He's not my dad

part 4

By lunchtime, the office was buzzing.
And by buzzing, I meant vibrating with speculation.

I hadn’t even made it to the elevator before whispers followed me like a second shadow. Heads leaned together. Phones tilted away the second I looked up. Someone actually mouthed CEO at me like it was a curse word.
Richie met me by the elevator with a look of deep sympathy.

“You doing okay, celebrity?” he asked.
“I fell on a doorframe,” I said flatly. “That does not qualify me for fame.”

Kate was already waiting downstairs, impeccably dressed and visibly delighted. Jack and Dan joined us halfway across the street, and suddenly I was surrounded.
The deli was loud and crowded, mercifully distracting—until we sat down.
Kate didn’t even wait for menus.
“So,” she said, leaning forward, eyes shining, “Mr. Groves.”

I groaned. “No.”

Jack grinned. “Oh yes.”

Dan looked curious but polite. Richie immediately jumped in. “Guys, maybe we talk about literally anything else?”

“Absolutely not,” Kate said. “Taylor, you cannot drop that kind of drama on a wednesday and expect silence.”

I sighed. “There is no drama. I met him in France. I slipped. He helped me up. I banged my head and he took me to the hospital. That is the entire story.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “He personally escorted you to the hospital.”

“Yes.”

“Alone.”

“Yes.”

Kate slapped the table. “Chemistry.”

“There was concern,” I corrected. “Medical concern.”

“Please,” she said. “Men like Greg Groves don’t personally shepherd strangers to hospitals unless they’re interested.”

Richie coughed. “Kate—”

“And,” she continued, undeterred, “did you notice how he looked at you? Because I did. From across the room.”

“I was unconscious for part of it,” I said weakly.

Dan laughed. “That might actually make it worse.”

Jack leaned back in his chair, eyes openly assessing me now. “Can’t blame him,” he said smoothly. “You’re easy to look at.”

I shot him a warning glance. “Behave.”

“I am behaving,” he replied. “I’m complimenting.”

Richie jumped in again, voice light but firm. “Jack, maybe don’t flirt with the woman currently at the center of executive scandal.”

Jack only smiled wider. “What? I like women with ambition. And apparently—connections.”

Kate wiggled her eyebrows. “See? Even Jack agrees. You’re irresistible.”

“I am not irresistible,” I insisted. “And Greg Groves does not find me attractive.”

Kate tilted her head. “Then why did he remember your name?”

Silence.

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Richie cleared his throat loudly. “Okay. New topic. Campaign ideas. Or sports. Or… weather.”

Dan laughed. “I vote weather.”

Jack leaned closer anyway. “If the CEO doesn’t make a move,” he murmured, “I might.”

I rolled my eyes, but heat crept up my neck despite myself.

“Try it,” I said. “See how that goes.”

Richie shook his head. “This is going to be a long year.”

As we stood to leave, my phone buzzed in my hand.

Unknown number.

My stomach flipped.

I had a feeling office rumors were only just getting started.

My phone buzzed just as we stepped back onto the sidewalk.
Unknown number.
My stomach immediately betrayed me.
I lagged a step behind the others and glanced down at the screen.
Greg:
HR gave me your number. Before rumors add a third concussion to your record—are you okay?
I smiled despite myself.
Me:
I’m fine. My head seems determined to attack stationary objects today, but otherwise unharmed. Thank you again—for today and for Paris.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Greg:
Paris feels like a lifetime ago. Though I’m starting to think bumping your head might be your signature move.
I laughed softly, shaking my head.
Me:
I promise I’m usually more graceful.
Greg:
I’ll take your word for it.
A pause.
Then—
Greg:
I hope the gossip dies down soon. Somehow I’ve already heard about “the mysterious woman who took down the CEO” on my own floor.
Heat crept into my cheeks.
Me:
I tried to downplay it. Offices don’t really do subtle.
Greg:
Apparently not. I was also informed—quite helpfully—that I’m “robbing the cradle.”
I snorted.
Me:
Well, that’s dramatic.
Greg:
For the record, your cradle is entirely safe. I have no interest in you outside of work.
I stared at the words longer than I meant to.
Of course he didn’t.
He was being respectful. Professional. Sensible.
Disappointing.
Me:
Understood. I appreciate the reassurance.
A beat passed.
Greg:
Still—try to stay upright for the rest of the week, Taylor. I’m not always around to catch you.
I smiled at my phone, even as something inside me dipped—just slightly.
Me:
I’ll do my best.
I slipped the phone back into my bag and hurried to catch up with the others, telling myself the faint ache in my chest was ridiculous.
After all, I’d gotten exactly what I wanted.
No drama.
No complications.
No expectations.

So why did it feel like I’d just been gently—but very firmly—put back in my place?
And why did I suddenly hope the gossip didn’t die down just yet?