The station smelled like burnt coffee and fluorescent lights.
I stood at the front desk, arms crossed tight as the officer on duty flipped through a clipboard like we weren't in any kind of rush. My chest hadn't stopped buzzing since the call.
"Miss James?" a younger cop poked his head through a side door.
I followed him into a dull little room where my mother sat—slumped in a chair, hair messy, lipstick smudged, but alive.
"She was found arguing with a clerk outside a liquor store," the officer said. "Collapsed mid-argument. Someone called emergency services. She's not under arrest—we just wanted to make sure she had someone to go home with."
My mom gave a weak shrug. "They said I was banned."
I clenched my jaw. "Because you threw a bottle last time, remember?"
She waved a hand like I was being ridiculous. "That was weeks ago."
The officer cleared his throat. "She's free to go. Just thought you should be notified."
"Yeah," I muttered. "Thanks."
---
Back at the apartment, I barely made it past the front door before the words started spilling out.
"You could've ruined everything."
She dropped onto the couch, kicking off her shoes like it was just another Thursday. "I'm fine, Ellie."
"You think that's the point? I get a call while at work—from the police—and I'm supposed to shrug it off?"
"What kind of job falls apart because your mom's in a little trouble?"
"One that saved us." My voice cracked. "You almost cost me that job."
Her expression didn't shift. Not even an inch.
I stared at her for a second longer. Then turned and slammed my bedroom door shut.
---
By the next morning, I was dragging my feet back to work, already bracing for the whispers.
And they came.
"The new girl?" "Where'd she even come from?" "She doesn't even have a LinkedIn."
My name wasn't Eleanor anymore—it was the question mark trailing behind every glance.
I kept my head down and did my job. Or tried to. Because the second I stepped into William Black's office, my nerves flipped inside out.
He looked like sin in a navy suit—clean lines, cufflinks gleaming, jaw sharp enough to make me forget how breathing worked.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
I checked the time. "It's eight fifty-nine."
"Which is not eight fifty-eight." He finally looked at me.
And when our eyes met, something charged filled the air.
I swallowed. "Didn't realize we were measuring seconds now."
"You should assume I measure everything." His voice dipped lower. "Precisely."
The file I was holding hit the desk a little too hard. "Noted."
He stood then. Came around the desk slowly, his steps unhurried and deliberate.
He stopped too close. Close enough that I caught the scent of his cologne—dark, expensive, and unfair.
"You look like you didn't sleep."
"I didn't."
His eyes dropped—not to my face, but lower, like he was cataloging everything.
"You should. I don't like my assistants to be distracted."
"Then maybe don't stand so close," I said before I could stop myself.
A beat passed.
And then—he smirked.
Just a flicker.
Like he wasn't even aware he'd done it.
But I saw it. The smallest pull at the corner of his mouth, like something had amused him for half a second before it vanished again behind that cold, unreadable mask.
He leaned in, breath brushing my ear. "Careful, Miss James. That almost sounded like flirting."
My breath caught in my throat. The air between us was practically crackling.
But before I could even think of a response, he stepped back—cool, composed, distant.
And walked away like nothing had happened.
---
By lunch, I was still reeling when Tasha showed up, somehow convincing the receptionist she had "urgent documents" to deliver.
"You're welcome," she said, handing me a coffee and pulling me into the hallway.
"I'm not really in the mood," I muttered.
Tasha narrowed her eyes. "What's going on?"
I sighed. "The police called yesterday. About my mom."
Her expression shifted instantly. "Shit. What happened?"
"She caused a scene outside a liquor store. Nothing serious, but… enough. She collapsed in the middle of yelling at some poor clerk. They let her go, but—" I shook my head. "She acted like I was the problem. Like always."
"I hate this for you," Tasha said. "You're always the one cleaning it up."
I gave a half-shrug, like that made it easier to carry.
Tasha didn't push. She just pulled a glittery flyer from her bag and waved it in my face. "Which is why we're going out tonight. Non-negotiable."
"I should stay in."
"Girl," she said, narrowing her eyes. "It's Friday. You cannot spend it sulking on your couch, arguing with your own brain while your mom pretends last night didn't happen. That's illegal in at least three boroughs."
I almost laughed. Almost.
Tasha softened. "You need a reset. Just one night. Come dance with me, drink something that'll burn going down, and pretend like your life isn't a soap opera for a few hours."
I hesitated.
Tasha leaned in, all sly grin and wicked intuition. "Unless this has something to do with a certain boss who looks like he eats assistants for breakfast."
I bit my lip.
"Oh my god. Something happened."
I looked around, lowering my voice. "He… almost smiled."
Tasha blinked. "That's it? That's your big news?"
"You don't understand. William Black does not smile. He has resting ice king face twenty-four seven. But today… something flickered. Like a twitch. Or a glitch in the matrix."
Tasha grinned like a wolf. "You're definitely coming out tonight. That look on your face? That's dangerous."
---
At home, I changed into the only black dress I owned that made me feel like I had power in places people didn't expect.
It hugged the right spots. Made me feel dangerous. Like I could take control of the night before it swallowed me.
Tasha texted that she was downstairs in a cab.
I glanced in the mirror one last time. Fixed my lipstick. Steeled my nerves.
And then my phone rang.
William Black.
I stared at the screen, heart lurching.
I picked up, trying to keep my voice at level. "Mr. Black?"
"I need you at the office. Now."
I blinked. "What? It's after work hours. I–"
"Board files are missing. This can't wait."
I turned towards the door, heels clicking against hardwood as I moved. "I'm actually– I have plans tonight. I was just heading out–"
"That wasn't a question." Click.
The line went dead.
I stared at my reflection—smoky eyes, killer heels, and a dress meant for cocktails and chaos.
"So much for dancing with strangers."