Chapter 3: Elevator Encounter
The following afternoon, the department heads gathered in the 40th-floor boardroom, a space of sharp angles, cold marble, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a dizzying view of the city’s sprawl. Beau took a seat near the middle of the long table, the new leather of his chair sighing under his weight. He could feel the weight of casual scrutiny from the other directors, the polite, assessing glances of people deciding where he would fit in their ecosystem.
The CEO, a man named Pierce with a voice like gravel and a watch that cost more than Beau’s car, was midway through his quarterly forecast when Beau felt it. A specific, pricking awareness on the side of his face. He kept his eyes forward, nodding at appropriate intervals, but his focus narrowed to that singular sensation. Victoria’s gaze was a physical hand, trailing over his shoulder, his profile, with a proprietary interest that made his skin tighten.
He shifted slightly, turning a page in his folio just to break the line of contact. It didn’t help.
A whisper, low and conspiratorial, came from his left. Martin from Marketing, a man with a perfectly groomed beard and tired eyes, leaned in without looking at him. “Don’t look now,” he murmured, the words barely audible beneath Pierce’s droning, “but Victoria has her sights on you.”
Beau gave a minimal, non-committal nod, hoping that would end it.
Martin smirked, still staring ahead at the CEO. “Don’t worry. We’ve all had a taste of her. Once you get through that annoying bratty behavior, she’s an easy lay. Trust me.”
A cold ripple moved through Beau’s gut. He chanced a glance down the table. Victoria was looking right at him, one eyebrow arched, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. As Martin’s words hung in the air, Beau saw the Director of Operations catch his eye and give a subtle, almost imperceptible roll of his eyes—a gesture of weary commiseration. The head of Legal adjusted his tie, looking faintly embarrassed. A secret, unspoken nod of agreement passed among the men at the table, a fraternity of shared, mediocre conquest.
Beau felt his stomach turn. It was a sour, acid feeling. If he didn’t have a reason to be uninterested before—the profound, anchoring love he had for Seraphina—he definitely had one now. Even if his bed at home was empty, the idea was repulsive. He wasn’t interested in a disobedient brat. The very concept was antithetical to everything he found meaningful. And the collective, jaded review from his peers? It made the whole notion feel cheap and grimy. He wasn’t interested in sloppy fifths.
The meeting eventually adjourned with a chorus of sliding chairs and polite murmurs. Beau gathered his things, wanting nothing more than the clean, quiet space of his new office. The elevator bank was crowded. He pressed the button for his floor and stepped inside, the doors beginning to sigh shut when a slender hand shot through the gap, triggering the sensor.
Victoria slipped in, the scent of her perfume—something expensive and sharp with ozone—filling the small space. The doors closed, sealing them in a polished chrome box. It was just the two of them.
He could feel his patience thinning already, and she hadn’t even spoken yet.
The elevator began its smooth ascent. She turned to him, leaning one shoulder against the mirrored wall, a studied pose.
“Hi. I’m Victoria Sterling. Head of the Financial Department.” Her voice was bright, almost too eager, a performance of friendly professionalism.
“Beau Montgomery. Head of Data Analysis.” His own voice was tighter than he intended. He extended his hand for the brief, polite handshake he knew he would regret.
Her grip was firm, lingering. Her thumb swept deliberately across his knuckles, a slow, intrusive stroke. She held on a beat too long before releasing.
“Wow. Some handshake,” she said, her eyes locked on his. A sly, testing smile played on her lips. “You must be really good with your hands.”
There it was. The opening gambit. Clumsy, obvious, and dripping with presumption. He looked at her, really looked at her, seeing past the polished blonde hair and the tailored dress. He saw the calculation, the hunger for drama, the pathetic need to be the center of a game she’d played too many times with too many willing, unimpressive players.
He didn’t smile. He simply let the silence stretch, letting her words hang in the artificial air until they began to sound as hollow as they were.
The elevator chimed, announcing his floor.
