Questions and Control

The way he said my name sent heat down my spine, each syllable deliberate, low, and far too close.

I finally managed to twist away, stumbling back a step as his arm loosened, though his gaze remained locked on me. It wasn’t the look of a man who was embarrassed by the situation. No, his eyes were intense and piercing, as if he were watching me like a predator stalking its prey.

“I should—” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat, “I should clean this up.”

Bending down to gather the last of the scattered papers, I couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on me, burning into my back like a brand.

The silence that followed was suffocating, his presence looming behind me. I could almost feel his eyes boring into my back.

“You’re always like this?” His voice came from above me.

I froze briefly, forcing my hands to keep moving. “Like what?” I asked, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

“Distracted,” he said. “Unaware of your surroundings.”

“I’m focused,” I countered quickly.

“Focused?” I could hear the faint amusement in his tone. “Interesting choice of words, considering you didn’t even notice I’ve been standing here long enough to observe quite a bit.”

I snapped my head up reflexively. And there he was—leaning slightly over me, his face mere inches from mine. The sudden closeness sent a jolt through me, and I stumbled back, bumping into the edge of the table.

“How long?” I asked, hating how breathless I sounded.

“Long enough,” he said with maddening calm, his lips curving just enough to make me wonder if he enjoyed watching me squirm.

I swallowed hard, clutching the papers to my chest like they could shield me from his piercing gaze. “I wasn’t ignoring you,” I said defensively, my voice sharper than I intended. “I was just—”

“Busy,” he cut in smoothly, stepping forward until I was boxed in against the table, his hands placing both hands on the edge of the table, effectively trapping me between him and the smooth surface. “You seem to be busy quite often, Christa.”

“I… take my responsibilities seriously,” I said carefully, trying to maintain eye contact while ignoring the way my heart was racing.

His dark eyes bore into mine, unrelenting and impossibly intense. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” I replied, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt.

He leaned in slightly—the proximity sending alarm bells ringing in my mind. “Tell me, Christa. I want to know everything about you.”

I blinked, my heart racing. “What do you mean?”

“Royce Group doesn’t hire just anyone,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “Tell me, Christa—where did you grow up? Where did you go to school?”

I hesitated, my mind racing to construct a response that would satisfy him without revealing too much. “I grew up in New Jersey,” I said finally, my voice even. “Went to college there too.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. “And after that?”

“I worked at smaller firms,” I replied cautiously, gripping the papers tighter. “Mostly project research and administrative roles.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, his voice softening but losing none of its weight. “In the heart of New York, at Royce Group of all places.”

“It seemed like the right opportunity,” I said, deflecting as smoothly as I could.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was an unsolved riddle. “Opportunities like this don’t just appear out of nowhere,” he said quietly. “Did someone recommend you? Or is it sheer determination that brought you here?”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, his tone almost playful but layered with something sharper. “Luck, perhaps?”

“Hard work,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze head-on.

“Hard work,” he repeated, his lips curling into a faint, unreadable smile. “I admire that.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, the tension in the air thick enough to suffocate.

He leaned in slightly, his proximity setting off every nerve in my body. “But hard work doesn’t explain everything, does it? Why Royce Group? Why now?”

“It’s just… a good fit,” I said, deflecting again.

For a moment, he said nothing, his dark eyes searching mine as though he could read the words I wasn’t saying. Then, to my relief, he finally straightened, giving me just enough space to breathe again.

“Let’s hope you’re as committed as you claim to be,” he said, “Mediocrity is not tolerated here.”

“Understood,” I replied quickly, eager to end the conversation before he could probe further.

With a curt nod, he stepped back, finally breaking the stifling closeness. But as he turned toward the door, his parting words left me rooted in place.

“You’ve made me curious, Christa. We’ll see each other again—very soon.”

When I returned to my desk, I hoped to drown myself in work and forget the words of Alan Royce.

Catherine was waiting for me at my workplace, her arms crossed over her chest, a scowl etched on her face. She had clearly been watching me walk in, and her expression didn’t soften when I approached.

“Well, well,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “Quite the lucky girl, aren’t you? To be able to stroll back in after what happened with Alan. I was sure you’d be fired by now.”

I bit back a retort, knowing she was just looking for an excuse to pick on me. The real reason for her bitterness went deeper—a small incident a few weeks ago when I pointed out a flaw in one of her reports at a trans-department conference. I hadn’t meant to embarrass her, but she certainly hadn’t taken it well. She’d been seething ever since, and now, it was clear I was her target.

But Catherine wasn’t done. She tossed a stack of documents onto my desk with a smirk. “I hope you enjoy your luck while it lasts. Here’s a little something for you to work on. I need this proofread and ready in an hour—financial report, very complicated. And while you’re at it, you can also draft the guest list for the yacht gala. It’s due by the end of the day.”

Just as I started to review the report, Catherine’s voice cut through the air, her tone dripping with mockery. “Oh, I heard Alan had you stay behind for that report. Must be nice to have someone in your corner.”

She didn’t know what happened between Alan and me, but that didn’t stop her from twisting the narrative.

My grip on the paper tightened.

She leaned in, her eyes glittering with malice. “I mean, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Who else could make it through the day after making such a ‘mistake’ in front of Alan? You must have some… unique talents, Christa.”

“Enough,” I muttered under my breath, but she wasn’t done.

Catherine smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, I almost forgot—if you ever think about climbing up on Alan’s bed, you might want to get past me first.”

I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Enough,” I snapped, my voice firm. “If you spent half as much time focusing on your own work as you do gossiping about others, you might actually get something done around here.”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a tight smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were so touchy. Maybe you should stop pretending you’re better than the rest of us, huh? Or is that how you stay in Alan’s good graces? Playing the part of the ‘good little employee’ while secretly trying to get ahead through other means?”

Her voice had risen now, loud enough for everyone in the office to hear. Heads began to turn in our direction, and I could feel the weight of their gaze. She was looking for a fight, and she was going to get one.

I took a deep breath, my patience hanging by a thread. ‘Maybe it’s you who wants to go there,’ I said coolly, my gaze steady as I stared at her.

Catherine’s face twisted with fury, her lips curling into a sneer. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she spat, stepping closer, her eyes burning with contempt.

“I could make sure you’re gone in an instant,” she hissed, her words cutting through the air. “One word to Alan, one whisper to HR, and you’re out. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers, the sound echoing in the silent office.

My grip on the paper tightened, my knuckles turning white.

Catherine stepped back, her expression a twisted mix of satisfaction and superiority. “So keep playing your little game, Christa. But don’t forget—if you screw up again, it won’t just be Alan you have to worry about. It’ll be everyone.”

At that, the entire office seemed to fall still. I could feel the tension in the air—everyone had stopped what they were doing, watching with bated breath. Evelyn, sitting at her desk nearby, was glancing up occasionally, her expression stiff.

Somewhere behind me, I could hear murmurs from other employees. It was like I was the center of a cruel performance, with everyone waiting for me to crack.

I stood still, my blood simmering just beneath the surface. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to lash out, but I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm.

Catherine’s voice rang out, sharp and cutting. “People like you should feel shame, Christa!”

Her words stung in the air. I could feel the eyes of everyone on me now—some sympathetic, some curious, and others plainly entertained by the spectacle. It felt like I was a clown in a twisted sideshow, my humiliation on display for everyone to enjoy.

“What’s going on here?”

Just as the tension reached a breaking point, James stepped in, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room.