Chapter 2 Monday Morning Reckoning

Isla Pov

I arrive at the office forty-five minutes early, clutching my third coffee of the morning like a lifeline.

The building is quiet, most desks still empty. Good. I need time to prepare—to build the professional armor I'll wear when Kennedy Development executives start arriving. When he starts arriving.

My hands shake as I unlock my office door. I haven't slept properly since Saturday morning, since I fled that penthouse with Ellis Kennedy's business card burning a hole in my purse. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Feel him. Remember everything I should forget.

"Isla!"

I nearly drop my coffee. Brandon Khan appears in my doorway, looking concerned and slightly annoyed.

"Where were you this weekend? I called fifteen times."

"I needed space," I say, setting down my coffee before I spill it.

"Space." He crosses his arms, studying me with those too-perceptive eyes. "It was the anniversary. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You look like you haven't slept."

Because I haven't. Because I made a catastrophic mistake that I can't unmake.

"The new boss is here today," Brandon continues, oblivious to my internal panic. "Big meeting at ten. Please tell me you're ready."

My stomach drops. "He's here? Already?"

"Arrived an hour ago, apparently. Taking meetings with department heads." Brandon leans against the doorframe. "Word is he's intense. Brilliant but ruthless. Expect changes."

Oh, I expect changes. I expect my entire professional life to implode the moment Ellis Kennedy sees me.

"I'm ready," I lie.

Brandon doesn't look convinced, but he lets it go. "Conference room. Ten o'clock. Don't be late."

At 9:58, I stand outside the conference room, willing myself to enter.

Through the glass walls, I can see my colleagues filing in. Twenty people, maybe more. Everyone's here—the entire architecture team, project managers, even the administrative staff.

And at the head of the table, with his back to the door, stands a man in a charcoal suit.

My pulse hammers. It could be anyone. Kennedy Development probably sent multiple executives. Maybe Ellis isn't even—

I push through the door.

He turns.

Time fractures. The room falls away. There's only him—Ellis Kennedy, the stranger from Friday night, the man whose name I moaned in the dark—standing ten feet away in broad daylight, surrounded by my colleagues.

Our eyes lock.

Recognition flashes across his face, quickly masked. But I saw it. That split-second where his composure cracked, where he looked as stunned as I feel.

Then his expression smooths into perfect professionalism.

I force my legs to move, to carry me to an empty chair. My hands grip the table edge to keep from shaking. Brandon slides into the seat beside me, whispering something I don't hear over the roaring in my ears.

"Good morning." Ellis's voice cuts through the murmur of conversation. Smooth. Controlled. "I'm Ellis Kennedy. As of today, Kennedy Development has officially acquired Cole & Associates."

He scans the room, making eye contact with each person. When his gaze reaches me, it lingers. Half a second longer than necessary. Long enough that my breath catches.

"I've reviewed your portfolios," he continues, pacing slowly along the table's head. "You're all talented architects. That's why we acquired this firm—to access that talent, to expand our capabilities."

Professional words. Corporate speak. But underneath, I hear the tone that whispered against my skin three nights ago.

"Ms. Cole."

My name in his mouth sounds different now. Deliberate. Like he's tasting it, testing how it feels in this context.

I meet his eyes. "Yes?"

"I've heard excellent things about your work. Your portfolio is particularly impressive." He pauses. "I'd like to speak with you after this meeting."

The room's energy shifts. Curious glances. Brandon's surprised look. Everyone wondering why the new CEO singled me out.

I manage a nod. "Of course."

The meeting continues—restructuring plans, new projects, integration timelines—but I hear none of it. My entire focus narrows to Ellis, to the careful way he avoids looking at me again, to the tension coiling tighter with each passing minute.

When he finally dismisses everyone, the exodus is swift. People eager to gossip, to process, to escape the intensity of his presence.

I stand slowly, gathering papers I didn't take notes on.

"Isla?" Brandon touches my arm. "You okay? You look pale."

"I'm fine. Just... surprised he wants to meet with me."

"It's a good thing," Brandon says, though he looks uncertain. "Probably means a promotion."

Or a termination. Or a reckoning.

"I'll catch up with you later," I tell him.

He leaves reluctantly, shooting one last concerned look over his shoulder.

Then it's just us. Ellis and me, alone in the glass-walled conference room where anyone passing could see.

He doesn't move immediately. Neither do I. We stand on opposite sides of the table, a chasm of polished wood between us.

"About Friday night—" he starts.

"Was a mistake," I cut him off, voice sharper than intended.

"Was it?"

The question lands like a challenge. He steps closer, closing the distance by half. I smell cedar and smoke, and my body responds with traitorous heat.

"You're my boss now," I force out. "It can't happen again."

"You're right."

But the way he looks at me contradicts everything. Like he's memorizing every detail. Like the professional distance we're supposed to maintain is already crumbling.

"I'm assigning you to lead our next project," he says, voice dropping lower. "Urban renewal in the east district. You start tomorrow."

My mind struggles to shift gears. "Why me?"

"Because you're the best architect in this firm." His eyes hold mine. "And because I believe you can handle high-pressure situations."

The double meaning isn't subtle. High-pressure situations. Like sneaking out of his bed at dawn. Like standing here pretending Friday night didn't happen.

My knees feel weak. "I accept the assignment."

"Good."

I turn to leave, desperate for air, for space, for anything that isn't his presence overwhelming every rational thought.

"Isla."

I freeze at the doorway. "Yes?"

"One more thing."

I turn back slowly.

His expression is carefully neutral, but something dark flickers in his eyes. "The east district project? It's the same location where your father worked before he died."

The words hit like ice water.

My father. The accident. The construction site that destroyed my family ten years ago.

"How do you know that?" My voice comes out barely above a whisper.

But Ellis doesn't answer. He just watches me with those unreadable eyes, and I realize with growing horror that this was never random. Not the bar. Not Friday night. Not this assignment.

He knew who I was all along.