By Thursday morning, the office buzzed with the restless energy of damage control. Harvey & Co. had been hired to manage the post-gala press wave and the fact that Conrad Reid's name was attached to one of the night's most talked-about mergers made things worse.
Rosaline walked into the glass-walled conference room, a folder tucked under her arm, her jaw set. Every time she saw his name on an email header, her pulse tripped. Conrad Reid , CEO, Reid Industries. Primary stakeholder, upcoming project.
He wasn't just a client anymore; he was the client.
Claire trailed behind her, tablet in hand. "The final press statement has been approved by legal," she said, half whispering. "Eleanor wants you to brief Reid's team by noon. And," she hesitated "Mr. Reid himself will be present."
Rosaline exhaled slowly through her nose. "Of course he will."
Claire gave a small, sympathetic smile. She didn't know about the past between Rosaline and Conrad, but she'd seen enough to recognize tension when it stalked through the air.
When the door opened and he entered, the room changed. Conrad had that effect a quiet command that silenced conversation before he even spoke. He wore a charcoal suit, dark tie, his expression composed in that infuriatingly unreadable way that once made Rosaline want to either kiss him or throw her drink in his face.
"Miss Clarke," he said in greeting, his tone polite but clipped.
"Mr. Reid." She met his gaze squarely, refusing to flinch.
For a moment, their eyes held and it was there again, the ghost of something old and dangerous flickering in the space between them. She wondered if he remembered the argument that ended whatever they might have been years ago the words they'd both thrown, the pride that built walls too high to climb.
But the man across from her was colder now. Polished. He didn't look like someone who'd once cared enough to fight.
Rosaline moved to the head of the table. "We've reviewed your media coverage since the gala," she began, projecting calm professionalism. "There's been a spike in public interest due to your partnership announcement. We recommend controlled exclusives to manage the narrative before speculation spreads."
Conrad leaned back, watching her. "Controlled exclusives. Sounds like a polite way to say manipulation."
Rosaline allowed herself a faint smile. "We prefer the term strategic storytelling."
A few people in the room chuckled. Conrad didn't.
"I'll need the drafts by this evening," he said. "And I'll personally review the final copy."
Rosaline nodded. "I'll have Claire send it to your office."
When the meeting broke, Eleanor Harvey swept in, greeting Conrad warmly. "Mr. Reid, a pleasure as always," she said, shaking his hand. "Rosaline's our best she'll make sure your company's image stays immaculate."
"I don't doubt it," Conrad said, his eyes flicking briefly toward Rosaline. "She seems very thorough."
The weight of his gaze lingered as Eleanor led him toward her office. Rosaline busied herself gathering files, pretending her pulse wasn't beating against her ribs.
When the room emptied, Claire leaned close. "You okay?"
Rosaline gave her a thin smile. "Fine. Why?"
"You were gripping that pen like you were going to stab someone."
Rosaline glanced down. The pen in her hand was bent at the clip. "Occupational hazard."
Claire snorted. "Hazard or history?"
Rosaline shot her a look. "Don't start."
By late afternoon, Rosaline sat alone in her office, rewriting the press release for the third time. Her reflection in the glass showed someone composed but she could feel the lie pressing against her ribs like a bruise. If Conrad ever discovered it wasn't Nora he'd met that night, but her…
Her phone buzzed. A text from Nora.
Nora: How's work? Heard Reid's in town.
Rosaline: He's here. At the firm.
Nora: Oh. That must be awkward.
Rosaline: You think?
Nora: Just don't look at him too long. You have that I-remember-you face.
Rosaline closed her eyes. Her sister meant well, but she wasn't the one sitting across from a man who still haunted her late-night thoughts.
She typed back:
Rosaline: It's under control. Just handle your own cover if anyone asks about the gala.
Minutes later, there was a knock on her door. "Come in," she called, expecting Claire.
But it was Conrad.
"Mr. Reid." She straightened in her seat, masking surprise.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with quiet precision. "I had a few clarifications on the press statement," he said, voice low.
"Of course." She gestured to the chair opposite. "Please"
He didn't sit. Instead, he crossed to the window, hands in his pockets. "You know," he said finally, "I can't quite decide if you enjoy making things difficult for me or if it just comes naturally."
Rosaline arched a brow. "Professionally or personally?"
That earned her a faint smirk one that looked far too close to the man she once knew. "Both."
She forced a cool laugh. "Then I suppose I'm consistent."
He turned then, and the air shifted. "You've changed," he said quietly.
"So have you," she replied.
For a moment, it felt like years ago again before ambition and misunderstandings fractured whatever fragile thing they'd built.
He exhaled. "Tell your team to hold the release until tomorrow. I'll have my revisions by morning."
"Understood."
Conrad gave her one last unreadable look before leaving. The soft click of the door sounded final, but Rosaline's chest ached with everything unsaid.
Claire poked her head in moments later. "He's gone?"
"Yes."
"You look like you just walked through a storm."
Rosaline's lips curved faintly. "Maybe I did."
As she turned back to her desk, she caught her reflection again, calm, poised, and lying through her teeth.
She wondered how long it would be before the cracks beneath that surface began to show.