You Chose Her: Now Watch Me Reign

"Do you have an appointment?"

The harsh voice of the new receptionist sliced through the low hum of the open-plan office.

Elodie McCarthy stepped out of the rusted freight elevator. Her fingers tightened around the thick paper handles of a pristine white Dean & DeLuca bag. The rich, heavy scent of truffle risotto and dark espresso wafted from the bag. It was a sharp contrast to the stale air of the Brooklyn startup space. The sky outside the grimy, smudged windows was a bruised, heavy gray, threatening a torrential downpour at any second.

She caught her reflection in the smudged glass door. Her perfectly tailored Chanel tweed jacket and matching skirt clung to her frame. The outfit screamed generational wealth. She looked entirely out of place against the backdrop of exposed brick, tangled cables, and peeling gray paint.

Elodie forced a polite smile. Her thumb instinctively brushed against the cold diamonds of her tennis bracelet. It was a nervous habit she couldn't break.

"I'm Fletcher's girlfriend," Elodie said. Her voice was soft but steady. "I brought him lunch."

The receptionist's eyes dropped to the Chanel jacket. Then to the Birkin on Elodie's arm. Her gaze was heavy with skepticism.

"He's in the middle of a sprint," the girl muttered.

Before Elodie could respond, a loud voice boomed from down the hall.

"Well, if it isn't the billionaire's girlfriend coming to feed the starving founders!"

Mitch, Fletcher's co-founder, jogged over. He wore a faded hoodie and a wide grin. He waved the receptionist off.

Elodie offered Mitch a tight smile. She hated that joke. She hated the constant reminder of the gap between her bank account and Fletcher's.

She walked past the reception desk. Her heels clicked against the scuffed concrete floor. She headed straight for the glass-walled conference room at the back.

Through the glass, she saw him.

Fletcher Beasley.

He was staring intently at a glowing monitor. His dark brows were pulled together in a deep frown. His jaw was clenched tight, a muscle ticking near his ear.

And he wasn't alone.

A young woman in a cheap, wrinkled Zara blouse stood right beside him. Dani. The new front-end developer.

Dani leaned over the desk. She pointed at the screen. Her shoulder brushed directly against Fletcher's bicep. The physical proximity was jarring.

Elodie stopped walking. A sharp, cold ache bloomed in the center of her chest. It felt like a physical needle piercing her ribs.

Fletcher shifted his gaze. He looked up and locked eyes with Elodie through the glass.

His expression didn't change. There was no spark of joy. No relief. His eyes were flat, cold, and entirely unreadable. He simply gave her a stiff, microscopic nod.

Elodie pushed the heavy glass door open. The smell of the espresso filled the small, suffocating room.

"Hey," Elodie said. She kept her voice light. She placed the Dean & DeLuca bag on the edge of the cluttered table. "I thought you might be hungry."

Fletcher immediately leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest. He put a solid foot of distance between himself and the desk.

"Why didn't you text me you were coming?" His voice was gravelly and ice-cold.

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Elodie's stomach twisted into a tight knot.

Dani seized the silence. She stood up straight and flashed a wide, innocent smile.

"Hi! I'm Dani," she said. She thrust her hand out.

Elodie took the girl's hand. Dani's grip was weak, but her eyes immediately dropped to the diamond bracelet on Elodie's wrist. They lingered there for three agonizing seconds.

"Wow," Dani said. She let out a breathy laugh. "That lunch smells amazing. It probably costs more than my rent for half the month."

Fletcher didn't look at Elodie. He stared at his keyboard.

"Dani, go back to your desk and run that test again," Fletcher ordered. His tone was strictly business.

Dani bit her lower lip. She nodded obediently.

"Okay, Fletcher. See you in a bit," Dani murmured. She shot him a lingering, soft look before slipping out of the glass room.

Elodie swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She stepped closer to Fletcher. His collar was slightly crooked. She reached out, her fingers aiming for the fabric of his shirt.

Fletcher turned his head sharply. He dodged her touch.

"I have a VC call in ten minutes," he said. His voice was flat.

Elodie's hand froze in mid-air. The rejection hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. Her lungs burned as she struggled to pull in a breath. She slowly lowered her arm. Her fingernails dug into her own palm.

"Right," Elodie whispered. She forced her spine straight. She maintained the perfect posture her mother had drilled into her. "Eat your lunch. I'll see you later."

She turned around and walked out.

Fletcher watched her thin back retreat. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. A surge of violent frustration flared in his chest.

Elodie walked down the hallway. The office was a blur. She reached the empty elevator bank and pressed the down button. Her vision blurred. A hot tear pricked the corner of her eye. She blinked it away quickly.

