Page 25 of Never Quite Gone

I pulled him closer, our connection electric as Zeus's lightning. His lips met mine with the inevitability of tide meeting shore, and the world fell away. There was only this: the press of his body againstmine, the taste of destiny on his tongue, a love powerful enough to span centuries.

For now, there was only us, only this moment, only a love that felt older than time itself?—

I jerked awake in my bed, sweat cooling on my skin as reality crashed back. My heart thundered against my ribs as I tried to orient myself. Manhattan's pre-dawn skyline glittered through floor-to-ceiling windows, the city spread out forty stories below my penthouse. 5:27 AM. Almost time for work.

But the dream clung to me like incense, so vivid I could still feel Alexandros's hands on my face. Still taste his lips on mine.

Moonlight silvered the modern furnishings of my bedroom, transforming sleek surfaces into something ancient and strange. For a moment, the shadows played tricks, turning my minimalist space into marble columns and sacred groves.

My head throbbed as I tried to make sense of the dream. It had felt so real. But that was impossible. I'd never been to Greece. I'd never known anyone named Alexandros. And yet...

I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to sort fantasy from reality. The dream was already fading, but something lingered - a sense of connection I couldn't explain. My hands shook slightly as I reached for my phone.

5:45 AM. Time to get ready for work.

Work. Yes. That was real. Concrete. The ER would be waiting, with its predictable chaos and measurable outcomes. Not like these strange dreams that left me feeling off-balance, yearning for something I couldn't name.

I deliberately didn't think about how Alex's eyes had seemed so familiar in that board meeting. Didn't think about why my hands had trembled when he'd looked at me. Some things were better left unexamined.

But as I turned away from the window, the lingering scent of herbs and olive trees followed me like a ghost I couldn't quite believe in.

CHAPTER 8

Empire

Sarah's heels clicked a precise rhythm across the marble floor as she approached with my morning coffee. Six years of working together had refined her movements into a choreographed dance of efficiency – the cup positioned exactly two inches from my right hand, the tablet precisely aligned with my desk's edge.

“Your nine o'clock is waiting in the conference room,” she reported, her tone carrying that perfect balance of professional distance and earned familiarity.

I nodded, wrapping my fingers around the coffee cup like an anchor. The bitter warmth helped ground me in the present moment.

The Miami waterfront project rose in miniature splendor – all gleaming curves and environmental innovation. Chicago's eco-hub sprawled across its platform, green spaces woven through ultra-modern structures like nature reclaiming concrete.

The conference room hummed with the particular energy of people trying to look busy without being obvious about it. Department heads straightened in their ergonomic chairs as I entered, tablets held like shields. Their eyes tracked me with thecareful attention of people whose bonuses depended on reading my mood.

“The Miami project is ahead of schedule,” Susan Croft's voice carried that note of carefully crafted confidence that came with being Head of Sustainability. Her presentation showed towers rising from reclaimed shoreline like crystal growing from salt water.

The coffee warmed my hands as I absorbed details, each number and projection fitting into larger patterns of strategy and control. Marcus's voice cut through my analysis with surgical precision.

“The hospital development project may face some resistance from the board. Dr. Vale has raised concerns about construction impact on emergency services.”

My grip tightened on the cup, porcelain straining under my fingers. “The impact studies are comprehensive. Dr. Monroe's department has been fully consulted.”

“Speaking of Dr. Monroe,” Marcus's words carried a warning edge that made my neck tense, “he's requested additional review time for the emergency department modifications.”

The meeting rolled on with mechanical precision. Project timelines. Budget approvals. Strategic acquisitions. Each element a piece in a game of corporate chess where the stakes felt higher than mere profits.

Sarah materialized at my elbow as the room cleared. “The historical society called again about accessing the archives.”

“Declined,” the word came out sharp as broken glass.

Ten o'clock brought the acquisitions team, their presentations polished to a mirror shine. They lined up like well-dressed soldiers, armed with spreadsheets and market analyses. The morning sun caught the edge of every architectural model in my office, turning glass and plastic into something almost mythical.

“The Q3 numbers exceeded projections,” Jessica Chen began, but my attention snagged on a single detail buried in her report – a failing development firm with one crucial property next toPresbyterian. The kind of leverage that could make Vale choke on his own schemes.

“Tell me more about Metropolitan Development Group,” I interrupted, watching them scramble to adjust to my sudden interest. “Specifically their holdings near the hospital district.”

Jessica recovered with admirable speed, data flowing across her screen. “Three properties, all underperforming. The most notable is a pre-war building directly bordering Presbyterian's emergency department access route.”

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