Twenty minutes later, Alexander was at my door. He'd changed from our dinner attire into jeans and a simple button-down shirt—I'd never seen him dressed so casually, and it threw me off balance.
"Thank you for seeing me," he said formally.
I gestured him inside. "You said you'd explain about Elena."
Alexander paced my small living room, looking surprisingly out of place in the modest surroundings.
"Elena Vasquez was our COO for three years. Brilliant woman. We attended many corporate events together, including that gallery opening."
"Were you involved with her?"
His jaw tightened. "Briefly. It was a mistake that ended when I discovered she was feeding company information to her brother, Richard Vasquez."
"The board member who's been giving you trouble?"
"The same." Alexander stopped pacing. "Elena resigned rather than face an investigation. Richard has been looking for ways to undermine me ever since."
"And now he's using us—using me—to do it?"
"It appears so."
I sank onto the couch. "So that kiss tonight..."
"Was genuine," Alexander said firmly. "But terribly timed and completely unprofessional. I take full responsibility."
"It takes two to kiss, Alexander. I was there too."
A hint of a smile crossed his face before disappearing. "The board is demanding action. They're concerned about the optics, especially after the Nova situation."
"They want you to fire me." It wasn't a question.
"Some do. Others are suggesting I step down." He ran a hand through his hair. "Neither of those options is acceptable to me."
"So what do we do?"
Alexander sat beside me, careful to maintain a respectful distance. "We have three options. First, we could deny everything, claim the photos were manipulated. But that would be a lie, and more evidence might surface."
"Second?"
"We acknowledge what happened, express regret for the lapse in judgment, and assure everyone it was an isolated incident that won't be repeated."
I nodded slowly. "And the third option?"
"We could..." he hesitated. "We could state that we've developed feelings for each other and intend to pursue a relationship following proper corporate protocols."
My heart skipped. "Is that what you want?"
Alexander looked at me intently. "What I want is irrelevant. This has to be your decision, Eliza. Your career is at stake."
"So is yours."
"I've weathered worse storms. And I have resources you don't."
I stood and walked to the window, needing space to think clearly. "If we go with option two, will I still have a job?"
"I'll make certain of it, though a department transfer would be necessary."
"And if we go with option three?"
Alexander joined me at the window, his reflection visible in the glass beside mine. "The same, plus a significant amount of scrutiny and gossip."
"Based on one kiss," I said ruefully.
"A rather memorable one," he replied, a hint of warmth creeping into his voice.
I turned to face him. "Alexander, I need to ask you something, and I need complete honesty."
"Of course."
"Was this all because of the Nova situation? The dinner, the walks, the... kiss? Was it just relief that we'd salvaged the project, or was it something more?"
He considered his words carefully. "The Nova situation accelerated things, but it didn't create them." His eyes met mine. "I've been drawn to you since your interview, Eliza. Your intelligence, your determination, the way you challenge me without fear. Tonight wasn't planned, but I can't say I regret it."
"Even with all this fallout?"
"Even so."
I took a deep breath. "I think we should go with option two."
Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment, perhaps?—but he nodded. "A wise choice."
"Not because I don't feel... something," I clarified. "But because whatever this is between us deserves a chance to develop normally, without corporate politics and public scrutiny."
"I understand completely," Alexander said, his professional mask slipping back into place.
"And I want that transfer. Strategic Development, if possible. Marcus has been dropping hints for weeks."
"Consider it done." Alexander checked his watch. "I should go. Tomorrow will be challenging."
At the door, he paused. "One more thing you should know. The anonymous email you received? It almost certainly came from Richard Vasquez. He'll likely try to contact you again, perhaps offer you incentives to speak out against me."
"He'd be wasting his time."
A genuine smile curved Alexander's lips. "I believe you. But be careful, Eliza. Vasquez is dangerous when crossed."
"I can handle myself."
"I know. It's one of the things I admire about you." He hesitated, then added, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about how this evening ended."
"Just the ending?" I asked.
"Just the ending," he confirmed.
After Alexander left, I sat awake for hours, replaying the events of the day. The project presentation. The celebration. The dinner. The kiss. The scandal. It felt like weeks had passed instead of hours.
My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
Ms. Bennett, this is Richard Vasquez. I believe we have mutual interests to discuss. Breakfast tomorrow? My treat.
I stared at the message, remembering Alexander's warning. Then I typed a reply:
Mr. Vasquez, I appreciate the invitation, but I must decline. I don't believe we have any mutual interests whatsoever.
The response came almost immediately:
Ask Thornton about Beijing. Ask him what happened to James Miller. Then decide if our interests align.
I set my phone down, a chill running through me. Who was James Miller? And what had happened in Beijing?
Just as I was about to turn off the lights, a final text arrived, this one from Alexander:
Whatever happens tomorrow, remember that not everything is as it appears. Trust your instincts, Eliza. They're rarely wrong.
As I drifted into an uneasy sleep, I couldn't shake the feeling that the kiss we'd shared was only the beginning of a much more complicated story—one that extended far beyond office politics and corporate rivalries.
Morning arrived with the harsh buzz of my alarm and a pounding headache. For one blissful moment, I forgot everything that had happened—then reality crashed back as notifications flooded my phone. Overnight, our kiss had evolved from business blog gossip to mainstream news.
I scrolled through the headlines with growing dread:
"Thornton Industries in Turmoil: CEO's Romantic Entanglement Raises Questions"
"Pattern of Behavior? Sources Claim Thornton Has History with Female Employees"
"Stocks Dip as Investors Question Thornton's Leadership"
With shaking hands, I called Anita, my closest friend in HR.
"Please tell me I still have a job," I said when she answered.
"Oh, honey," Anita's voice was sympathetic. "It's chaos here. Thornton called an all-staff meeting for nine. You're expected to attend."
"In person?"
"In person. And Eliza? Walker from Legal has been in meetings since dawn."
My stomach dropped. Legal involvement was never good news.
"I'll be there," I promised, already rushing to my closet.
I opted for my most conservative outfit—a charcoal pantsuit that practically screamed "professional"—and pulled my hair into a tight bun. If I was going to face the firing squad, I'd do it looking like the competent HR manager I was, not the woman who'd kissed her boss in a park.
As I gathered my things, Richard Vasquez's cryptic message played in my mind: Ask Thornton about Beijing. Ask him what happened to James Miller.
Against my better judgment, I opened my laptop and typed "James Miller Beijing Thornton Industries" into the search bar.
The results were sparse but telling. Three years ago, Thornton Industries had opened a new manufacturing facility in Beijing. James Miller had been the project manager, a rising star in the company. There was a brief announcement of his tragic death in a car accident two months after the facility opened, followed by Alexander's statement expressing profound sorrow and establishing a scholarship fund in Miller's name.
Nothing suspicious on the surface, but why would Vasquez think this would turn me against Alexander?
I dug deeper, searching for any controversies surrounding the Beijing facility. A few environmental protest reports appeared, along with some allegations about working conditions that had been "thoroughly investigated and dismissed" according to company statements.
I was about to close my laptop when a small news item caught my eye. It was from a local Beijing paper, translated awkwardly into English: "American businessman death questioned by family. James Miller's parents claim investigation 'insufficient' and 'evidence missing.'"
The article was brief and had clearly received little attention, but it mentioned that Miller had sent concerning emails to his parents in the days before his death, expressing anxiety about "discovered irregularities" at the facility.
My phone buzzed with a text from Alexander: Car waiting for you downstairs. Don't speak to anyone before the meeting.
I closed my laptop, suddenly unsure about what—and who—to believe.