Larissa's POV
Morning hit me like a freight train. I stared at my reflection in the office bathroom mirror, trying to convince myself I looked put-together. Professional. Like a woman who definitely hadn't spent her weekend crying over a cheating boyfriend and eating ice cream straight from the container.
The concealer under my eyes was doing most of the heavy lifting.
"You've got this," I whispered to my reflection. "Just another day at the office."
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.
I smoothed down my navy blazer and headed for the marketing department. My heels clicked against the polished floors of Gary Enterprises, each step a small victory. I was here. I was functioning. I was not falling apart.
"Rissa!" Libby's voice cut through my mental pep talk. She rushed over, her red hair bouncing with each step. "How are you holding up?"
Before I could answer, Juliette and Estelle appeared at my desk like concerned fairy godmothers. Juliette set down a steaming coffee cup while Estelle produced a chocolate croissant from the bakery downstairs.
"Emergency breakfast meeting," Estelle announced, pushing the pastry toward me. "You look like you need carbs."
I sank into my desk chair, grateful for friends who understood the healing power of butter and sugar. "You guys don't have to babysit me."
"Please," Juliette scoffed, perching on the edge of my desk. "Remember when I caught Walton with his yoga instructor? You brought me comfort food for a week."
"That's different," I protested weakly.
"How?" Libby demanded, settling into the chair across from me. "Cheating is cheating. And with Rachel Griffin, no less. I never liked that girl."
"You met her exactly once," I pointed out.
"Once was enough. She had that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I steal other people's boyfriends' look."
Despite everything, I almost smiled. "I don't think that's a real look."
"Trust me, it is," Estelle chimed in. "All sharp angles and fake sympathy. Did you see her Instagram story? She's already posting couple photos with Wesley."
My stomach dropped. "I haven't looked."
"Good. Don't." Juliette shot Estelle a warning glare. "Social media is poison when you're trying to heal."
"I just can't believe he threw away all those years for her," I muttered, taking a sip of coffee. The warmth helped settle the knot in my chest.
"His loss," Libby said firmly. "You deserve so much better than some guy who can't keep it in his pants."
"Exactly what Denise said," I admitted. "Though she used significantly more colorful language."
"I like Denise," Estelle grinned. "She has the right idea."
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment. The normal office sounds filtered around us—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the distant hum of the copy machine. Familiar. Safe.
"So what's the plan?" Juliette asked gently. "Are you taking time off? Do you need to talk to HR about anything?"
I shook my head. "Work is good. Work is normal. I need normal right now."
"Speaking of work," Libby's expression shifted to something between excitement and nervousness. "Did you hear about Thursday's presentation?"
My stomach clenched. "What about it?"
"The marketing director moved it up suddenly. And get this—" Libby lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Carson Gary is actually going to attend."
The coffee cup slipped from my suddenly nerveless fingers. It clattered against the desk, splashing dark liquid across my presentation notes.
"What?" The word came out as barely a whisper.
"I know, right?" Estelle grabbed napkins from her desk drawer, dabbing at the coffee spill. "When's the last time the CEO showed up to a departmental presentation? Never, that's when."
My heart was hammering against my ribs. Carson Gary. Here. Today.
The man who'd rescued me from those drunk assholes outside Rachel's party. The man who'd seen me at my absolute lowest, mascara-streaked and falling apart on a city sidewalk.
The man whose gray eyes had seen straight through me in ways that made my skin flush with remembered heat.
No. No, no, no.
"Rissa?" Juliette's concerned voice seemed to come from very far away. "You look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm fine," I lied, my voice pitched too high. "Just surprised. I mean, Carson Gary doesn't usually—that is, he's very busy with—"
"Exactly," Libby interrupted, clearly misreading my panic. "Which means this presentation is a huge deal. The marketing director said it could make or break our quarterly budget approval."
Perfect. Just perfect.
"Maybe he won't actually show," Estelle suggested hopefully. "CEOs say they'll attend things all the time and then cancel at the last minute."
"Not Carson Gary," Juliette said with certainty. "My cousin works in executive operations. She says when he commits to something, he follows through. Always."
The coffee stain was spreading across my carefully prepared notes, turning my bullet points into illegible brown smears. It felt symbolic somehow.
"How long do we have?" I asked, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.
Libby checked her phone. "We don't have much time. The meeting is happening soon."
A short time to pull myself together. A short time to transform from a woman having a complete internal meltdown into a professional marketing executive who definitely had never been driven home by her CEO after catching her boyfriend cheating.
A short time to pray that Carson Gary had dealt with so many traumatic situations that one crying woman outside a party wouldn't stand out in his memory.
"I need to reprint these notes," I said, standing abruptly. The sudden movement made me dizzy.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Estelle studied my face with concern. "You look pale."
"Just nervous," I said, which was the understatement of the century. "Big presentation and all."
"You'll be great," Libby said warmly. "Your section on consumer engagement is brilliant. Gary would be crazy not to approve the budget increase."
If only that were my biggest concern.
The time before the meeting passed in a blur of frantic preparation. I reprinted my notes, double-checked my PowerPoint slides, and practiced my talking points until they were burned into my memory. Anything to keep my mind off the approaching disaster.
My phone buzzed with another text from Wesley. I'd been ignoring his increasingly desperate messages all weekend, but this one made me pause.
*Please, Rissa. Just give me a chance to explain. What Rachel and I have isn't real. You're the one I want to marry.*
I stared at the words until they blurred. Not long ago, a message like this would have had me sobbing with hope. Now it just made me feel tired.
I deleted it without responding.
By the time we needed to gather, I was stationed outside the conference room with my laptop, notes, and what felt like a family of butterflies having a rave in my stomach. The marketing director was running through last-minute logistics with the AV tech while Libby, Juliette, and Estelle set up their materials.
"Remember," the marketing director addressed our small team, "this is about proving our department's value. Clear presentations, confident delivery, and professional answers to any questions."
I nodded along with everyone else, trying to project confidence I absolutely did not feel.
"He's probably not even coming," Estelle whispered to me. "Emergency board meeting or something."
"Right," I whispered back, clinging to that hope like a life preserver.
Just before the meeting was set to begin. The conference room was ready. Our presentations were loaded. Coffee and water were arranged on the side table.
The marketing director checked her watch and was about to begin when the conference room door opened, and Carson Gary walked in.
Every thought fled my mind. Every carefully rehearsed talking point evaporated. The butterflies in my stomach turned into pterodactyls, and my heart began to hammer so hard I was sure everyone could hear it.
He was exactly as I remembered—tall, imposing, devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His dark hair was styled with casual precision, and those gray eyes swept the room with the same intense focus that had pinned me in place outside Rachel's party.
"Good morning," he said, his voice carrying that same quiet authority that had made me feel safe and terrified all at once. "I apologize for the timing change. I hope it didn't cause any inconvenience."
"Not at all, Mr. Gary," the marketing director replied smoothly. "We're honored to have you here."
His gaze moved across our small group, polite but distant. Professional. When his eyes reached me, I held my breath.
For a heartbeat, our gazes locked. His expression didn't change, but something flickered in those gray depths. Recognition? Confusion?
Then his attention moved on to Libby, and I wondered if I'd imagined the whole thing.
"Shall we begin?" Carson took a seat at the head of the table, and my heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape.