CHAPTER ELEVEN
Selene
After the mind-blowing, work-disrupting moment in Charles' office, I couldn't just go back to my desk and pretend like he hadn't rocked my entire world with that kiss.
My lips still tingled, my heart still thudded in my chest — like a damn drumroll waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I needed to cool off, and the ladies' room felt like the safest option.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I pushed the door open, my heart still thudding in my chest. My palms were clammy, the air thick against my flushed skin. I leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror.
My lips were still swollen, slightly parted, and God—I looked exactly how I felt. Wrecked.
Get it together, Selene.
I splashed cold water on my face, trying to erase the imprint of his mouth on mine, the heat of his hand around my throat. But all it did was smear my mascara and make me look like I'd just been thoroughly fucked in the supply closet.
Perfect.
I reached for a tissue, dabbing at my eyes, when the door creaked open behind me.
Of course. Because my day wasn't shitty enough already.
"Well, if it isn't Little Miss Secretary," Becca's voice dripped with sugar-coated venom.
I met her glare through the mirror without turning. The weight of her animosity clung to the air like cheap perfume—suffocating and impossible to ignore.
Behind her, Christiana leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, chewing gum like a bored teenager. Her mouth curved into a smirk, her eyes flicking lazily over me as if I were something she'd scrape off the bottom of her shoe. Of course they would be together.
They can be poster kids for saying "An enemy of my enemy is my friend."
If I had to bet, those two were probably comparing notes on how best to make my life a living hell. But if they thought I was going to fold like some meek little girl, they had another thing coming. This wasn't high school. The mean-girl routine wouldn't work on me — not anymore.
I'd been on the receiving end of bullying before. Enough to know exactly how their kind operated.
"Hey, Chrissy, look who came in looking like what the cat dragged in," Becca sneered.
I didn't even flinch. I knew exactly what she was trying to do — bait me into snapping.
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. I know she was aiming for a superior tone but she only managed to sound like a low-budget Regina George.
"Becca, come on," Christiana cooed with false sympathy. "Don't tease the poor thing. She already looks like she's been through the wringer."
"You have no idea."
The snort slipped out before I could stop it, louder than I intended. I meant for subtle. But then again, I could careless at this point.
I sidestepped them and slipped into the stall, slamming the door shut with just enough force to let them know I wasn't running — just choosing my battles.
I could wait them out. I had all day.
Or so I thought.
"We'll see if your fat ass lasts a month in this company before you're fired," Becca's voice came from right outside the stall.
I smirked, pressing my palms flat against the door. I didn't know bodyshaming is still a thing but alright. Game on, bitch.
I made sure my voice was syrupy sweet when I answered. "I'd be careful if I were you... at least I don't go around tampering with other people's presentations. And if I were to do something like that, I'd have done it somewhere more discreet... not in front of a CCTV camera."
The silence that followed was delicious.
Then — an overly dramatic gasp.
Their footsteps retreated in a hurried shuffle, but not before I caught Christiana muttering something about how it wasn't over.
Oh honey, I thought, biting back a grin. It never is.
I waited a few minutes before stepping out, making sure the coast was clear. After washing my hands, I returned to my desk — only to find a coffee cup sitting neatly on the corner, steam still rising from the lid.
A pale yellow sticky note was pressed to the side.
Sorry ):
I blinked down at it, fingers hesitating over the cup.
The handwriting was neat, masculine — just like I'd seen on countless signatures at the bottom of his memos.
Charles.
Heat prickled under my skin again, for an entirely different reason this time.
He'd paid enough attention to know how I took my coffee. *Black.* No sugar. No milk. No assumptions that I'd automatically want something sweet because of my hips or how I carried most of my weight in my thighs.
It was such a small, stupid thing... but it made my chest squeeze in a way I didn't know how to deal with.
I lifted the lid, inhaling the bitter aroma.
He could've just left the coffee — no note, no apology, nothing. But the little frown face... the ridiculous attempt at making amends...
The bastard was playing mind games.
I was still staring at the cup when Becca strutted back into the office. She spotted me immediately, her beady eyes narrowing like a vulture circling fresh roadkill.
Her steps quickened — the kind of purposeful march women like her used when they were about to ruin someone's day.
"You're awfully quiet today, Graham."
I didn't bother looking up.
"Maybe I finally realized your voice is best enjoyed in small doses."
I thought that would be the end of it — a quick jab, just enough to shut her up.
But then her gaze flicked to the coffee cup.
She froze.
Her whole face shifted — confusion, suspicion, and something close to panic flickering behind her eyes.
Before I could snatch the sticky note away, her hand shot out and plucked it off the cup.
"Who did he leave this for?" she demanded, her voice sharp enough to draw a few curious glances from nearby desks.
"Uh... me? And who's this *he* you're talking about?"
Her nostrils flared. "Charles. Of course. This is his handwriting. Why would he leave you an apology?"
I tilted my head. "Maybe he's making up for all the years of bad decisions in his life."
Her lips curled.
"Charles. Never. Apologizes."
There it was — the crack in her carefully constructed superiority complex.
I could practically see the wheels turning in her head — trying to piece together how the cold, unreachable CEO had scribbled a pathetic little sad face on a sticky note just for me.
I leaned in, lowering my voice just enough that only she could hear.
"I explained what happened," I said with a shrug. "Guess he felt bad. Maybe you should try being clumsy sometime."
The little vein in her temple twitched.
For a second, I thought she might actually lunge at me — nails first.
But then, like a switch had flipped, she smiled — all teeth and venom — before turning on her heel and sauntering toward the elevators.
I watched her go, my fingers curling around the cup as I took my first slow, satisfied sip.
I knew that wasn't going to be the end of it.
Becca would come back harder — meaner. Women like her always did.
But for now...
I had won this round.