The second week was worse than the first.
Every meeting became an exercise in controlled breathing. Alexander sat at the head of the table or leaned against the window with his arms crossed, voice steady as he dissected numbers and timelines, and I kept my eyes on my laptop like the future of the company depended on it. It didn’t help. I still felt him. The low timbre of his voice. The way he said my last name like it was something he had tasted.
We didn’t speak outside of necessary work conversations. He passed me in the hallway once and the only acknowledgment was a brief nod. I told myself that was safer. I told myself the heat under my skin whenever he entered a room would eventually burn itself out.
I was lying.
Thursday night the strategy team stayed late to finish the pitch deck
