Lunch, hmm— I'd say it went well because... it actually did.
I got to talk to him about things in the office, still trying my absolute best to ignore the flirting he did ever so openly. Meanwhile, Liam didn't even pretend not to notice. That man? He looked like someone who lived for soft gist — hehe — every raised brow, every little smirk from Alex, Liam clocked it like it was premium entertainment.
Paparazzi had cut lunch short though.
How did they even get in? Restaurants like this usually had security tighter than my salary budget. I already knew I'd be on headlines tomorrow; honestly, I wasn't even stressed. Alex would sort it out... like he was supposed to. That's what people like him did.
"Ringgggggggg !"
A buzz yanked me out of my thoughts. I reached for my phone, only for my hand to hit empty table — it wasn't mine ringing.
Alex had his phone to his ear, his face carved into an expression I couldn't read. Neutral... but not calm. Blank... but not empty.
Was he fine!?
Because I genuinely couldn't tell.
"Yes, Mom," he muttered, voice clipped in a way that made me sit up a little straighter. Then he rose slowly, turning to us with a dark expression.
Hmm.
He was definitely pissed.
"Are you fine, sir?" I asked, partly out of curiosity, partly out of the sudden cold air tightening around him.
"I am. Lunch has to be cut short though. Something came up."
His voice... cold. Distant.
Damn.
This wasn't the Sinclair I'd seen all day.
"Oh—"
"I have to leave you and Liam behind. My driver will come pick you up."
His gaze slid away from me and onto the woman who was supposed to be glued to his side.
"Sarahhh?"
He didn't even raise his voice, yet she jumped like someone pressed an invisible button.
"Let's go."
And just like that...
he was gone.
Like he was never even there.
...WHAT JUST HAPPENED?????
For a full minute after Alex stormed out, the table was silent.
Not peaceful silence — confused, heavy, what-the-hell-just-happened silence.
The kind that sits on your chest like a jealous cat.
Liam was the first to speak.
"Uhm... so... that was a vibe shift."
I blinked. "A vibe shift? Liam, that was a whole personality swap. The man rebooted mid–fried rice."
Sarah, who had been quietly gathering her things, let out a shaky breath. "When he answers calls from home, his mood can change."
"Home as in...?" I questioned.
Her lips pressed together. "As in... home."
So basically, none of your business, Zarah.
Cool.
The paparazzi incident had already rattled me, but this? This felt worse. Like something inside Alex had snapped tight enough to cut.
And suddenly all the flirting — all the subtle touches, all the eye contact, all the teasing — felt farther away than the door he walked out of.
I leaned back into the chair, arms crossed. "He didn't even explain."
Sarah gave a small, apologetic shrug. "He rarely does. He just... moves."
Liam snorted. "Moves? Sis, the man evaporated."
"Liam." I nudged his foot under the table.
"What?" he whispered dramatically. "I'm grieving my free dessert."
I tried not to laugh, but the tension was still sitting on my tongue.
I hated that I... cared.
About his mood.
About the way his voice had dropped cold enough to frost glass.
He'd been warm all day — smug, annoying, flirting in 4K HD — then suddenly boom, switch off.
I shook the thought away. It wasn't my business. Even though a small, dangerous part of me wanted it to be.
"His driver will be here soon," Sarah said, checking a message on her phone. "We should wait outside. They'll escort you to the car."
And that was that.
Lunch — or what was left of it — was officially over.
We walked toward the exit, and as soon as we stepped outside... cameras flashed again.
I froze.
Liam hissed.
Sarah groaned under her breath.
Great.
Round two.
One of the paparazzi shouted, "Miss Zarah, look here!"
Another one yelled, "Is that Sinclair's new girl?"
Someone else added, "Is this a company romance?"
"What?? No!" I snapped without thinking, but they were already clicking away like possessed cockroaches with expensive lenses.
Security finally pushed them back, forming a wall around us while Sarah guided me and Liam toward the black SUV waiting by the curb.
The flashes kept going.
Questions kept flying.
People kept staring.
By the time the car door opened, my heart was racing with the realization I'd been avoiding all through lunch:
Alex wasn't flirting for fun.
Not casually.
Not harmlessly.
Not accidentally.
He flirted like a man who already knew he wanted something.
