The Promotion

Chapter Nine

I stood frozen, staring at the man in front of me.

The man I'd kissed in a club.
The man I'd danced with like the world didn't exist.
The man who was now... my boss.

My brain refused to catch up. It was like my thoughts were stuck behind a locked door, knocking frantically while my body stood there pretending everything was normal.

His deep brown eyes locked onto mine, steady and unflinching. Unlike me, he didn't look shaken. If anything, he looked composed—too composed—like this was merely an unexpected twist in a day he already had under control.

His hands were tucked casually into his trouser pockets, shoulders relaxed, posture tall and self-assured. His hair—neat, wavy, impossibly perfect—sat in place as though someone had styled it with intention... except it didn't look styled. It looked effortless. One strand fell along the side of his face, softening the sharpness of his features in a way that made him look dangerous and beautiful at the same time.

The suit he wore fitted him like it belonged on him. It emphasised the strength in his frame, the broadness of his shoulders, the lean muscle beneath the fabric. He looked expensive. Untouchable.

And yet, I'd touched him.

"So," Vivien's voice cut through the air, "I'll let you two get acquainted, and I'll authorise your access pass."

I didn't respond. I don't even think I blinked.

"Louisa?" Viv prompted, her tone sharpening slightly.

I jolted as though waking from a dream. "Oh—yes. Sorry." My voice sounded far away. I fumbled for the card and handed it over.

Viv gave me a polite smile, nodded once at Alexander, and left. The moment she disappeared, the room shifted. The quiet wasn't comfortable anymore—it was dense, pressurised, filled with things unsaid.

Alexander didn't speak immediately. Instead, he gestured calmly toward the seating area, indicating the couch. I moved as if on autopilot and sat down. He took the armchair opposite me, crossing one ankle over the other with infuriating ease.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Nothing came out.

My heartbeat thudded loudly in my ears. The memory of his mouth on mine flashed again, hot and humiliating.

Alexander finally broke the silence. "So," he said, voice smooth and familiar, "we meet again. How are you?"

The sound of him—that sound—made my stomach flutter in the worst possible way.

"I'm... good." The word came out shaky. I swallowed. "I'm sorry. I don't know if I can do this job."

His brows lifted slightly. Confusion flickered across his face for the first time. "What? What do you mean?"

"I don't know if I can work with you," I said, teeth clenched around the admission.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands lightly clasped under his chin. The posture looked casual, but it drew my attention in a way that made me feel exposed.

It also did something to me.

Heat rose into my cheeks. My pulse turned frantic.

Stop. Pull yourself together.

"Why?" he asked, still calm, like he genuinely wanted to understand.

I looked away, fixing my gaze on the window, the city beyond, anything except him. "Because of what happened. The other night. I don't know if it's... appropriate."