CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE NOISE OUTSIDE
MAYA
Monday morning hit like a slap.
The moment I stepped into the office, heads turned. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Phones weren't just held they were angled. Subtle. Shameless. A sea of blinking screens, sneaky glances, and awkward smiles. It was like stepping into a silent storm.
I took a deep breath and walked to my desk.
Sarah, my closest cubicle neighbor, slid over with her coffee. "Hey, 'Miss Voltaire.' Nice of you to join us mortals today."
I laughed nervously. "Please. I'm still very mortal. And very caffeinated."
She leaned in. "Seriously though, are you okay? They've been whispering about you all morning. HR even had a meeting."
"HR?" I blinked.
"Apparently when you date the company's golden boy, people get nervous."
By noon, I'd received an email from corporate communications:
Subject: Internal Conduct Reminder
"Employees are reminded to uphold professionalism regardless of personal relationships with executives."
It wasn't addressed to me. But it might as well have been tattooed across my forehead.
Then came the follow-up meeting.
"Hi Maya," said Cassandra from HR, smiling like a mannequin. "We just want to ensure you're comfortable. No pressure, of course. Just... transparency."
I nodded like a robot, then spent the next twenty minutes pretending I didn't feel like I was being interrogated for falling in love.
Lola sent a GIF of a raccoon dunking its head in water titled: "YOU RIGHT NOW."
I texted Damian: "This is becoming a circus."
His reply came fast: "Want to run away? I have a jet."
I rolled my eyes but smiled. Of course he had a jet.
That night, I met him at his apartment for dinner.
Correction: his penthouse apartment.
It wasn't just luxury it was magazine-cover-level gorgeous. Floor-to-ceiling windows, leather everything, subtle masculine scent lingering in the air. City views that made the world look smaller.
I wandered around like a kid in a museum.
He handed me a glass of wine. "Still want to run away?"
"Kind of."
"You don't have to stay in that job. Or that office."
"I don't want a rescue," I said. "I want to choose my own ending."
He nodded slowly. "Okay. Then let's rewrite it."
We sat on the floor, because apparently penthouses didn't come with cozy couches. He played jazz, and we ate pasta from the container. Not romantic real.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
He nodded.
"Why me?"
His eyes softened. "Because when I'm with you, I remember who I was before all of this. Before the suits and shares and statements."
He reached for my hand.
"You remind me that I'm still human. And you don't care about the rest."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Sometimes I think that makes me naive."
He shook his head. "It makes you brave."
I hesitated, then said it.
"I think I'm falling for.