Absolutely not. We are not doing this.
Except his pupils just dilated.
And his jaw just ticked.
And I'm suddenly very aware of how warm this office is.
How the air between us feels charged.
Stop. You're exhausted. You're hallucinating.
The women Sasha dates live on green juice and emotional unavailability.
Stick-thin. Effortless. Minimalist chic.
Women who look poured into couture without trying.
Not women who take up space and refuse to apologize for it.
So no. That glance was not interest.
It was observation.
Nothing more.
Focus, Gabriella. This tyrant doesn't tolerate distraction.
I lift my chin.
"As I was saying, the projections are solid. The risk assessment accounts for market volatility, and the timeline is aggressive but achievable," I say with way more confidence than I feel.
Something shifts in his expression. One eyebrow arches, slow and lethal.
There it is. The look that sends grown men scrambling for transfers. The look that should make me stop talking.
Instead, I hold his stare. I didn't claw my way out of four foster homes to flinch now.
He leans back. Studies me like I'm a puzzle he's deciding whether to solve or destroy.
"Tell me, Miss Reese." His voice drops an octave. "Do you always challenge authority? Or am I special?"
My mouth goes dry.
“How long have you been with AngelCorp?”
"Three years, Mr. Orlov,"I say, refusing to look away.
“Then you should already know.” He pauses, the chair creaking. “I expect perfection.”
Three years ago, I was the scholarship kid surrounded by legacy hires. The girl who grew up in four foster homes and learned to read people the way others read books. In houses where moods changed faster than rules. Where survival meant adaptation. Where perfection was safer than being noticed.
I came here with a state school degree and a chip on my shoulder. No family name. No safety net. No one to call if I failed.
I walked in with hunger. And hunger does not fold under pressure.
Now I'm the person Sasha Orlov calls when he needs something done that no one else can do. For better or worse.
He stands. Not suddenly, not violently.