And then he left like a man carrying a fire he didn't plan to show anyone.
I slid into the backseat, exhaling shakily as the door shut and the outside noise vanished.
Liam sat beside me, eyes wide. "So... same time tomorrow?"
I punched his arm.
But inside?
Inside I knew it.
Everything had changed.
And whatever Alex Sinclair was hiding...
it wasn't small.
The SUV hummed to life, and as soon as the tinted windows shielded us from the flashes, I slumped into the leather seat.
For a moment, neither Liam nor I said anything.
We were both processing — differently, but still processing.
Then he turned to me slowly.
"So..." he began dramatically, "your man has mood swings."
"He is NOT my man."
"Baby, the way he was looking at you over that plate of Alfredo? I almost blushed on your behalf."
I glared at him. "Liam."
"What? I'm stating facts. Man was flirting like rent was due."
I groaned, covering my face with both hands. "I'm not doing this with you."
"You are. Because I witnessed everything. You were smiling. You were touching your hair. You were giving soft eyes—"
"I had noodles stuck in my lashes."
"LIES."
I kicked his ankle lightly, and he laughed, resting his head against the window.
After a beat, he added more quietly, "But... seriously. Are you okay?"
The question made me pause.
Was I?
I replayed Alex's expression — the quick shift, the coldness, the way he shut down everything warm about him in a single breath.
It felt... unsettling.
Like watching sunlight turn off.
"I don't know," I admitted honestly.
Liam hummed. "It scared you?"
"Not scared. Just..." I searched for the word. "Thrown."
"Yeah," he nodded. "He looked like he got bad news. The 'family kind' of bad news."
I glanced at Sarah in the front passenger seat, but she kept her expression straight, focused on her phone.
Definitely not talking.
Beside me, Liam nudged my knee. "Do you like him?"
"What?? No. I barely know him."
"You don't have to know someone to like them," he said softly. "Sometimes liking starts before sense."
I stared at him. "I literally came to this company with a coffee-stained shirt, screamed at a pig-man of an ex-manager, and then insulted the CEO in his own office. When do I have time to like him?"
He raised a brow. "The moment he said, 'Call me Alex.'"
I looked away quickly.
"I'm a professional," I muttered.
"And?"
"And I'm here to work, Liam."
He smiled knowingly. "You're switching to Office Mode."
"No, I'm just—"
"Zarah, your spine literally straightened. Even your voice changed. You're doing that thing again. That 'I'm a serious employee' thing."
I could feel it too — the mental shift, the tightening inside me.
The part of me that always kicked in when life felt too big or too complicated.
Work first.
Everything else... later. Maybe never.
"I just don't want to give anyone the wrong idea," I said.
Liam snorted. "Girl, the wrong idea has already been given. In HD. With paparazzi."
I sighed loudly. "I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"...okay, I don't."
The car slowed briefly at a junction, and I leaned my head back, staring at the interior lights.
"I need to focus on my job," I said firmly.
"There she goes," Liam whispered under his breath.
"I'm serious."
"I know. That's why I'm not arguing. Just..." He nudged my arm with a small smile. "Don't pretend nothing's happening. You felt something. He felt something. These things don't just disappear."
"I didn't feel anything."
"Sure," Liam said dryly, "that's why you're flustered, blinking too much, and clutching your bag like it offended you."
"I'm not—"
"You are."
I groaned again.
Sarah finally spoke for the first time. "We'll be back at the building soon."
Her tone was calm but sharp — like she knew exactly what was happening but refused to comment.
I exhaled slowly.
"Fine," I whispered. "Professional mode. Work brain. No distractions."
"None?" Liam teased.
"Absolutely none."
The SUV turned, entering the familiar road that led back to the company building.
My phone buzzed in my bag — probably emails already.
Good.
I needed to anchor myself.
To remind myself why I was here.
And as we approached the office, my posture straightened, my breathing leveled, and the emotional chaos from lunch faded into the background.
Wall back up.
Mask back on.
Zarah-the-employee activated.
Because whatever Alex Sinclair was dealing with...
whatever he wanted from me...
He wasn't here right now.
And I had work to do.
The SUV glided into the underground parking lot of SkyHigh, and the instant the tires rolled to a stop, something inside me clicked.
A clean switch.
Lunch Zarah?
