Pretending is an artform
GRANEX Headquarters was all glass,steel and cold ambition. But no amount of polish could hide the fact that Elara walked through the lobby with a secret burning beneath her skin.
The elevator dinged. She stepped in. Alone. Almost. A hand caught the door just before it closed- and there he was- Killian Reeve.
Sharp suit. Stupidly gorgeous. Smirking like the devil who knew exactly what sin they'd committed.
"Good morning," he said casually as if he hadn't had her legs wrapped around his waist forty-eight hours ago. Elara didn't look at him. "We're not doing this".
"Doing what?," His voice was all silk and teasing, "I'm just being polite."
"We made a mistake. It's over". She stated.
"Who said I want it to be over?". Elara's jaw tightened. The elevator felt too small. His cologne- something dark and expensive- wrapped around her like memory.
"I'm serious,Killian". He stepped a little closer to her invading her air. "So am I. That was the best mistake I've ever made." The doors opened to the executive floor.
She walked out,spine straight,heels clicking like defiance. Everyone turned to greet her-nods,good mornings,Innocent smiles. No one had any idea. She made it to her office,shut the door and finally let her breath out.
It was fine. Everything was fine.
No one knew.
No one saw.
It was a secret.
But Killian had a different agenda.
Later that afternoon,in a sleek private office on the top floor. Killian sat with his laptop open reviewing footage from the charity gala. He rewound the clip again- pausing on the moment a waitress handed Elara a drink and also to him. The waitress wasn't part of the regular staff. Killian would know. He paid attention to people,especially the ones who didn't belong. He switched tabs and opened the toxicology report he'd quietly requested from a private clinic. "Mild traces of zolpidem," he muttered,reading the results.
"Sedative,fast acting. Low dosage. Just enough to loosen judgment." Killian picked up his phone and dialed.
"Reed," he said to his private investigator.
"I want to know everything about that waitress working at the bar service at the Marlowe Hotel that night. Check the security footage."
"On it." The man replied.
Killian ended the call and leaned back,jaw tight.
Few minutes later,there was a message from Reed, his private investigator.
Not a staff. Fake ID. Burner phone. Disappeared.
The hum of the office was louder than usual,though Elara couldn't decide if it was the buzz of whispered gossip or just the ringing in her own ears.
The gala was a blur now- silk dresses, champagne,forced laughter, and then.....that room.
That kiss. That mistake.
She gripped the tablet in her hand,scrolling through the morning schedule with mechanical focus.
Her assistant knocked gently and peeked in .
"Ma'am, Mr Reeve is waiting for you in conference room four".
Her pulse jumped. She hated that.
Control,Elara. Control is everything.
She smoothed her dress,walked out the door and headed down the corridor lined with glass and curated portraits of power.
When she entered the room,Killian was already there seated with infuriating calm,a cup of black coffee untouched before him.
Their eyes met. A flicker of something passed between them- recognition- regret.....restraint.
"Miss Vance." He said coolly professional.
"Mr Reeve." They were strangers again. It was safer that way.
The meeting lasted for an hour.
It was about the quarterly numbers,international branches and the new luxury campaign.
When the others filed out,Elara stood to leave but Killian stopped her with a quiet "Wait," she turned slowly. "What?".
"About last night," he said standing,his tone low and unreadable. "We don't have to talk about it."
"Good," She replied without missing a beat.
"Because I'm not interested in apologies or excuses."
"Neither am I ."
She moved to the door then paused. Without turning back, she said,"whatever that was- it didn't happen. We'll act like professionals. Like adults."
"Agreed."
"Pretending is an artform ," she added.
"Let's master it."
Then she left.