“They’re adequate for the work I do,” he said finally, his tone flat and utterly devoid of invitation. He stepped out without looking back, the doors sliding shut behind him, cutting off whatever she was about to say next. He could almost feel her frustrated glare through the steel.
He could almost feel her frustrated glare through the steel.
The elevator doors opened on the next floor and Victoria was fuming. A hot, humiliated flush crawled up her neck and settled in her cheeks. The polished chrome of the cab reflected a distorted version of her—lips pressed into a bloodless line, eyes narrowed. Never had she been so cleanly, so dismissively rejected before. It was infuriating.
Sure, she had slept with a few men in the office, but who hadn’t? It was a transaction, a bit of power exchanged in a supply closet or a late-night conference room. It meant nothing. This was different. If Beau thought his flat tone and cold shoulder were going to stop her, he was profoundly mistaken.
This brat doesn’t quit until I get what I want, she thought, the mantra solidifying her resolve as she stalked down the carpeted hallway. Right. I want to bang Beau so I can rub it in Seraphina’s overly accomplished, smug face. The image was crystalline: Seraphina’s composure shattered, those clever green-blue eyes wide with hurt. Victoria’s own frustration began to morph into a sharp, anticipatory thrill.
She passed the open-plan workspace, a sea of identical cubicles. Her own office was just beyond, but she paused at the mouth of a particular aisle. Seraphina’s desk was there, third on the left. The woman was a silhouette against the glare of her dual monitors, her strawberry blonde hair a soft beacon in the sterile light.
This was a great opportunity. If there were any tiny cracks in their perfect relationship, any latent seeds of doubt, now was the moment to plant them. She smoothed her dress and approached, letting a sultry, knowing smile settle on her face.
“I just had a meeting with Beau,” Victoria said, her voice dropping into a confidential purr. She leaned a hip against the cubicle partition, trying to force eye contact. “He is very easy on the eyes. Strong hands, that one.”
Seraphina’s fingers never stopped moving across her keyboard. The rapid, sure click-clack was the only sound for a long beat. Her eyes remained glued to the lines of code on her screen.
“I’m glad your meeting went well,” Seraphina said, her tone uninterested and flat as polished stone. She did not spare Victoria a glance. “Any updates or new reports I should look at?”
Victoria’s smile stiffened. She could see the bait from a mile away, and Seraphina wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of biting. It was maddening. “Well, no, it was just a welcome meeting—” she tried to finish, to linger in the implication.
“Well if there is nothing else,” Seraphina cut her off, the keyboard finally falling silent. She swiveled her chair just enough to look at a stack of printed reports on her desk, then back at her monitor. “I must get back to these variance analyses you sent over. They are terrible. The formulas are circular, and the sourcing is anecdotal. It’s a complete waste of my time.”
And just like that, Seraphina went back to work, her focus absolute, leaving Victoria standing there feeling even more frustrated than before. The double rejection—first Beau, now his pet—coiled in her stomach like a sick, heavy weight. She turned on her heel, the click of her heels unnaturally loud as she retreated to her office.
She shut the door behind her, the glass wall humming faintly. For a long minute, she just stared at the cityscape, her reflection a pale ghost over the endless grid of windows and traffic. The calm, analytical part of her mind, the part that had clawed its way to this floor, began to run scenarios. Direct assaults weren’t working. They were too fortified, too sure of each other.
She needed to undermine the foundation. She needed leverage. Something professional, something that would force Beau to see her as a necessary ally, and Seraphina as a liability. Her eyes drifted to the quarterly project roster on her screen. She scrolled, a new, colder plan beginning to crystallize with every line. She would start with the work. She would bury the talented Ms. Monreau in so much bureaucratic sludge and set her up for such a public, career-stalling failure that Beau would have no choice but to step in. And he would have to step in through her.
A thin, genuine smile finally touched her lips. This was better. This had teeth. She picked up her phone and dialed an extension. “Martin? Victoria. About the Zenith account audit. I’m reassigning it. I’m sending the details to Seraphina Monreau. Yes, I know the deadline is impossible. That’s the point.”