Chapter 4 Office whispers & Closed doors

By Tuesday morning, Ava Monroe had become the most whispered name on the forty-third floor.

She could feel it before she even stepped into the building-the pause in conversation when she entered the break room, the stares that lingered a beat too long, the tight smiles that didn't quite reach her eyes anymore. Blackwood Enterprises thrived on perfection and perception, and right now, she was the crack running straight through the surface.

She hadn't spoken to Grayson since that moment in the hallway, and yet, somehow, it was like his presence wrapped around her anyway, clinging to the back of her neck like static.

"Ava," Lila said in a tight whisper as they walked toward the strategy bullpen. "You are officially the headline in everyone's group chat. Even the interns are speculating."

Ava didn't break stride. "Let them talk."

"Easy for you to say. You still look like you're in control. I've aged ten years from secondhand anxiety."

"They don't know anything," Ava said through gritted teeth.

"They don't need proof," Lila hissed. "This company runs on two things-results and rumors. You gave them one last week. Now they're running with the other."

Ava halted near the copy station, her breath catching.

Two women from accounting passed, one not-so-discreetly tilting her phone screen toward her friend. Ava caught the blurred photo over her shoulder-her profile at Valen lounge, unmistakable in the dim light. Smiling. A man beside her, barely visible but tall, broad-shouldered, leaning in close.

Her stomach dropped.

"Where the hell did that come from?" she muttered.

"I don't know," Lila whispered. "But it's making the rounds."

Ava swallowed hard, bile rising behind her pride. It wasn't proof of anything. Just a photo. A coincidence. She hadn't even known who Grayson was that night-hell, he hadn't known who she was. But logic didn't matter here. This place didn't need confirmation. It needed drama. And Ava Monroe had just handed them a live wire.

Back at her desk, Ava forced her focus onto the Paris campaign-deadlines looming, budgets to balance, creative briefs to review-but the tension in her spine never eased. Every passing colleague, every whisper, every phone ding felt like a countdown she couldn't stop.

At 10:47 a.m., her inbox pinged.

Subject: Conference Room 5B – Now

From: G. Blackwood

No body text or explanation.

Ava stared at the screen, her heart pounding. Around her, the world kept turning. Lila looked over and mouthed, "You okay?"

She wasn't, but she stood anyway.

Meanwhile, Grayson Blackwood was already waiting in 5B when she entered, standing at the far end of the room with his hands braced on the window ledge, city skyline bleeding in behind him. He turned as she shut the door. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then-

"I'm sorry," he said.

Ava crossed her arms. "For which part?"

"For walking away," he said. "For not recognizing you at the meeting. For not handling this... better."

"You mean not handling me better?"

His jaw twitched. "That's not what I meant."

"No, but it's what this company thinks." She moved closer, keeping her voice low. "Do you have any idea what it looks like? That I got promoted days before you arrived? That you just happen to be the man I-"

He stepped forward sharply. "I know how it looks. That's why I haven't said a word. I've done everything to keep my distance."

"Well, it's not working," she snapped. "There's a photo going around. Someone took a shot of us at the lounge. It's blurry, but people are connecting the dots."

Grayson exhaled slowly. "I didn't know that."

"I don't need protection," she added. "I need separation. People already thought I didn't earn the campaign. Now they're convinced I earned it on my back."

Grayson flinched. "You and I both know that's not true."

"Yes. But what about Monica? HR? The board? My team?"

Hearing this, he was quiet for too long, and she turned away, furious with herself for hoping he would have a plan or an apology big enough to erase the mess.

"I can pull you off the Paris campaign," he offered at last, voice quiet.

Ava spun around. "You think that helps me?"

"I think it protects you."

"No," she snapped. "It protects you. Pulling me off the campaign would only prove the whispers right. That I didn't earn it. That I was a placeholder. A PR risk. That's not protection-it's erasure."

Grayson moved toward her, his voice urgent now. "Then tell me what you want, Ava. I'll do it."

She stared at him, pulse hammering, and for a moment, she saw the man from Friday night again-the one who spoke like his mouth had been designed for sin and sincerity. But that man didn't exist anymore.

"Nothing," she said. "I want nothing from you."

She turned, grabbed the door handle-and paused.

"But if you really meant what you said about integrity?" Her voice was sharp, clear. "Then prove it. Stay out of my way. Let me do the job I earned." And with that, she walked out.

****

By Thursday, the whispers hadn't stopped-but they had changed tone. Ava had buried herself in work. Numbers, designs, and presentation decks. She gave every team member detailed briefs, held her own in morning scrums, and even charmed one of the pricklier board advisors into signing off on the European logistics plan. One by one, the doubters ran out of oxygen, and her work spoke louder than their speculation. But behind closed doors, she still burned.

Grayson had kept his word, and he hadn't approached her again. No meetings, no late-night emails. Not even a nod in passing. It was like a switch had flipped. Like they'd become strangers again-but now with the weight of too much history compressed into too few days.

Until Friday.

Ava stayed late, alone in the creative bullpen, smoothing out the Paris pitch visuals one last time. She was so lost in color theory and ROI slides that she didn't hear the door open.

"You missed dinner."

She turned, startled as Grayson stood in the doorway, his tie loosened, with a faint shadow under his eyes.

"I wasn't aware we had plans," she said coolly.

He stepped in, closing the door behind him. "Monica invited the campaign team out. Public optics. But I noticed you weren't there."

"Sorry," she said flatly. "Too busy earning my keep."

His jaw tensed as silence stretched, thick and electric.

Then he said, "You're not just good at your job, Ava. You're the best I've seen."

Her throat tightened.

"I didn't pull strings," he added. "Your promotion was already approved when I came in. The board backed it. I had nothing to do with it."

She didn't respond. She didn't know how.

"I just thought you should know," he said. "In case you needed proof."

With that, he turned and walked out again.

But this time, Ava didn't feel discarded; she felt something else.

She felt seen.