The rusted elevator doors groaned open.

Before she could step inside, heavy footsteps pounded against the concrete behind her.

A large hand grabbed her shoulder.

Fletcher spun her around. He shoved her backward. Her spine hit the cold wall next to the elevator doors.

Before she could gasp, his hands tangled in her hair. His mouth crashed down onto hers.

Fletcher broke the kiss as violently as he had started it.

He tore his mouth away. His chest heaved against hers. His breathing was heavy and ragged. His dark eyes were locked onto her swollen lips, burning with a raw, terrifying intensity.

Elodie's mind went entirely blank. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She gripped the lapels of his shirt, trying to ground herself. She desperately tried to pull oxygen back into her burning lungs.

A loud, piercing buzz shattered the silence.

The elevator doors had been open too long. The mechanical alarm echoed through the empty hallway.

Fletcher flinched. He took a sudden half-step back. His hands dropped from her hair. He reached up and adjusted his shirt collar. In the span of a single second, the fire in his eyes vanished. The ice returned. His face became a perfect, unreadable mask.

The whiplash made Elodie dizzy. A hot flush of humiliation crept up her neck. It felt as if the desperate kiss had only happened in her imagination.

She took a deep breath. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached into her Birkin bag. She pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope. The gold foil edges caught the dim hallway light.

"My Grandma Eleanora is hosting her charity gala on the Upper East Side this weekend," Elodie said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. She held the invitation out to him. "I want you to come with me. As my date."

Fletcher stared at the heavy paper. His eyes traced the intricate McCarthy family crest embossed on the front. A microscopic sneer pulled at the corner of his mouth.

He didn't reach for it.

"Are you sure you want a broke startup guy dragging down your family's reputation?" he asked. His voice was devoid of emotion.

Elodie's stomach dropped. She reached out and grabbed his wrist. His skin was warm, but the muscles beneath were rigid.

"She wants to meet you," Elodie pleaded. "I don't care what anyone else thinks. I just want you there."

Fletcher looked down at her pale fingers wrapped around his arm. The silence stretched. One second. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He slowly pulled his arm out of her grasp. He took the envelope from her hand.

"I'll be there on time," he said. His tone was as flat as a dial tone.

Elodie let out a shaky breath. A wave of profound relief washed over her. She offered him a fragile, hopeful smile and stepped backward into the elevator.

The doors slid shut.

Fletcher turned on his heel. He walked back into the office. He marched straight to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and tossed the gold-foiled invitation inside. He slammed it shut.

Downstairs, the elevator doors opened to the main lobby.

Elodie stepped out and stopped dead in her tracks. The sky had cracked open. A torrential downpour was washing over Manhattan. Thick sheets of rain pounded against the pavement.

She didn't have an umbrella. She walked over to the massive floor-to-ceiling glass wall of the lobby. She crossed her arms, shivering slightly as she waited for her driver to pull the Maybach around.

Bored, she turned her head to look at the outdoor patio area attached to the side of the building.

Through the rain-streaked glass, she saw him.

Fletcher was standing outside. He was holding a large black umbrella.

And he wasn't alone.

Dani stood right beside him under the dark canopy. She was holding two steaming paper cups of coffee. She tilted her head back, laughing at something. Her face was bright and glowing.

Fletcher's expression was still stoic, but he didn't move away. He didn't put an inch of distance between them.

Elodie watched as Dani casually reached out. The younger woman brushed a stray raindrop off the shoulder of Fletcher's shirt. Her fingers lingered on his fabric.

Fletcher didn't flinch. He didn't pull away like he had done with Elodie upstairs. He just looked down at Dani and said something. They looked comfortable. Intimate.

Elodie's fingers clamped down on the handles of her Birkin. Her knuckles turned bone-white. Her nails dug into the leather.

The memory of him dodging her touch in the conference room flashed in her mind. The contrast was a physical knife twisting in her gut.

A loud horn blared.

The black Maybach pulled up to the curb.

Elodie tore her eyes away from the umbrella. She pushed through the revolving doors and sprinted through the rain. She threw herself into the backseat of the car.

The heat was blasting inside the luxurious cabin, but Elodie felt freezing cold. Her teeth chattered. She pulled her phone from her purse and opened her text thread with Fletcher.

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

What are you doing?

She stared at the words. Her chest ached. After a long, agonizing minute, she hit the backspace button. She deleted the message.

The Maybach merged into the heavy Brooklyn traffic. Elodie stared out the wet window. A dark, ugly seed of doubt had just taken root deep in her chest.

