By 5:45 PM, my office was spotless.
Laptop closed.
Desk aligned.
Notes arranged in a neat vertical stack.
Lip gloss reapplied—don't ask me why, professionalism requires hydration... or something.
Work mode, but polished.
Centered.
Efficient.
Untouchable.
At least, that was the plan.
My heels clicked against the marble as I stepped into the quiet executive hallway. Most of the floor had emptied out already; the late-shift staff moved silently, lights dimming into that soft corporate glow that always made the building feel like a different world at night.
Alexander's office door stood tall at the end of the corridor like some dark monolith — sleek, intimidating, expensive. I inhaled slowly, smoothed my hair, knocked gently, and—
Silence.
I knocked again.
Nothing.
I tried the handle.
Unlocked.
"...okay," I muttered under my breath, pushing the door open.
The office was empty.
Not just empty — untouched.
Lights dim, chair neatly pushed in, not a single document out of place. Like he hadn't stepped foot inside since lunch.
My stomach dipped, but I forced myself to stay composed.
He's just running late.
He's the CEO.
He has... CEO things.
Meetings. Calls. Crises. Storms to command.
I glanced at the clock on the wall.
5:59 PM.
Right. I'd wait.
I placed my folder on the edge of his desk and took a seat on the small sofa near the window. The city lights glittered below — Lagos alive and restless, a jungle of headlights and ambition.
I crossed my legs.
Uncrossed them.
Checked my phone.
Didn't see any messages.
Checked again.
Nothing.
6:10 PM.
Okay.
Fine.
It was understandable.
He had disappeared earlier with that icy tone and that unreadable expression. Something had obviously happened — something bad enough to shatter his composure.
I thought of the way he said, "Yes, Mom," with a voice that felt darker than a storm cloud. The way he avoided meeting my eyes before leaving. Something was wrong.
6:18 PM.
Still nothing.
I stood up, paced a little, tried to distract myself by examining the books on his shelf. Architectural design. Global economics. A surprisingly worn copy of The Great Gatsby. Of course he'd relate to a man with too much power and a complicated love life.
I sat again.
6:27 PM.
My patience began dissolving at the edges.
A CEO can be late.
A CEO can have emergencies.
A CEO can cancel.
But a CEO sends a message.
6:31 PM.
I exhaled sharply through my nose and stood up. "Nope," I muttered. "No way I'm sitting here like a forgotten handbag."
I picked up my folder, smoothed my dress, prepared to leave—
My phone buzzed.
One notification.
Meeting canceled.
— A. Sinclair
That was it.
No explanation.
No apology.
No update.
Just a cold, clinical cancellation.
My jaw tightened.
I waited thirty-six minutes.
For nothing.
After he told me to focus on work.
After he dragged us to a lunch that wasn't actually lunch.
After paparazzi nearly blinded me.
After he left with that cold, clipped tone like he barely recognized anyone in the room.
I slipped my phone into my bag, my movements stiff with irritation I refused to display on my face.
Professional.
Professional.
Professional.
I walked out of his office with my heels clicking a little sharper than before — each step a punctuation mark.
The hallway felt colder.
Quieter.
Like even the building noticed the drop in temperature between us.
The elevator dinged open just as I reached it, and I stepped inside with a coolness I didn't fully feel. Liam would probably ask ten questions the moment he saw my expression.
Good.
Let him ask.
Because even I didn't know what I was supposed to feel.
Confused?
Annoyed?
Embarrassed?
Worried about something I had no business worrying about?
Or maybe just...
Done.
Done waiting.
Done guessing.
Done letting Alexander Sinclair pull the ground out from under my feet like it was a game he was planning five moves ahead.
The elevator doors slid closed, reflecting my face back at me — steady, composed, eyes sharper than they'd been all day.
Fine.
He could cancel.
He could vanish.
He could brood in whatever corner of the city he ran off to.
Tomorrow, there'd be work.
There'd be deadlines.
There'd be tasks.
There'd be structure.
And if he wanted my attention again — he'd show up.
Not leave me waiting in an empty office with the city lights pretending not to laugh at me.
I exhaled slowly as the elevator descended.
I exhaled slowly as the elevator descended.
If he knew he wouldn't come, why set the meeting at all? He was dumb! I thought, clenching my fists just enough for my nails to press into my palms. Absolutely dumb.
The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped into the lobby, bracing myself for the usual crowd. But instead of the empty quiet I expected, Liam was there, leaning casually against the concierge desk, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Finally," he said, voice dripping with mockery. "Took you long enough to escape that glass box. Spill."
I narrowed my eyes, the "don't mess with me" hiss barely audible through my teeth. "Liam..."
"Don't Liam me," he said, stepping closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Where's the story? The drama? Did the great Alexander Sinclair treat you like the trembling mortal you are, or—"
"I said don't—" I hissed again, cutting him off, pointing toward the exit.
He raised his hands in surrender, grinning like a cat that just knocked over a vase. "Fine. Fine. I'll behave. But not for long, Zarah."
Ignoring him, I stalked past, my heels clicking against the marble like punctuation marks in a declaration of I'm leaving. My bag swung on my shoulder, and I barely registered Liam trailing behind me.
Outside, I summoned the Uber I had booked earlier. The city air hit me, a mixture of exhaust, rain-damp concrete, and the faint sweetness of baked goods from the corner café. I slid into the back seat, letting out a long, shaky breath, and almost immediately pulled out my phone.
