He's not my dad

part 3

The conference room door opened again.
I stayed glued to my screen, pretending to reorganize emails I’d already read twice. The air shifted immediately—cooler, heavier. The kind of presence you felt before you saw.

Polished shoes crossed my peripheral vision. Voices murmured polite goodbyes. I focused very hard on not breathing too loudly.

Then—
“Taylor?”

The sound of my name landed like a gunshot.

I looked up.
And my entire world tilted.
The man standing just feet from my desk was not a terrifying faceless CEO.
He was him.

Greg from France.

The stranger who’d caught me when I slipped on rain-slick cobblestones outside a café in Paris. The one who had taken me to hospital and called my parents, the one who visited multiple times to check I was ok.

Older. Handsome. Sharp eyes. Familiar calm.

Greg.

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
His brows lifted slightly, recognition sparking instantly. A slow smile curved his mouth—the exact same one that had made my pulse stumble weeks ago.

“Well,” he said mildly, “this is unexpected.”
Shock hit me full force.

I stood up far too fast.
My heel caught. My balance went. And before my brain could catch up—
BANG.
My temple collided with the doorframe.
Hard.

“Oh—son of—”

Strong arms caught me before I could hit the floor, just like last time. The irony was not lost on either of us.
“Careful,” Greg said, amusement threading his voice. “You really do have a habit of falling for me.”

The room went dead silent.

Every executive froze.

Every pair of eyes snapped to us.

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

“I—what—you—” I stammered, mortified beyond recovery. “You’re—”

“Greg Groves,” he finished easily. “CEO. Apparently.”

My face burned. “You didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t ask,” he said, grinning.
Mr. Benjamin looked like he might actually pass out.

“You know each other?” he croaked.
Greg glanced down at me, his hands still firmly on my arms, steadying me. “We met in France. She fell.”

“I slipped,” I corrected weakly.

“And then she fell again just now,” he added. “Consistency is admirable.”

A laugh rippled through the stunned silence. Richie choked on his own breath.

Greg finally released me, though his eyes lingered with unmistakable warmth. “Are you alright? You seem determined to injure yourself in my presence.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Mostly.”

He studied the faint bruise on my temple—the old one. His expression softened, concern briefly replacing humor.
“You really should stop leading with your head.”

“I usually do better when I’m not ambushed by billionaire CEOs,” I muttered.

That earned me a full laugh.
“Well,” Greg said, straightening his jacket, “this explains why the floor suddenly got interesting.”

Mr. Benjamin looked torn between panic and awe.

Greg glanced back at me once more before turning toward the elevator.

“We’ll talk later, Taylor.”
Not if. When.

As the doors closed behind him, the office erupted.
Richie stared at me. “You… fell on the CEO?”
“Twice,” I whispered.

Christine appeared at my side, eyes sparkling. “Oh, honey. I knew your first week would be memorable.”

I sank into my chair, heart racing, head throbbing, dignity in absolute ruins.
Somehow, joining the real world had just become infinitely more complicated.
And I had a feeling Greg Groves wasn’t done catching me yet.

Mr. Benjamin didn’t even pretend to wait.
The moment the elevator doors closed behind Greg Groves, my phone rang.
“Taylor,” he said far too brightly, “could you come into my office for a moment?”
I followed him in, already bracing myself.
He shut the door. Then—astoundingly—leaned against his desk, arms crossed, eyes sparkling.
“So,” he said. “Care to explain what that was?”
I blinked. “Which part?”
“The part where the CEO knew your name. The part where he caught you mid-fall. Or the part where he made a joke that will haunt me for the rest of my career.”
I sighed. “We met in France.”
He stared.
“France,” I repeated. “Over the summer. I slipped on wet pavement. He helped me up. We had coffee. That was it.”
Mr. Benjamin’s mouth slowly fell open.
“You met Greg Groves,” he said reverently, “by falling on him.”
“I didn’t know who he was!”
“That somehow makes it worse,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how many people would fake a concussion for that man’s attention?”
I rubbed my temple. “Clearly, I don’t need to fake anything.”
He laughed—actually laughed—then stopped himself abruptly and cleared his throat, trying (and failing) to regain authority.
“So,” he said, lowering his voice, “was there… chemistry?”
I stared at him.
“Are you seriously asking me that?”
He held up his hands. “Purely professional curiosity.”
“You’re begging for gossip like a teenage girl,” I said flatly.
He didn’t even deny it.
“Okay,” he said, dropping into his chair. “I need to know what I’m dealing with here before I speak to your father.”
There it was.
My stomach dropped. “You’re going to call him.”
“Oh, absolutely,” he said cheerfully. “I might already have him on speed dial.”
I groaned. “Please don’t make it sound worse than it is.”
“Oh, I won’t,” he promised. “I’ll make it sound interesting.”
I stood, smoothing my dress. “For the record, nothing is going on.”
Mr. Benjamin smirked. “That’s not what Greg’s face said.”
I paused at the door.
“I really need this job,” I said quietly.
His expression softened. “Relax, Taylor. If anything, you just became unforgettable.”
I wasn’t sure whether that was reassuring or terrifying.
As soon as I stepped back onto the floor, I knew exactly what he was doing.
Calling my dad.
I could already picture it—golf-course laughter, exaggerated storytelling, my name casually dropped into conversation like a plot twist.
I sank into my chair, head in my hands.
It was officially my first day.
And somehow, I’d already fallen—literally—into office legend.