By Friday afternoon, Evelyn had fully stepped into a new reality.
Gone were the days of silent tasks and background work. Now, she moved between meetings with senior executives, coordinated with high-level vendors, and received direct feedback from Alexander Drake himself. Her phone buzzed constantly with messages from departments she'd never interacted with before. Some polite. Some territorial. All curious.
She had become visible.
Too visible.
Walking back from a presentation review, Evelyn passed two women from the finance team near the elevators.
"She's the new favorite," one whispered a little too loudly. "Did you see where she's seated?"
"Third floor to thirty-fifth. That's not a promotion. That's a coronation."
Evelyn kept walking, head high, but the words settled like stones in her stomach.
By the time she reached her desk, Natalie was waiting.
"Mr. Drake needs you in the off-site studio," she said crisply. "Now."
"Off-site?"
"The digital content team is filming campaign material today. He wants your input."
Evelyn grabbed her laptop bag and followed the address Natalie provided. When she arrived at the airy industrial space twenty minutes later, the scene was buzzing with cameramen adjusting lights, producers reviewing scripts, models getting touch-ups from makeup artists.
And in the center of it all stood Alexander.
Dark navy slacks. Rolled sleeves. A quiet authority that made the noise around him feel distant. He was reviewing footage on a monitor with the creative director when he spotted her.
He walked over without hesitation.
"I want your thoughts on the influencer roll-ins," he said.
"Now?" she asked, blinking at the organized chaos around her.
"Yes."
He gestured for her to follow.
They moved to a quieter back room, where a laptop and a small monitor were set up. He played three segments back to back, featuring three brand influencers delivering scripted soundbites about the new initiative.
Evelyn frowned.
"They're flat," she said.
Alexander raised an eyebrow. "Elaborate."
"They don't believe what they're saying. It feels staged. Over-rehearsed. They're selling excitement, but I don't feel any."
"You'd reshoot?"
"I'd rewrite," she said. "Let them speak in their own voice. You hired them for their authenticity. Let them use it."
He paused. Considered her words.
Then he opened a file on his phone and passed it to her.
"Fix the lines," he said. "You've got twenty minutes."
The two of them sat side by side on a long wooden bench outside the studio, laptop balanced on her knees. She typed quickly, adjusting the phrasing, trimming the overproduced slogans, adding natural language.
Alexander watched without interrupting.
When she paused to think, he finally spoke.
"Where did you learn to do that?"
"I wrote scripts for local theater in college. I liked helping actors sound more like themselves. Turns out it's not that different from writing for influencers."
He nodded slowly.
"Useful skill."
"You don't strike me as someone who puts much stock in 'soft' skills."
"I value anything that works," he said. "Emotion is strategy. Most people forget that."
The compliment startled her. So did the way he said it which was not as flattery, but as fact.
She turned back to the screen, cheeks warm.
As they finalized the edits, the air between them shifted again. A kind of quiet synchronicity. He read her notes before she spoke them. She adapted his thoughts without asking. They moved like two minds occupying the same current.
When they finished, he stood.
"Send the revisions to the crew," he said. "Then come upstairs."
"Upstairs?"
"I own the building," he added with a faint smirk. "There's a rooftop."
The rooftop was quiet and unexpectedly beautiful with wide wooden decking, potted olive trees, and a corner table with two espresso cups already waiting.
He gestured to one of the chairs.
"I don't do small talk," he warned as they sat. "But I do appreciate honesty."
"Honesty?"
"I know what people are saying. About you. About us."
Evelyn's heart jumped.
"I didn't.... I mean, there isn't anything to..."
He held up a hand. "I don't care what they think. But I do care if it's distracting you."
She exhaled. "Only a little."
"You'll get used to it," he said. "Power always draws noise."
She sipped the espresso, its boldness grounding her. Then she looked at him and said, "Why did you pick me?"
Alexander didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the city skyline.
"Because you see what others miss," he said finally. "And you say what others won't."
He looked back at her then, his voice low and sure.
"And because you didn't flinch when I did nothing to help you that day in the ballroom."
Evelyn's breath caught.
Their eyes locked.
A moment too long.
A second too honest.
And just like that, the spark behind the curtain wasn't theoretical anymore. It was real. Quiet. Dangerous.
But real.