respond, he leaned in and kissed me. His lips were soft but insistent, the kiss controlled yet somehow urgent. I melted into him, my hand finding the nape of his neck, drawing him closer.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Alexander rested his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
"I've wanted to do that since you challenged me in your interview," he admitted.
"You didn't seem very impressed with me then," I teased, still trying to catch my breath.
"I was... overwhelmed. You were late and disheveled and brilliant. You saw through my company's needs in ways my entire executive team had missed." His hand stroked my hair. "And all I could think was that your eyes flash when you're passionate about something."
I laughed softly. "I thought you were terrifying."
"And now?"
"Still terrifying," I confessed. "But for entirely different reasons."
He kissed me again, deeper this time, his hand sliding to my waist to pull me closer. I lost myself in the sensation, in the taste of him, in the feeling of finally giving in to what I'd wanted since that first day.
When his phone buzzed, we both ignored it. But when it buzzed again immediately, Alexander pulled back with a sigh.
"I should check that," he said reluctantly.
I nodded, trying to compose myself as he pulled out his phone. His expression changed instantly, all the warmth draining from his features.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I need to get you home. Now." He stood abruptly, scanning the street.
"Alexander, what's wrong?"
"Someone leaked photos of us at the gallery. They're running on the business blogs with... unflattering speculation about our relationship."
My stomach dropped. "How bad?"
"Bad enough." He flagged down a passing cab. "The board is calling an emergency meeting. They're questioning my judgment."
"Because of me?" I felt sick.
Alexander's expression softened as he looked at me. "Because I've made enemies, Eliza. Powerful ones." He helped me into the cab. "I need to handle this."
"I'll come with you. We can explain—"
"No." His voice was firm. "This is my battle. I won't have your reputation tarnished."
He gave the driver my address, then leaned in through the window. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"Alexander—"
He silenced me with a brief, fierce kiss. "Trust me, Eliza."
As the cab pulled away, I watched him standing there, already on his phone. The night that had been so perfect was now shattered. And I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of our troubles.
My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
"You should see who your "boyfriend" was with last month. Same gallery. The same look was in his eyes. Check your email."
With trembling fingers, I opened my email to find a photograph of Alexander with another woman, looking at her exactly the way he'd looked at me tonight.
The cab ride home was a blur. My fingers trembled as I opened the email attachment, revealing a photograph of Alexander with another woman at what appeared to be the same gallery. They stood close together, his expression mirroring the intensity I'd witnessed tonight.
I stared at the message: You should see who your "boyfriend" was with last month. Same gallery. Same look in his eyes.
But Alexander wasn't my boyfriend. We weren't in a relationship. We were colleagues who had shared one impulsive, ill-advised kiss after an emotionally charged evening. A kiss that was now threatening both our professional reputations.
When I reached my apartment, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto my couch, still wrapped in Alexander's jacket. My phone buzzed repeatedly with notifications—colleagues sending links to business blogs where grainy photos of our kiss were already circulating.
The headlines were brutal: "Thornton Industries CEO Caught in Compromising Position with HR Manager" and "Office Romance or Corporate Scandal? Thornton's Latest PR Disaster."
I buried my face in my hands. This wasn't just about us anymore. The Nova theft of our project had already put the company in a vulnerable position. Now this scandal was adding fuel to the fire.
My phone rang—Alexander.
"Eliza." His voice was tightly controlled. "Are you alright?"
"Depends on your definition of 'alright,'" I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "I've just been branded as the company harlot who's sleeping with the boss to get ahead."
"I'm sorry." The two words carried genuine regret. "The board meeting just ended. It was... contentious."
"What happens now?"
"I need to see you. Not as your boss, but because we need to get our stories straight before tomorrow. The press will be relentless."
I hesitated, looking at the mysterious email again. "Alexander, who is the woman in the photo with you at the gallery last month?"
A pause. "What photo?"
I forwarded the email to him. The silence on the other end of the line stretched uncomfortably.
"That's Elena Vasquez," he finally said. "Our former COO."
"The one who suddenly resigned six months ago?"
"Yes." His voice had grown colder. "I'll explain everything in person. May I come over?"