Chapter 2 - The Executive Boardroom TrapThe thirty-fifth floor was quieter, colder, and exponentially more expensive than the rest of the building.
The walls were made of soundproof glass, the floors polished concrete, and the air smelled faintly of expensive cedar and high-stakes anxiety.
I walked down the long corridor, my grip tightening around the leather folder containing the Apex Financial revisions. Every step felt heavier than the last. Had someone seen us leave the restaurant together? Had Sarah Jenkins spotted Derek lurking around my desk? Or worse—did Rebecca decide that mixing personal and professional boundaries was a fireable offense?
I stopped outside the frosted glass double doors of the executive boardroom and took a deep breath.
I knocked twice.
“Enter.”
Her voice cut through the silence before my hand even left the wood.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was vast, dominated by a massive slab of reclaimed oak serving as a conference table. At the far end, standing with her back to me as she looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows toward Lake Michigan, was Rebecca.
She wore a charcoal-gray pantsuit today, razor-sharp and immaculately tailored. Her dark hair was pulled back into that severe twist I had grown to recognize as her armor.
She didn't turn around immediately.
“You’re late by forty-two seconds, Mason,” she said evenly.
“I had to dodge Derek on my way up,” I replied, closing the door behind me. “That adds at least a minute of psychological recovery time.”
At that, Rebecca finally turned.
Her face was unreadable. The warm, unguarded woman from the Italian restaurant seemed to have vanished, replaced entirely by the youngest creative director in Landon Creative’s history.
She walked slowly toward the table, her heels clicking against the concrete floor.
“Derek called me this morning,” she said softly.
My pulse spiked. “What did that idiot say now?”
“He wanted to know if we were planning a double date this weekend.” She stopped at the edge of the table, leaning her weight slightly onto her hands as she looked down at me. “I told him that if he ever meddles in my personal life again, I will personally see to it that his marketing agency loses every major corporate account in the Midwest.”
I couldn't help a small, dry laugh. “And how did he take that?”
“He laughed and asked if I wanted him to pick up sushi for us tonight.” Rebecca’s expression flickered, just for a fraction of a second, before settling back into professional neutrality. “Which brings us to why you’re in here.”
She tapped a finger against a manila folder sitting on the table.
“The Apex Financial campaign,” she said.
“Yes?”
“The client loved your revised pitch.” She opened the folder, revealing the documents inside. “They loved the emotional angle. They loved the focus on generational stability. In fact, their CEO called our managing director specifically to praise the concept.”
I blinked, genuinely surprised. “Oh. Well... thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Rebecca’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The CEO also requested that the lead creative director present the campaign in person at their national summit next month in New York.”
“In New York? That’s huge.”
“It is huge,” Rebecca agreed. “Which is why I’m assigning you as the lead presenter.”
My breath caught. Lead presenter for a multi-million-dollar national account was a career-defining milestone. People worked at Landon Creative for a decade without landing an opportunity like that.
“Rebecca... are you sure?” I asked, my voice dropping its defensive edge. “Is this coming from you, or did corporate push it down?”
“It came from the client, but I approved it,” she said quietly. She walked around the table, closing the distance between us until she was standing just a few feet away. Close enough that I could smell the subtle scent of jasmine and coffee.
“You’ve earned it,” she continued, her voice lowering. “Despite your questionable choice in best friends and your tendency to argue with me in meetings.”
“I only argue when you’re wrong,” I pointed out.
“I am never wrong, Mason.”
“Right. My apologies.”
She looked up at me, the cool corporate exterior cracking just enough to let the real woman peek through. Her brown eyes searched my face.
“New York is a three-day trip,” she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I’ll be attending as the executive supervisor.”
The room suddenly felt very small.
“Is that a requirement, or a threat?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.
May you like
Rebecca tilted her head, a faint, dangerous smile touching her lips.
“Let’s call it a performance review on the road.”
