Madison
I immersed myself in the Manhattan Project for the rest of the afternoon, grateful for the distraction. Most of the team had left by six o’clock, but I remained, reviewing contractor bids and material options.
My phone buzzed with an email notification. From Alexander.
To: Madison Harper
From: Alexander Knight
Subject: Tomorrow’s Schedule
I need you to come to my penthouse tomorrow at 9 AM. I want to review the details for the charity gala. Bring your notes on the Manhattan Project as well.
Alexander Knight
CEO, Knight Industries
I stared at the email, my heart racing. His penthouse? Where we’d spent countless nights together? Where he’d touched me, kissed me, made me cry out his name?
I typed and deleted three different responses before settling on a simple:
I’ll be there. -MH
Sleep eluded me that night. I tossed and turned, plagued by memories of Alexander’s hands on my body, his lips against my skin. By morning, I was exhausted and irritable.
I arrived at his building at 8:55 AM, heart pounding as the elevator ascended to the penthouse. The doors opened directly into his foyer, and I stepped out cautiously.
“Mr. Knight?” I called.
“In here,” he responded from the living room.
I found him sitting on the couch, reviewing documents. He was wearing casual clothes: jeans and a gray Henley that stretched across his broad shoulders. The sight of him dressed down made my mouth go dry.
“Good morning,” I said, keeping my voice professional.
He glanced up, eyes sweeping over me briefly. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you.” I remained standing, clutching my portfolio like a shield. “You wanted to review the gala details?”
“Sit down, Ms. Harper.” He gestured to the spot beside him on the couch. “This will take a while.”
I perched on the edge of the couch, maintaining as much distance as possible. Alexander noticed and raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
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“The gala is in two weeks,” he began. “As project manager, you’ll be expected to speak briefly about the Manhattan development. I want to review your talking points.”
“I’ve prepared a five–minute overview,” I said, pulling out my notes. “Highlighting the sustainable aspects and community benefits.”
“Good.” He took the papers, scanning them quickly. “This looks fine. Now, about the seating arrangement-”
“You mentioned I’d be at your table.”
“Yes. Table one will include me, you, Katherine, Georgia, Henry, my father, and several major donors.” He spoke matter–of–factly, as if the mention of Katherine wouldn’t affect me. “Katherine will be seated to my right. You’ll be across from me.”
Perfect. I’d have a front–row view of their reunion all evening.
“I understand,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.
“I’ll need you to coordinate with Katherine’s assistant regarding her arrival time. We’ll want to synchronize for the press line.”
My jaw tightened. “Of course.”
Alexander studied me, his expression unreadable. “Is there a problem, Ms. Harper?”
“No problem at all.”
“You seem tense.”
“I’m fine.”
He set the documents aside and turned to face me fully. “We need to discuss something else.”
My heart skipped. “Yes?”
“Your attire for the gala.”
“My… attire?”
“Yes. As a representative of Knight Industries, you need to present the right image.” He pulled out his phone, scrolled briefly, then handed it to me. “I’ve taken the liberty of selecting some options.”
I looked at the screen, which displayed a website for a high–end designer dress rental service. He’d bookmarked several evening gowns.
“Choose whichever one you like. The company will deliver it to your apartment for a fitting. Charge it to my account.”
I handed the phone back. “That’s not necessary. I can dress myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” he replied, his tone patronizing. “But this is a high–profile event. I want everyone from Knight Industries looking their best.”
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“Are you selecting dresses for all the female employees, or just me?”
His eyes narrowed. “Just you.”
“Why?”
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“Because you’ll be at my table, representing the Manhattan Project. Your appearance reflects on me.”
I stood up, suddenly angry. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Knight, but I’m perfectly capable of selecting appropriate attire for a formal event.”
“Sit down, Ms. Harper.” His voice had taken on that commanding tone that used to make me weak in the knees. “We’re not finished.”
“I think we are.” I gathered my portfolio. “Unless there’s actual business to discuss?”
Alexander rose to his feet, towering over me. “There is.”
We stood mere inches apart, close enough that I could smell his cologne, that intoxicating scent that still haunted my dreams.
“What business?” I asked, hating how breathless I sounded.
“The Manhattan Project. You haven’t shown me the updated budget projections.”
Right. Work. The safe topic.
I pulled out the budget sheets and handed them to him, careful not to let our fingers touch. “Here. We’re on track with the revised timeline and under budget by three percent.”
He scanned the numbers, nodding slightly. “Good work. What about the zoning issue on the east side?”
“It was resolved last week.” I pointed to a notation on the second page. “We got approval for the variance.”
“Excellent.” He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “You’re doing well with this project, Ms. Harper.”
The unexpected praise caught me off guard. “Thank you.”
“I’m impressed with how you’ve handled the team. They respect you now.”
“They do,” I agreed, somewhat mollified. “It took some time, but we’re working well together.”
Alexander nodded, then abruptly changed the subject. “About the dress—‘
“I already told you-”
“It’s not a request, Ms. Harper. It’s part of your job to present Knight Industries in the best possible light. Choose from the options I provided.”
I wanted to argue further, but the determined set of his jaw told me it would be futile. “Fine. I’ll look at the options.”
“Good.” He returned to the couch and picked up another document. “Now, about your speaking points for the
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gala…”
The meeting continued for another hour, strictly professional. Alexander remained cool and distant, treating me exactly as he would any other employee. By the time I left his penthouse, I felt emotionally drained.
Over the next week, our interactions remained minimal and professional. Alexander was polite but distant, addressing me as “Ms. Harper” and keeping conversations strictly business–related. There were no more lingering glances, accidental touches, or private jokes.
I missed him. Not just the physical aspects of our arrangement, but the small moments: his rare smiles, the way he’d wink at me across a conference table, how he’d bring me coffee when I was working late (always claiming he “happened” to get an extra).
Now there was nothing but professional courtesy between us.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
