Chapter 4: Lines in the Sand

After explaining the dinner arrangements and precautions to Aubrey, Pam pulled me aside. She steered me toward the breakroom, away from prying eyes, voice pitched low.

"While you were out, she wore dresses cut so low and slits so high they nearly reached her belly button."

Pam shook her head, like she’d just seen a traffic accident she couldn’t unsee. “Girl, HR nearly staged an intervention. One more wardrobe malfunction and we’d all be in a training seminar.”

"Be careful—don’t tell her everything."

She raised her eyebrows, like a warning light blinking red. Pam had my back, even if she was a little over the top. I appreciated her concern and joked:

"If Mr. Reed didn’t say anything, it means he likes it."

Pam snorted, rolling her eyes. "He probably didn’t even notice. Men like him, they don’t see anything unless it’s in a spreadsheet."

"Besides, I never planned to follow Nathan Reed for my whole life."

I shrugged, trying to make light of it, but there was a quiet truth in my words. My path had to split from his someday.

I turned to make coffee. The spoon stirred my thoughts, slowly settling. I let the aroma of dark roast calm me, listening to the low hum of the office, the whirr of the fridge.

Before leaving work, as usual, I left the bottle of organic milk next to his laptop—just like every other Thursday. It was a little ritual—one he pretended not to notice, but I could tell he looked for it.

He was lounging with his legs up, profile tall and straight. Nathan always managed to look like he belonged on the cover of a business magazine, even when he was off the clock.

"Mr. Reed, I’ve explained all the dinner details to Aubrey."

I paused, making sure my voice didn’t betray how tired I was. "Remember to drink the milk before you drink alcohol."

He glanced sideways. His gaze lingered, unreadable. A long silence stretched between us. Looked at the milk bottle, then his gaze landed on my face.

"You look tired. Are you eating okay?"

He said it matter-of-factly, but there was a flicker of concern I almost missed. Then, suddenly, he changed the subject.

"Is it because I didn’t give you enough?"

"Huh?" I was stunned for a moment, then immediately understood. Pam’s gossip had traveled faster than a wildfire in July. I couldn’t help but smile at the speed of office rumors. In just one afternoon, what I’d said to Pam had already reached his ears.

A bit fast, but not surprising.

I squared my shoulders, but my voice wobbled anyway. "Mr. Reed, I was originally going to wait until Aubrey was fully trained before submitting my resignation."

I met his eyes, determined to sound grown-up, not like the nervous kid I’d been four years ago. "Thank you for your guidance these past years..."

I trailed off, memories bubbling up.

"How much did the other company offer you?"

He frowned slightly, as if negotiating a tough deal. He always defaulted to business. Feelings were for other people. As if I were just something in a shop window—No matter who it is, as long as the price is high enough, they can buy me back.

I shook my head, gentle but firm. "It’s not about money." I wanted him to hear the truth this time, not just brush me off with numbers and logic.

"Then why? Is it because I let Aubrey go to dinner with me, or because you haven’t rested enough while you’re sick?"

His eyes softened just a little, voice losing its usual chill. "If something’s making you unhappy or uncomfortable, you can tell me."

His tone actually had a hint of coaxing. The golden sunset slanted in, a ray landing on his moving Adam’s apple. The office glowed with late afternoon light, making him look almost human—less boss, more… something else.

His sharply defined face was half-hidden in shadow, as beautiful as a sculpture. When I didn’t answer, he reached up to loosen his tie, unbuttoning two shirt buttons and exposing a hint of chest. The movement was slow, deliberate, like he needed a moment to breathe. I tried not to stare.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his brow. He looked tired, the lines around his eyes a little deeper than usual. I almost felt sorry for him.