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I hurry back to my desk, collapsing into my chair as I snatch up the phone and dial security.
“Hi, this is Cora Rossi. My pass isn’t working for level forty. Could you please check that for me?”
There’s a pause on the other end, the sound of someone chewing. “Hold on a sec.”
My fingers drum against the desk, impatience bubbling up inside me. After what feels like an eternity, the voice comes back.
“Looks like you don’t have access to level forty.”
“What? I had access last week.”
A heavy sigh. “I don’t know what you want me to say… you don’t now.”
I hang up before I scream at the poor guy.
I knew it. What an asshole.
My fingers curl into fists as I glare at the elevator.
Fine. He can block my access, he can shut me out—but he can’t avoid me forever. We need to talk. I won’t let this go.
Nathan strolls in a few minutes later, coffee in hand, oblivious to the hurricane raging inside me.
“Morning! Hey, congrats on the event Friday. You killed it,” he says with a grin.
“Oh… thanks,” I mumble, struggling to mask the desperation brewing. The gala feels like a lifetime ago now. My mind races, scrambling for a plan. Suddenly, an idea clicks—one that makes me feel lower than I’ve ever felt before, but right now, I’ll do anything.
Nathan sips his coffee, raising an eyebrow. “You okay? You look… off. Coming down with something?”
“I’m fine, just tired.” I force out a weak smile.
He smirks, leaning in. “Has our favorite tall, dark, and brooding boss been wearing you out?”
Despite everything, a laugh escapes me. And I hate myself for what I’m about to do next.
“Actually, speaking of James…” I glance around as if I’m about to share a secret. “I’ve got a meeting on level forty in a few minutes to debrief the gala, but my pass is acting up. Can I borrow yours? Security’s sorting me out a new one, but I don’t want to be late.”
Nathan doesn’t hesitate. “Sure thing!” He pulls the lanyard from his neck and hands it over without a second thought.
Guilt pierces through me. Nathan trusts me, and here I am, lying to his face. But once again… desperate times, desperate measures.
I swipe Nathan’s pass at the elevator. This time, the light turns green. I blow out a deep breath as the elevator climbs, carrying me toward the confrontation I’m both dreading—and craving.
When the doors open on the top floor, I’m relieved to see Portia isn’t at her desk. I move quickly on my tiptoes so my heels don’t make a sound as I approach James’s office. The frosted glass walls shield him from view, but I know he’s in there.
My hand hovers just above the handle, a bead of sweat forming on the back of my neck.
Just go in. Just explain.
I grip the door handle, determined to make him listen, to make him understand that I never meant to hurt him.But the fear of seeing anger in his eyes paralyzes me.
I can’t back out now.
I force myself to push the door open, every part of me braced for the worst.
Please… just let him listen.
I open it just far enough to peek inside. James sits behind his desk, looking like hell. Dark circles hang under his eyes, and his usually slick hair is a mess. He’s clearly had as little sleep as I have. But the moment his eyes snap to mine, his entire demeanor hardens, the exhaustion replaced by cold fury.