Chapter 3

My direct supervisor, Fiona Quinn, handed me a stack of documents with instructions to deliver them to the executive assistant.

The assistant was nowhere to be found. Through the phone, he told me to leave them on the desk in the CEO's office instead.

Assuming Samuel was out with his assistant, I didn't think much of it. Clutching the files, I headed straight for his office.

The moment I pushed the door open, I spotted Samuel slumped over his desk, one hand propping up his head as if he'd dozed off.

My heart leapt into my throat. The last thing I needed was more office gossip.

But after a brief moment of panic, I reasoned there was no reason to feel guilty. Tiptoeing toward the desk, I carefully set down the files.

Just as I turned to make a quiet exit, my foot caught on a decorative potted plant near the leg of the desk. I stumbled forward, nearly face-planting onto the carpet.

Samuel reacted instantly. In one swift motion, he reached out and steadied me, his grip firm. "Careful."

My heart hammered against my ribs. I was about to mutter something unflattering about the potted plant when the door swung open. The executive assistant walked in, looking flustered.

"Sorry I'm late, Mr. Foster," the assistant said as he walked in.

I quickly pulled away from Samuel's hold.

Clearing his throat, Samuel addressed his assistant without missing a beat, "Let's avoid decorative plants that serve no purpose. Remove it."

"Uh, sure thing, Mr. Foster," the assistant replied, then muttered under his breath, "But weren't you the one who wanted plants to decorate the office in the first place?"

Word of Samuel's "heroic" catch spread through the office by midday.

"Seriously, I've never seen someone like her—she'll pull any stunt just to get ahead," one coworker sneered.

"Come on, that plant was huge. No way she missed it. She totally did it for attention!" another chimed in.

"And since when is delivering files her job? She's overstepping."

I had no way to defend myself.

Fiona knew the whole story, but as our team lead, she had to maintain harmony.

Taking my side openly would only look like favoritism.

Later that afternoon, Samuel left for the airport with his assistant, beginning a two-week business trip.

Meanwhile, Fiona invited me to dinner after work.

"There's a guy joining us tonight. He's a star recruit from the department next door. Bright, around your age, and quite capable."

Fiona kept rambling on, but honestly, all I cared about was when the food would finally show up.

As the meal went on, I started to sense something was off—the guy kept trying to court my favor at the table, even though I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

Even if I was clueless, I should've realized by now.

"Uh, I'm full, thanks," I said, trying to be polite.

On the way home, Fiona asked me, all excited, "So, what did you think?"

I answered honestly, "It was fine, just a bit heavy on the seasoning."

"Really? He seemed pretty mild-mannered to me—tall, slim, polite. Not what I'd call 'heavy' at all," Fiona said.

"Huh?" I blinked, only then realizing she was asking about the guy, not the food.

"Ms. Quinn, I'm really not good enough for him. He deserves someone way better," I said, trying to brush her off.

"Why not? You two are a perfect match—both talented and good-looking. Plus, I heard he's got a great salary, and his boss is really grooming him for the future. If you end up with him, you'd basically have it made," Fiona said, really trying to sell it.

I knew she meant well, but seriously, the whole company belonged to Samuel. No matter how promising this guy was, could he ever compare to Samuel?

Seeing I wasn't interested, Fiona started piling on the pressure. "There's been a lot of gossip about you lately. I trust you, but you know how people are. If you had a boyfriend, it'd give you a reason to shut them up, right?"

So, having a boyfriend magically stopped people from making up rumors about me? Since when did those two things ever go hand in hand?

Even though that was what I was thinking, I couldn't just say it to Fiona's face.

In the end, I settled on a strategy: don't encourage, don't reject, don't commit.

Whatever he chose to do was his business. I just wouldn't reciprocate.

Over the next two weeks, the guy grew more attentive—morning coffee, occasional flowers, or small gifts on my desk.

Even though I shared them with colleagues, word got around.

The day Samuel returned, he noticed the fresh flowers and coffee cup on my desk.

By that afternoon, the executive assistant had been asked to look into it.

Before leaving work, I overheard colleagues talking: the guy had been transferred to the Thalid division.

"I heard anyone who gets sent to Thalid always ends up getting promoted. Guess you're in for some good fortune, Julia!" one of them joked.

I smiled without responding.

Whether it was a promotion or not, I had a feeling coming back wouldn't be so easy.