Chapter 2 First Impressions

Serena Vale didn't usually notice people after one interaction especially not strangers. But the man from the valet stand had etched himself into her mind like an unfinished sentence.

He had parked her car, she was certain. Then it seems so strange to see him again, inside, on the 34th floor. Sitting casually near the open workstations, tapping away at a sleek tablet like he belonged there.

And something about his face gnawed at her focus.

Her fingers hovered over her keyboard as she tried to write a product brief. But her brain kept rewriting one question over and over:

Who the hell was that man?

He didn't dress like anyone from their team. He didn't wear the standard issue lanyard. Yet no one had asked him to leave. And he wasn't intimidated either. Most people who didn't belong in the branding wing usually stumbled their way through it. Not him. He looked so composed. Like someone watching a chessboard.

Her assistant, Maya knocked softly. "Your ten o'clock is ready. Conference Room B."

Serena rose, smoothing her dress. The campaign presentation waited.

But her thoughts lingered.

The valet would have to wait too.

The meeting was a blur.

Charts, numbers, slogans. Serena heard herself speak, saw nods from the department heads, caught every approving glance from her mother's longtime rival in PR but her thoughts kept drifting back to that man's face. His voice, calm and unshaken. His presence too grounded for someone misplaced.

Who the hell walks into the executive floor without a pass, sits down like he owns the place, and manages to not get thrown out?

She needed answers and she was going to get them.

Lunch was a lie.

Serena checked her calendar and saw the block marked "Vegan Lunch – Partner Outreach." She rolled her eyes. Another corporate face-to-face with a blogger-turned-brand-deal-ambassador. She forwarded the invite to her assistant with a quick note: Please send someone from comms. I'm slammed.

Then she rose from her desk, slipped on her blazer, and headed back toward the 34th floor.

If he was still there, she'd find out who he really was.

Alexander hadn't moved far.

After his meeting with the Strategic Growth team, a tedious, jargon filled hour that made him question why half of them still had jobs he'd made his way to the open workspace again. He liked this floor. People moved fast, thought faster. There was energy here. But also clarity.

He was reviewing internal communication strategies when a shadow fell across his desk.

"Reading company secrets?"

He looked up and there she was.

Serena Vale.

Closer now, less rushed, her voice tinged with curiosity rather than command. The same woman who'd handed him her car keys without blinking was now eyeing him with suspicion and something else. He smiled faintly.

"Just trying to understand the culture," he replied.

"Without a badge?" she asked, folding her arms.

He tapped his tablet screen off. "I'm shadowing departments this month. Special project."

"For?"

He leaned back. "Strategic audit."

Her gaze sharpened. "For whom?"

He tilted his head. "Isn't curiosity dangerous in a corporate setting?"

"It's more dangerous not to know who's reading my team's internal documents," she shot back.

He stood, extended a hand. "Alex Ward. Independent strategist. Zurich."

She didn't shake it immediately.

Zurich. That was the international firm Ford had brought in last year for discreet advisory services. But they were remote digital and anonymous.

Now, one of them was here. On her floor. With his sleeves rolled up and a face she couldn't forget.

She took his hand.

"Serena Vale. Branding and Partnerships."

"I know," he said, eyes steady on hers.

They talked. Not long, maybe ten minutes. But it was long enough for her to notice things. He listened closely. He asked questions like he wasn't trying to catch her out, but understand. And when he smiled, it wasn't the polished smile of most execs. It was quieter. Like it came from someplace honest.

She still didn't trust him but she was intrigued.

Back at her desk, Serena watched the company database load slowly on her screen.

Alex Ward. Zurich. Independent audit consultant. NDA sealed project. Assigned to rotate between strategy, sustainability, and branding over the next few months.

There was nothing suspicious in the file and that made her more suspicious.

Because her gut still told her something didn't add up.

* * * * * * * * *

After their unusual first encounter, Alex kept a low profile. Though he'd introduced himself as an independent strategist, it didn't take long before he took up a quiet role in a vintage Ford restoration garage just outside the city where he performed the duty of a mechanic after work. His own way of staying close to the legacy without stepping into the spotlight.

Three days passed.

They kept crossing paths in hallways, coffee counters, shared meetings.

And each time, the conversation stretched a little longer. Grew a little warmer. A joke here, a comment there. She learned he had spent time in India, briefly consulted for a startup in Berlin, had opinions about American advertising that she disagreed with but couldn't quite dismiss.

"You introduced yourself as an independent strategist. So why are you working in a garage like a mechanic?" Serena asked trying to feed her doubts.

Alex met her gaze, calm but unreadable. "You've seen me?"

"I see you everywhere."

"Strategy doesn't always happen in boardrooms. Sometimes it starts under the hood, where no one's looking."

Still, the response wasn't really an answer to Serena's lot of questions. Alex never talked about himself much. Not really and that mystery started pulling at her.

Friday afternoon brought a downpour.

Everyone rushed to the lobby, crowding near the windows as rain battered the glass in steady sheets. Serena waited by the revolving door, phone in hand, rideshare delayed.

And of course, he was there. Alex.

"So much for summer," she muttered.

He chuckled. "You'd think billion dollar companies could control the weather by now."

She looked at him. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"I'm sure you have."

"Why did you park my car?"

He paused, then smiled. "Because you asked me to."

She blinked. "That's it?"

"Would it help if I told you I like driving expensive cars?"

"No," she said, eyes narrowing. "But it would explain the grin you had when I walked away."

He didn't deny it.

"I assumed you'd find out who I was by the next morning and you did."

"You enjoyed it."

"Wouldn't you?"

She tried to stay annoyed but failed. She smiled instead.

"Drinks," she said suddenly.

He raised a brow. "Pardon?"

"There's a rooftop bar two blocks from here. You seem curious about Detroit. Let's see how you handle the skyline."

"Is this a test?"

"Maybe," she said, stepping into the rain. "Maybe I just want to know if you're fun when you're not lurking behind spreadsheets."

Alex smiled and followed and they shared an umbrella.

The bar was dimly lit, glass walls streaked with rain. Music low and atmosphere warm. They found a corner booth, far from colleagues, far from expectation.

He ordered an old fashioned. She asked for gin and lime and then their conversation continued, for hours.

They talked about everything but the company.

Favorite cities. Music they hated. The best street food they'd ever had. Her story about getting food poisoning in Bali. His about getting stranded in a mountain village in Nepal.

Somewhere between the second drink and the laughter that followed a shared joke about corporate buzzwords, Serena forgot to be cautious.

She forgot to be anyone but herself.

And when the moment stretched quiet and charged, he reached for her hand. Just for a second. Just enough to know she wouldn't pull away.

And they stared deeply at each other with with a silent conversation of hearts.

* * * * * * * * * *

Back in her apartment, late, lights off, she stared at the ceiling.

Who was he really?

And why did it feel like falling into something she wasn't ready for?

Her phone buzzed and it was a text from Alex.

Alex: Thanks for tonight. I haven't laughed like that in a long time.

She stared at it, typed, deleted and then typed again:

Serena: Likewise. And you still owe me an explanation for that valet stunt.

The reply came in seconds:

Alex: Maybe I just liked the way you looked at me before you knew who I was.

Her breath caught.

She didn't know who he was. Not yet.

But she was starting to care.

And that scared her more than anything else.