Page 14 of The Fake Affair

The words hit hard, sinking somewhere deep in my chest and lodging there like they belong. Heat gathers at the back of my neck, slow and pulsing, and my spine stiffens as I force myself to stay still. I feel the rage coil low, threading through my shoulders, tightening across my back.

“Because you’ve always seen the worst in me, haven’t you?” The words come out raw. “You didn’t even wait to hear my side. Just assumed the worst and ran.”

Her voice rises in response, and the rage I feel is mirrored in her eyes. “When have you ever given me a reason to believe otherwise? Your reputation?—”

“You don’t know me,” I say, stepping in close enough to see the flutter in her throat. “You’ve never tried.”

She looks up at me, defiant but not untouched. Her chin lifts. Her mouth presses into a hard line. Then she breathes out a sharp, shaky breath and speaks the words like a clean cut.

“I quit.”

My stomach sinks. My brows draw together. “What?”

“You heard me.” Her voice is flat now, all the fury drained and replaced by something that feels more like exhaustion. “I quit. Fire me, if you need the satisfaction.”

She turns toward the door, and I take a step after her but stop myself. Her hand touches the doorknob before she looks back over her shoulder.

“I’ll pack up my desk.”

“Wait—” There has to be more to this, not this kind of an abrupt, senseless end. But before I can make complete sense of what just happened, my phone rings. I almost ignore it, but it’s Peters from CyberMind.

“Mr. Fraser.” His gruff voice fills the silence. “That assistant of yours... she’s persistent.”

I look at Bella from the glass windows of my office, now busy gathering her things.

“The analysis she sent over this morning—it’s unlike anything we’ve seen. The way she broke down the integration possibilities...” Peters pauses, the skepticism in his voice replaced by wonder. “Perhaps we were hasty in our decision. If you’re free on Monday, we’d like to discuss the terms. In Chicago.”

We discuss details to meet, then the line goes quiet, and I let the phone drop to the desk without moving. For a full beat, I just stand there, staring at the skyline like it might help me process what the hell just happened.

She did it.

Bella Levine, in the middle of our worst week, saved the deal I thought we’d lost. And she didn’t even wait for me to notice. She just did it. Quietly. Brilliantly. While I was too busy being furious to see it.

I move before I can talk myself out of it.

Out through the glass doors, past the late-hour hum of a few straggling analysts still finishing their reports. Her desk is lit only by her screen, the city’s evening glow soft on her skin. She’s focused, scrolling through something with one hand while holding a half-finished coffee in the other.

She notices me approaching and doesn’t miss a beat, lifting her eyes in defiance like she’s already braced for a fight.

“If you’re here to talk more shit, you?—”

“They called,” I say, my voice cutting through her sentence, calm and firm.

She blinks once. “Who?”

“Peters. They want to meet. They said it’s thanks to you.”

For a moment, she just stares at me, frozen like she’s trying to decide whether this is real or some final punishment. Then something shifts. Her lips part. Her eyes widen.

“They do?” she breathes, and when her smile begins to spread, it’s so disarmingly beautiful I feel it in my chest.

Then her brows knit, suspicion rushing in like a reflex. “You’re joking.” There’s a quiet plea under the sarcasm. “Tell me you’re not joking.”

“I’m not joking.” I watch her closely. “They want to meet in Chicago. Monday.”

“Oh my God.”

The breath leaves her like she’s been holding it all day. She sits back in her chair, stunned and breathless, the fight bleeding out of her posture as the news sinks in.

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