It was nine o'clock at night. The startup office was dead quiet. The open-plan desks were empty, bathed in the orange glow of the streetlights outside. Only the glass box of Fletcher's office was fully illuminated.

Dani didn't knock. She pushed the heavy glass door open and walked right in. She carried a steaming ceramic mug.

Fletcher was pinching the bridge of his nose. He stared at a complex spreadsheet on his monitor. He dropped his hand and glared at her. The intrusion made his jaw tick.

Dani ignored his cold stare. She walked around his desk and set the mug down right next to his keyboard. She leaned forward. The top two buttons of her Zara blouse were undone, exposing her collarbone.

"Chamomile tea," Dani said softly. Her voice dripped with exaggerated admiration. "I was looking at the backend code you pushed today. It's literally like art, Fletcher."

Fletcher stared at her. His eyes were dead. He didn't say a word. He simply grabbed the armrests of his chair and rolled himself backward, putting two feet of distance between them.

Dani bit her lower lip. A flash of irritation crossed her eyes. She placed both hands flat on his desk and leaned in further, refusing to give up the space.

Suddenly, the phone on Fletcher's desk vibrated violently.

The screen lit up. A FaceTime request. The caller ID read: Elodie.

Dani's eyes darted to the screen. Her jaw tightened with instant jealousy. She didn't step back. She stayed exactly where she was, hovering over his workspace.

Fletcher picked up the phone. He didn't hesitate. He swiped the green button.

Elodie's face filled the screen. She was lying in bed, wearing a dark green silk pajama top. Her blonde hair was loose against the pillows. She opened her mouth to speak, a soft smile forming on her lips.

Then, her eyes flicked to the background of the video.

The smile vanished. Her features hardened into stone.

She saw Dani. She saw the unbuttoned blouse. She saw how close the girl was standing to Fletcher's chair.

Dani leaned into the frame. She waved her fingers at the camera.

"Hi, Elodie!" Dani chirped. Her voice was sickeningly sweet.

Elodie didn't even blink at Dani. Her piercing blue eyes locked directly onto Fletcher's through the screen.

"Are you busy?" Elodie asked. Her voice was pure ice.

Fletcher looked at the screen. He saw the raw, burning jealousy in Elodie's eyes. A dark, unreadable expression flickered across his face for a fraction of a second. Before anyone could decipher the intense shift in his eyes, he masked it completely, his features settling into a wall of pure indifference.

"Just running some data," Fletcher said flatly. He didn't look at Dani. "Dani, get out. I need to take this."

Dani's fake smile shattered. Her face flushed a deep, angry red. She spun around and marched out of the office, letting the glass door slam shut behind her.

Elodie sat up in bed. The silk sheets rustled.

"Why is your subordinate in your office dressed like that at nine in the night?" Elodie demanded. Her voice shook slightly.

"It's a startup. We work late," Fletcher replied. His tone was dismissive. Bored.

Elodie's shoulders slumped. A wave of exhaustion washed over her. She couldn't fight his brick wall of apathy through a screen.

"Right. Goodnight, Fletcher," she whispered, and ended the call.

Half an hour later, Fletcher shut down his computer. He turned off the office lights and walked down the rusty stairs. He stepped out into the cool Brooklyn night and walked toward the dark, narrow alley where he parked.

He reached the sleek, Aston Martin sports car. He pulled the handle.

Before he could open the door, a shadow darted from the front of the car.

The passenger door was yanked open. Elodie slid into the leather seat. She was wearing a long trench coat over her silk pajamas. She brought the freezing night air in with her.

Fletcher froze. He stared at her through the windshield. He quickly got into the driver's seat and slammed the door.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

Elodie didn't answer. She unbuckled her seatbelt. In one fluid motion, she climbed over the center console. She straddled his lap, her knees pressing into the leather seat on either side of his hips.

Standing in the shadows of the alley, hidden behind a dumpster, Dani watched. Her eyes widened in shock.

Inside the car, Elodie grabbed Fletcher's face with both hands. She leaned down and kissed him. It wasn't romantic. It was territorial. She bit his lower lip hard enough to make him gasp.

Fletcher's hands instinctively came up to push her away. But the moment his palms touched her waist, his fingers dug into the fabric of her coat. He groaned, a low, guttural sound, and pulled her flush against his chest.

The kiss deepened into something frantic and consuming. The heat radiating from their bodies quickly fogged up the windows of the sports car, turning the glass into a hazy white blur.

Outside in the cold alley, Dani stared at the shaking car. Her chest heaved. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands until the skin broke, drawing tiny drops of blood.