Chapter 62
Monday mornings were supposed to be fresh starts.
I straightened my blazer and knocked twice on Julian's office door.
"Come in." Julian's voice sounded tired.
I pushed through the door, heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Professional. Distant. That's what this needed to be.
"Mr. Garrison, the materials for the nine o'clock meeting." I placed the stack on his desk, keeping my expression carefully neutral. No warmth. No familiarity. Just assistant to boss.
Julian looked up. "Maya—"
"Is there anything else you need, Mr. Garrison?"
A flicker of something crossed his face. Hurt? Resignation? He cleared his throat. "Coffee. Please."
"Of course." I nodded and turned to leave.
"Maya."
Shit.
"Yes, Mr. Garrison?"
"Never mind."
---
The nine o'clock meeting dragged on forever. Thomas Garrison droned about Q4 projections while I took notes, hyperaware of Julian's gaze sliding toward me every few minutes. I'd brought Sarah along—a human buffer. She sat between us, furiously typing on her laptop, oblivious to the tension.
Julian's jaw tightened every time I directed questions to Sarah instead of answering him directly.
When the meeting finally ended, I gathered my materials quickly. "Sarah, can you organize the meeting minutes and send them to Mr. Garrison?"
Sarah looked up from her laptop. "Of course. I'll have them ready within the hour."
"Thank you." I gave her a brief smile and headed for the door.
---
Lunch was supposed to be a quick run to the new Mexican place downstairs, but the line snaked out the door. The cafeteria was packed with Monday chaos—people shouting orders, trays clattering, someone's spilled soda spreading across the floor.
I grabbed my purse and headed for the fire escape instead.
The building's rooftop terrace was technically off-limits except during company events, but the door was always propped open by smokers. I pushed through, and wind immediately whipped my hair across my face.
Boston spread out below me. Up here, I could breathe.
I walked to the railing, gripping the cold metal. Closed my eyes. Let the wind sting my cheeks.
"Maya?"
My eyes flew open.
Julian stood by the door, unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers. His hair was messy from the wind.
"Mr. Garrison." I straightened, putting distance between us.
The wind whipped between us, loud and cold.
"Maya, are you still upset about Friday?" His voice cut through the noise.
I kept my eyes on the harbor. "I'm not upset, Mr. Garrison. You don't need to apologize."
"Really?"
"You're my boss. What you think of me outside of work doesn't matter."
"You're more than just an employee to me. You're important—"
"I know. I'll work harder." I cut him off, turning to look at the other side of the rooftop, pretending to admire the distant buildings.
Silence. Then: "Actually, I wasn't joking that day. I—"
"Mr. Garrison, the wind is terrible. My hair is a mess." I reached up to smooth my windswept hair, moving toward the door. Escape. I needed to escape.
"Maya, wait—" He stepped forward, trying to block my path.
I pulled out my phone, checking the blank screen. "Sarah just messaged. She needs me to confirm something about the meeting minutes. I should go."
I pushed past him toward the door.
---
By the time I left the building at six, my head was pounding and my feet ached. I just wanted to pick up Amy, order pizza, and pretend today never happened.
Then I saw her.
Standing by my car. Blonde hair catching the late afternoon sun.
Claire Ashford.
My feet stopped moving.
She saw me and smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Maya Bennett?"
"Can I help you?" I kept my voice neutral, professional.
"I'm Claire Ashford." She extended a manicured hand. I didn't take it. Her smile tightened. "I believe we have a mutual acquaintance. Adam Sterling?"
The way she said his name. Possessive. Intimate.
"I know who you are." I shifted my bag to my other shoulder. "What do you want?"
"Just to chat." She gestured toward a Starbucks across the street. "Five minutes of your time?"
Everything in me screamed no. But curiosity—or maybe masochism—made me nod.
"Five minutes."
---
The Starbucks was nearly empty. Claire ordered some complicated latte. I got black coffee I didn't want.
We sat by the window. Claire crossed her legs, perfectly poised. I wrapped my hands around my cup and waited.
"I thought we should talk," she said. "Woman to woman."
Here it comes.
"Adam and I have known each other for years." She smiled, saccharine sweet. "We met three years ago in Rochester. We were working at the same company"
My fingers tightened on the cup.
"Then there was an accident." She paused, watching my face carefully. "Adam was injured. Attacked by someone. When I found him, he was unconscious."
My chest tightened. "Was it serious?"
The question escaped before I could stop it.
"He had to get eleven stitches." She took a sip of her latte, enjoying my reaction. "But I took care of him. Called 911, stayed with him at the hospital. After that, we became very close."
She leaned forward. "We'd have dinner, go to concerts, spend weekends at Finger Lakes. It was... magical."
Each word was a knife. Careful. Precise.
"Then I got accepted to a program in London. He encouraged me to go. Said he'd wait." Her smile turned wistful. "Two years apart, but we stayed in touch. Calls, texts, video chats. He even visited me in London twice."
"Now I'm back in Boston." She met my eyes. "And Adam and I are picking up where we left off."
I stared down at my coffee, forcing myself to breathe evenly.
That lying bastard.
He'd said there was nothing between them. Nothing. And now she's sitting here telling me they were together?
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I know he's been... spending time with you." Her expression hardened. "And I want you to understand something. Adam is mine. He always has been. Whatever game he's playing with you, it doesn't mean anything."
Heat flooded my face. "Excuse me?"
"Come on." She laughed, sharp and cruel. "You're a secretary at a second-tier company. He's Adam Sterling. Do you really think this is real?"
I stood up so fast my chair scraped. "I don't know what Adam told you, but—"
"He doesn't have to tell me anything." She rose, too, smoothing her coat. "I know him. Better than you ever will. And trust me, Maya—women like you? You're a distraction. A phase. I'm forever."
She slung her bag over her shoulder. "Stay away from him. Please. I'm asking nicely now, but I don't have to be nice."