Page 18 of Strings Attached

As Lilian leads me away, I can feel Evander's eyes on me. I resist the urge to look back, knowing that if I do, I might not be able to leave.

Chapter 8

Evander

As I arriveat the office on Monday morning, I'm filled with a sense of uncertainty. The events of Saturday—the kite flying, the accidental fall, and most of all, that kiss—have been replaying in my mind all weekend. I've barely slept, torn between the memory of Mireille's lips on mine and the knowledge that I can't allow anything to happen between us.

The office is quiet when I enter, Mireille isn’t due for another hour. I make my way to my office, steeling myself for the inevitable moment when she arrives. How will she act? How should I act? The uncertainty is maddening for someone who prides himself on always being in control.

I'm halfway through my second cup of coffee when I hear the familiar sound of Mireille's heels clicking on the tile floor. My heart rate speeds up involuntarily. Taking a deep breath, I focus on the financial report in front of me, determined to maintain my professional composure.

There's a soft knock on my door. "Come in," I call out, proud of how steady my voice sounds.

Mireille enters, looking as put-together as always in a crisp blouse and pencil skirt. But I notice the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she doesn't quite meet my eyes.

"Good morning, Mr. Prescott," she says formally. "I've brought your schedule for the day and the contracts that need signing."

The use of my last name stings more than I care to admit. "Thank you, Mireille," I reply, keeping my tone neutral. "How's your arm feeling?"

She glances down at her wrist, which is still wrapped in a bandage. "Much better, thank you. The doctor says I should be able to remove the bandage by the end of the week."

I nod, unsure of what else to say. The awkwardness between us is palpable, a stark contrast to our usual easy rapport.

Mireille shifts uncomfortably. "Is there anything else you need, sir?"

I wince internally at the 'sir'. "No, that will be all for now. Thank you, Mireille."

She nods and turns to leave. Just as she reaches the door, I find myself calling out, "Mireille?"

She pauses, looking back at me with a mix of hope and apprehension in her eyes. "Yes?"

I hesitate, the words I want to say—about Saturday, about us—are stuck in my throat. Instead, I settle for, "Good job on Saturday. With the kite flying, I mean."

A small smile flickers across her face. "Thank you. We made a good team."

With that, she's gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a mountain of work to distract me from them.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of meetings and phone calls. I throw myself into work with even more intensity than usual, trying to keep my mind off Mireille and the lingering tension between us. But despite my best efforts, I find my gaze constantly drawn to her through the glass walls of my office.

She's the picture of professionalism, efficiently handling calls and paperwork with her usual grace. But I notice the little things—the way she bites her lip when she's concentrating, how she absently touches her bandaged wrist, the slight droop of her shoulders as the day wears on. I want nothing more than to go out there, to make sure she's not overexerting herself, to see that brilliant smile that's been noticeably absent today.

But I can't. I'm her boss, and after what happened on Saturday, I need to maintain professional boundaries more than ever.

As the workday comes to a close, I watch Mireille pack up her things. She glances towards my office, our eyes meeting for a brief moment before she quickly looks away. The distance between us feels vast, and I hate it.

Before I can stop myself, I'm out of my chair and striding towards her desk. "Mireille," I say, causing her to look up in surprise. "Do you have a moment?"

She nods, her expression guarded. "Of course, Mr. Prescott. What can I do for you?"

I wince at the formality in her tone. "I... I wanted to talk about Saturday."

Mireille tenses visibly. "Mr. Prescott, I don't think-"

"Please," I interrupt softly. "Can we drop the formalities? At least for this conversation?"

She hesitates before nodding. "Alright... Evander."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "What happened on Saturday... it was inappropriate. I'm your boss, and I crossed a line that should never be crossed."

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