Just as I’m about to head out, my office door opens. I pause, frowning, already annoyed because no one knocks these days—apparently.
Then I seeher.
Gitika.
My ex–executive assistant. And an unshakeable presence who refuses—flat-out refuses—to take a hint.
“You’re leaving?” she asks, with that irritatingly intimate tone that always makes my skin crawl.
“Uh... yeah,” I say, eyes still on my laptop as I pack. “It’s five. So.”
I hear her step closer. Too close.
“No, I mean...” she lowers her voice, like we’re sharing some secret. “I heard from Neha that you—are youleavingGenVault?”
My eyes snap to her, narrowing sharply. “I’m not sure how you heard that, Ms. Gitika. But that’s between me and our CEO.”
She flinches at the ‘Ms.’—good—but still persists.
“B-but why?” she presses, looking visibly concerned.
My eyebrows shoot up. “This isgenuinelynone of your business. And you’ve already been given a warning, so getting into my personal space is not the way to go. Understand?”
She takes a small step back.Finallysome sense.
I glance at the clock. Maybe if I pretend time is moving faster, she’ll disappear. She usually doesn’t corner me like this. Then again, office gossip spreads faster than a damn virus. And I want no part of it.
She sighs dramatically. “I... I don’t understand why you have to leave. I’ll dobetter. I’ll keep us on the down low—”
“...I’m sorry—what?”
Has this womanlostit?
I’ve said maybe two words to her in the last three years. Where the hell is this delusion coming from?
She frowns, confusion and disbelief warping her face. “I’m just saying that... I know there’s a non-fraternization policy. And I’ll do better. I’ll hide us better.”
“...Hide what?”
And suddenly a dozen odd moments click into place. The weird looks. The whispered conversations that fell silent when I walked by. That one partner telling me he was“disappointed”in me.
I’d assumed he meant my reduced workload. Butno.
Apparently I’m starring in a romantic fantasy that I did not sign up for. Has she been spreading rumors?
Fuck.
While my brain is busy unraveling this idiocy, Gitika uses the opportunity to move in. Close enough that her perfume punches me in the face.
I step aside to create distance, but she reaches out—her hand sliding over my chest like we’re on the set of a rom-com.
“Us,” she breathes. “It’s been three years, baby. Don’t make us wait longer.”
What. The.Fuck.
Everything happens in three horrifying seconds—she rises onto her toes, leaning in—and I launch myself three feet away like she’s holding a live grenade.
My heart is pounding. My brain short-circuits.
