Chapter 1

Alina Reyes did not believe in grey areas.

It was the first thing people learned about her. The second was that she did not make exceptions, especially for anyone who thought rules were suggestions.

That certainty lived in everything around her. Her office reflected it; a clean desk, with every file arranged like it had been sized into place.

She sat at her desk with a file open in front of her, her attention fixed on details most people would skim. Alina grabbed her red pen and went to work, marking corrections and making notes on the report as she waited for her 10 o'clock to arrive.

To her, even the smallest oversight was an opportunity to uphold her uncompromising standards.

"What utter nonsense," she cursed under her breath as she scribbled a note on the last page of the report.

Two abrupt taps rattled her door.

"Come in," she said, without looking up.

The door opened and closed just as quietly.

"Ms Reyes."

The voice didn't belong to anyone she knew, which was how she immediately knew it was him. The lack of hesitation and politeness in equal measure was the second tell. Her colleagues were usually one or the other. Him on the other hand sounded like she was just another Tuesday meeting.

She lifted her gaze from his report.

Evan Cole was at all what she's expected, but then again, she hadn't bothered with what he'd look like. He stood just inside the room, one hand brushing the glass door before falling to his side. He looked like the type of guy who would ignore the rules if it got in the way.

His tie sat just loose enough at his collar to suggest he hadn’t bothered fixing it after the day had started, and his sleeves were pushed back like he preferred to work without restriction.

“You’re early,” she said.

"It's either that or you're exactly on time," he replied.

He said it in a way that sounded less like a correction and more like a refusal to go along with her.

She stared at him for a second too long before closing the file. “I prefer to review things before meetings.”

“So I heard.”

There was no sarcasm in it. He sounded like he was confirming something he had already thoroughly considered before arriving.

“Have a seat.”

He didn’t move immediately. He took a slow look around her office, lingering on the framed certificates on the wall and the neat stacks of files on her desk. After that, he sat across from her and leaned back slightly in the chair in a manner that suggested he was completely at ease there.

Alina slid the file toward him. “I went through your preliminary report this morning.”

“And?” he asked.

“There are inconsistencies.”

He glanced at the file but didn’t open it right away, his attention flicking back to her instead, as if her reaction held more significance than the report itself.

“There usually are.”

“That doesn’t make them acceptable.”

His mouth twitched enough to suggest he found her response amusing. “Depends on what you’re trying to accomplish.”

“I’m trying not to expose this company to unnecessary risk.”

Finally opening the file, he said, "and I'm trying to fix the problem that's already there."

His fingers moved through the pages like he wasn’t discovering anything new but rather confirming what he already knew.

"Our priorities will differ," he said.

"We'll make sure they're aligned. That’s the point of this conversation."

He paused at her marking, thumb gliding over the red ink as if reading the intent in the pressure of the line.

“You flagged section four.”

“It’s too vague. Leaves room for interpretation.”

"That's by design."

She frowned, sensing his reluctance to revise it. "It's a liability. We can't afford ambiguity in compliance. Clarify the intent explicitly if it's intentional."

He looked at her properly then, his attention settling on her in a way that made her almost squirm.

“You don’t like variables,” he said.

"I don't like unnecessary ones, and you leave doors open that shouldn't be."

He leaned forward, his forearms on the desk, intentionally pressing into her space.

"I leave doors open because sometimes the problem is on the other side of the one you've closed."

She understood his point but wouldn't concede

“That’s not how this works.”

"That's exactly how this works," he replied. "You just don't like it because it doesn't fit your box."

Bile rose in her throat; he wasn't wrong, which annoyed her most.

"You're not here to rewrite how we work," she reminded him.

"I'm here to make sure your operations conform to industry standards, not indulge your need for control."

She should have ended the meeting at that point, and reasserted control. Instead, she noticed things she hadn't intended to: his eye contact, silence lingering, and how he stepped into her space without asking. It was unnoticeable, annoying, and distracting, just like his blue eyes.

She clenched, then unclenched her jaw.

“Section four gets revised,” she said finally. “No more ambiguous phrasing.”

He watched her for a moment, then nodded once. “Fine.”

The agreement felt too easy, less like compliance and more like he had already decided on his limits.

He was going to be a pain.

“Anything else?” he asked.

She closed the file. "That'll be all for now."

He stood; she pulled the next file without watching or waiting for him.

"Alina," he said before leaving.

She looked up, halfway through the first paragraph of the report.

He lingered by the chair he'd vacated, gaze fixed on her in a way that felt less like courtesy and more like he wasn't finished with her yet.

"May I ask you something?" he said.

"If it's relevant," she replied.

He smiled, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "Would it really be that bad if things didn't fit perfectly into your boxes?"

She gripped the desk, knuckles whitening. "That's not your concern."

"You spend a lot of time forcing things and people to behave a certain way," he said.

Her pen stilled, and she leaned back. "You're overstepping."

"Some variables aren't as bad as you think," he said.

Her jaw tightened. "If you have a point, make it and leave."

He exhaled softly, as if reaching the part of the conversation he'd been waiting for.

"My point," he said, "is that people who need everything controlled usually aren't as unaffected as they pretend. You just haven't met the right kind of disruption."

"This conversation is over," she said.

He straightened, pushing away from the chair.

"Probably for the best," he said, stepping toward the door, then paused, as if an afterthought occurred to him.

"You know," he added, glancing back, "for someone this tense about everything, you might just need to get laid."

For a moment, she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. Her hand spasmed, snapping the pen in two as ink splattered the desk.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"It might help," he said casually.

Her grip tightened, bending the pen before she released it.

"Get. Out."

He studied her, as if committing the reaction to memory, then gave a small, almost satisfied nod.

His hand rested briefly on the glass door before he opened it and left.