The Uber hummed steadily beneath me, the city lights streaking past the windows like quicksilver. Liam chattered beside me, recounting the restaurant chaos in an unending stream of exaggerated panic. I nodded absently, my mind somewhere between the lingering warmth of Alex's attention and the thought of Mochi waiting at home.
I pressed my fingers against the leather armrest, imagining Mochi perched by the window, ears twitching at every sound of the street, tail flicking like he could sense my absence. He'd probably already circled the apartment twice, inspected every corner, and hissed at the mail slot just to make sure nothing had dared to move without his permission.
"You okay, Zarah?" Liam asked suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You're awfully quiet. You've got that... oh-no-he-didn't face. The one where your brain is screaming but your mouth forgot how to work."
I shot him a sharp look. "I'm... fine. Just tired. Lunch was... eventful."
"Eventful? That's putting it mildly! Alex... I mean, Alexander... okay, I give up. The man was practically auditioning to be the lead in a rom-com, and you just—just sat there."
"I was professional," I said firmly, tapping my fingers against my leg. "Mostly."
Liam raised an eyebrow, his smirk so obvious it made me want to roll my eyes. "Mostly, huh? Professional Zarah vs. Starstruck Zarah? I can see the tug-of-war happening inside your head."
I huffed, letting a small smile escape despite myself. "Can we... not?"
He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. Fine. I'll save my commentary for later. But seriously, the way he looks at you..."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Liam. Enough. Lunch is over. Work mode, remember?"
He chuckled, finally quieting as we turned onto my street. The familiar row of streetlights, the faint glow of neighbors' windows, and the soft hum of cars settling in the evening calm made my chest loosen slightly. Mochi. My little chaos-ball of comfort.
I practically lunged for the door as the Uber slowed to a stop. "Thank you," I muttered to the driver, practically hopping out. Liam followed, still talking under his breath about Alex's "audacious flirtation," but I barely heard him.
Up the stairs to my apartment, every step felt like a countdown. One, two, three... and then the door swung open. Mochi froze mid-stretch, ears perking. His green-gold eyes locked onto me immediately, tail flicking a warning, then hesitation, then recognition.
"Mo—chi!" I breathed, dropping my bag and scooping him up before he could dart under the couch like he always did when I was late. He squirmed, small paws pressing against my shoulders, letting out a soft, triumphant trill that made my heart squeeze.
"You've been bad," I whispered, burying my face in his soft fur. "But I'm home now. I'm here."
He purred like a tiny motorboat, kneading my shoulders with his claws ever so gently. I laughed, hugging him tighter, feeling the stress of the city, Alex's unexpected disappearance, Liam's commentary—all of it—melt away.
Finally, Mochi's warmth grounded me, his soft purring a rhythm against my chest. I rested my forehead against his, letting the quiet apartment wrap around us like a cocoon.
Somewhere in the distance, my phone buzzed, reminding me of the world beyond Mochi. I ignored it. For now, the chaos could wait. For now, it was just Mochi, me, and the simple, perfect relief of being home.
_______
Alex slid into the leather seat of his car, the click of the door echoing like a punctuation to the chaos of the afternoon. The restaurant scene, the flashing cameras, Liam's running commentary—it all replayed in his mind, sharp and vivid. He ran a hand through his hair, irritation mingling with something else, something he refused to name.
"Lunch cut short," he muttered, voice low and controlled, almost to himself. "Unacceptable."
Sarah, seated beside him with her ever-present clipboard, didn't look surprised. She knew him too well. "The paparazzi," she said calmly. "They were waiting outside. How else could they have gotten in?"
Alex's jaw tightened. "It doesn't matter. They'll be handled. But... Zarah—" His lips pressed into a thin line. "She didn't deserve that. None of it was her doing."
Sarah glanced at him, eyebrow raised. "She's tougher than she looks. And she handled it with... grace. Even under your flirtation."
Alex's gaze flicked to her. "I was... aware of it."
"Aware?" Sarah repeated, smirking. "That's one way to put it."
He ignored her teasing, staring out the tinted window at the city rushing by. The subtle adrenaline of the afternoon still lingered in his veins. That girl—Zarah—she wasn't like the others. She didn't flinch, didn't stumble, didn't crumble under scrutiny. She held her ground, and she had the audacity to... intrigue him.
"She's talented," Sarah said, breaking the silence. "Not just smart—she sees patterns. Notices details. She's exactly what you need on Marshall, and probably more than you expected."
Alex's fingers tapped against the doorframe. "More than I expected," he repeated softly, almost to himself. The thought wasn't unwelcome. Not at all.
The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Traffic's clear for your next stop, sir."
"Good," Alex said, voice clipped, pulling his focus back. "Keep it that way."
Sarah didn't say anything further, but her quiet presence was a grounding force. She knew when to speak, when to wait, when to observe. The car glided through the city, the hum of the engine filling the space between them, and Alex let his mind wander briefly to Zarah—her composed demeanor, the spark of fire in her eyes, the way she had handled Liam's commentary with a sharp grin.
He allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile. She had survived the storm, and yet... the storm wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Meanwhile, back at Zarah's apartment, Mochi sprawled across her lap, tail twitching lazily as she absentmindedly stroked his fur. Her phone buzzed again, a subtle reminder of the world beyond their little cocoon. She glanced at it, considered ignoring it, then sighed.
The afternoon had been intense—Alex's attention, the paparazzi, Liam's relentless commentary—but for a brief, grounding moment, it was just her and Mochi.
And somewhere, in the city outside, Alex Sinclair's mind was racing in tandem, plotting, protecting, calculating... and wondering how long it would be before their paths crossed again.