Flustered Zarah?
Caught-under-Alex's-gaze-like-a-firefly Zarah?
She stayed in the car.
By the time I pushed open the door and stepped onto the cool marble of the executive floor, my spine was straight, chin level, steps steady. My pulse slowed into a rhythm that matched the quiet authority of the space.
Work.
That was the goal. That was the anchor.
Liam jogged to catch up with me, whispering, "See? This is what I mean. Your walk changed."
I didn't look at him. "I have emails."
"You always have emails."
"I have more now."
Sarah, moving ahead of us, simply said, "Mr. Sinclair will brief me later. Until then, both of you should return to your tasks."
"Yes, ma'am," Liam muttered.
We reached our corner of the floor, and the second I entered my office, the silence felt like a blessing.
Folders.
Pending reports.
Client summaries.
Follow-up contracts.
Budgets to analyze.
Thank God.
I sat down and immediately woke up my laptop. The sky-blue SkyHigh logo blinked once before the dashboard loaded with an avalanche of work.
Perfect.
I rooted myself in it.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, sorting through documents, analyzing Dalton's messes, correcting figures, re-writing dodgy paragraphs. Each click, each line, each correction made my breathing more even.
Because work made sense.
It had rules, boundaries, logic.
There was no guessing, no wondering, no unexpected intensity in someone's eyes.
There was just... clarity.
Liam hovered in my doorway. "You good?"
"Busy."
"That's not what I asked."
"I'm busy," I repeated, eyes still on the screen.
He sighed dramatically. "Fine. If you suffocate in professionalism, don't say I didn't warn you."
"Close my door, Liam."
He closed it.
And for the next hour, I sank deep into the part of myself that always saved me — the disciplined version, the precise version, the one who rebuilt her life with structure and work ethic when everything else felt uncertain.
At some point, my phone vibrated.
One message.
From an unknown number.
_I apologize for the abrupt exit.
• Alex_
My hand froze on the keyboard.
Before I could fully process the message, another arrived instantly after:
We'll talk later. Focus on work for now.
...Focus on work?
Seriously?
I dropped my phone face-down on the desk and inhaled sharply through my nose.
No.
Not now.
Not letting him break my rhythm.
But the distraction settled into the back of my mind anyway — a quiet hum beneath my concentration. Like being aware of lightning even when the storm hasn't reached you yet.
Still, I forced myself back into the files.
Numbers.
Reports.
Logic.
Eventually, my office phone rang.
I answered in my most controlled voice. "Zarah Morgan speaking."
"HR needs the revised Marshall proposal within the hour," Sarah said briskly.
"It's ready."
"Send it."
"I will."
"Good work today."
I blinked. Sarah used unnecessary words.
"Thank you," I said carefully.
The line went dead.
Another anchor.
Another confirmation that my work mattered — that I wasn't just some temporary fascination or a headline waiting to explode.
I typed faster, sharper, more efficiently.
Liam poked his head in again about an hour later. "Wow. You're in beast mode."
"Do you need something?" I asked without looking up.
"I'm just asking if you've eaten since lunch."
I paused.
No... actually. I hadn't. it was 5pm already. 2hrs to closing.
But before I could answer, he placed a cinnamon roll on my desk.
"Here. Eat. I like you better alive."
Despite myself, I smiled — small but real. "Thanks."
Then I took a bite and kept typing.
Work didn't erase what happened at lunch.
It didn't erase the weight of Alex's gaze, or the way he said Call me Alex, or the cold tone when he answered the phone, or the absolutely insane paparazzi incident.
But it pulled me back to myself.
The productive, controlled, dependable version.
The version that didn't crumble under pressure.
The version that knew her worth.
The version that wouldn't get swept away... unless she chose to.
The cinnamon roll was halfway gone when my computer pinged.
A calendar update.
Meeting request:
Alexandar Sinclair — 6:00 PM
Location: Executive Floor — Private Office
My breath caught.
The time?
5:12 PM.
So much for work being a distraction.
Liam peeked in again, saw my face, followed my gaze to the screen, and whispered dramatically:
"...oh, you're cooked."
I swallowed hard.
Was I?
No.
Work mode.
Professional mode.
Unshakeable mode.
Right?
Right?
...but my pulse was already betraying me.