Later that night, Emily was brushing out her hair when her phone lit up. She expected it to be a friend, maybe even Alexander himself. Instead, Evelyn Gray's name flashed across the screen.
"Emily, dear," came the warm, velvet voice. "I hope I'm not disturbing you too late."
"Not at all, Mrs. Gray. I was just winding down," Emily said, forcing her tone into casual politeness.
"I wanted to ask—what did you think of Alexander tonight?" Evelyn asked, curiosity threaded through her practiced warmth.
Emily hesitated. Evelyn wasn't just a mother fishing for compliments; she was a strategist, gauging alliances. "He's… interesting," Emily said at last. "Reserved. But I think there's more to him than meets the eye."
A chuckle. "That's exactly what I like to hear. Alexander can be prickly, but he's a good man. I'm glad you're willing to look deeper."
Emily smiled faintly. "Everyone has more depth than we first see."
Evelyn's approval carried through the line. "I'll give you his personal number. That way you can reach him directly. Alexander doesn't always make it easy."
Emily's pulse quickened as she scribbled the digits down. When the call ended, she sat in silence, staring at the numbers as if they were a key to a locked vault. She could reach him now, bypassing assistants, schedules, even his own defenses.
She thought about texting him immediately, but no—desperation was unattractive. Instead, she spent the next hour studying her notes on Gray Innovations, combing through every press release, every rumor. She would use knowledge as her entry point. When she finally drafted a message the next day, it was professional: Hi Alexander, just confirming our meeting tomorrow at 2 PM. Looking forward to discussing our collaboration.
When Alexander received it, he frowned at the unknown number. His instinct was to demand: How did you get this? But Emily's message carried a disarming clarity. He thought of his mother, her subtle games. Against his better judgment, his reply softened: Confirmed. See you tomorrow at 2 PM.
Emily smiled when the response appeared. But instead of leaving it at that, she typed another: Also, don't forget to grab something to eat before bed. Sleep on a full stomach, not an empty one. Sweet dreams.
The pause before his reply felt endless. Then: You're worried about my eating habits? That's cute. Appreciate the concern.
Her grin widened. She teased back: Good. Then I'll make sure to bring a meal to your office tomorrow.
His response came quick, clipped. Not necessary. But thanks.
Emily chuckled softly. Okay, boss man. I'll behave.
A longer pause. Then: Looking forward to tomorrow.
Her heart skipped. That one line was enough to fuel her anticipation through the night.
Morning light spilled into Emily's apartment as she slipped into her chosen outfit: crisp white blouse, fitted black pencil skirt, and a bold red blazer that struck the balance between professionalism and provocation. She brushed her hair sleek, fastened a subtle necklace, and stepped into heels that gave her height and presence.
She studied her reflection. The look was perfect—serious yet vibrant. Someone Alexander would have to notice.
Her phone rang again—her mother.
"Emily, darling! How was dinner with Alexander Gray?"
Emily stiffened. She hated how hungry her mother's voice always sounded when his name was mentioned. "It was fine. We didn't really talk personally."
Her mother chuckled knowingly. "That's just Alexander. Busy men rarely show their hearts right away. But you'll win him over with your charm. Remember, you're not just building a partnership—you're building a future."
Emily's jaw tightened. "Yes, Mom. The business deal is moving along."
"Good. He'll come around."
After hanging up, Emily's irritation simmered. Everyone—her mother, Evelyn Gray, even the city's whispers—wanted to script her role. But Emily had her own script. Alexander wasn't just a man to catch; he was the final rung in a ladder she'd been climbing her whole life.
Traffic snarled as she drove toward Gray Tower, her fingers drumming the wheel in time with the music playing softly through her speakers. She rehearsed her opening lines, planned her slides, envisioned Alexander leaning forward with interest. By the time she pulled into the sleek parking lot, anticipation was running hot through her veins.
Gray Tower loomed above her, a twisting spire of glass and steel that shimmered in the morning sun. She smoothed her blazer, lifted her chin, and strode inside.
The lobby was cavernous, all chrome and marble. A wall of security guards intercepted her before she'd taken five steps.
"Name?" one barked.
"Emily Richardson. I have a meeting with Alexander Gray at two."
The guard scanned his list, expression blank. "Not here."
Emily's stomach sank, but she forced confidence into her voice. "Check again. I was invited."
The guards exchanged a look. One smirked. "We hear that all the time, sweetheart. You're not the first woman to claim Alexander's expecting you. Or that you're carrying his child."
Laughter rippled among them.
Heat rose in Emily's cheeks. "That's not what this is," she snapped. "I have legitimate business."
Another guard leaned against the desk, grinning. "Sure you do."
Emily's anger spiked, words sharp on her tongue—when a cool voice cut in.
"Well, well. Quite the scene."
Sofia Patek.
She stood a few feet away, her tailored dress immaculate, her smile edged with venom. She'd clearly overheard everything. "Looks like someone's morning isn't going smoothly," she purred.
Emily's glare was icy, but Sofia only arched an eyebrow, enjoying her discomfort.
Emily pulled out her phone, dialing Alexander's number with trembling fingers. Voicemail. The guards snickered again. "Doesn't look like he's answering, honey," one said.
Rage surged through Emily. She was seconds from exploding when the elevator doors slid open.
Ryan emerged.
The room shifted instantly. Guards straightened like soldiers, laughter dying in their throats.
"What's going on?" Ryan's voice was low, commanding.
"Just a misunderstanding," one guard muttered.
Ryan's gaze swept to Emily, his tone softening. "Miss Richardson. You're expected."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Emily exhaled, relief washing over her as Ryan gestured her forward. The guards mumbled apologies, eyes averted. Sofia, however, looked stricken. Anger, confusion, disbelief—all flashed across her face.
"Ryan," she said sharply. "Who is she?"
Ryan's lips curved in a near-smirk. "She's Alexander's guest." He let the word hang before adding, with just enough weight to sting: "The kind of guest who doesn't wait in the lobby."
Sofia's eyes darkened. She opened her mouth, but Ryan's steady stare silenced her.
"Let's go, Miss Richardson," he said, ushering Emily toward the elevator.
As the doors closed behind them, Emily caught one last glimpse of Sofia—her face tight with fury.
Inside the elevator, Emily exhaled. "Thank you. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't come."
Ryan glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his otherwise impassive face. "With Alexander, appearances matter. And right now? You matter."
Emily's pulse quickened. The words hung between them, heavier than she expected.
As the elevator ascended, Emily straightened her blazer and steadied her breath. She was about to face Alexander again, but this time, the stakes had changed. Sofia was watching. Evelyn was pulling strings. And Alexander himself remained an enigma.
One thing was certain—whatever happened in that office today would alter the balance of power.