One year ago…
Matthew
When I walk into the office, my jaw clenches involuntarily at the thought of encountering Sarah Wilson again.
That bubbly, overeager personality of hers grates on my last nerve.
I stride towards the elevators. As I wait, I can't help but recall our conversation at the charity gala last week.
Her plain features and unremarkable presence barely registered until she bounded up to me like an overexcited puppy. And to top it all, she asked me out. I've never met someone so…forward.
The elevator dings and I step inside, jabbing the button for the top floor. I lean against the mirrored wall, exhaling slowly. "Get it together, Jameson," I mutter. "She's just another vapid socialite. Nothing to concern yourself with."
But as the floors tick by, an uneasy feeling settles in my gut. Something about Sarah's earnest green eyes lingers in my mind despite my efforts to dismiss her.
The doors open, and I school my features into a mask of cool indifference as I exit. I'm here to work, nothing more.
"Matthew!" A bright voice rings out across the office. I turn to see Sarah Wilson practically skipping towards me, a sunny smile lighting up her face.
My lips turn into a tight line. "Miss Wilson," I say curtly with a curt nod.
She's undeterred by my cold tone. "I brought you some coffee."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her eager-to-please demeanor. "You shouldn't have."
"I am happy to," she insists, still beaming up at me.
I go inside my office and close the door. Hopefully, she won't bother me anymore.
I watch with growing irritation as Sarah opens my door and waltzs right in.
"Sorry! You forgot your coffee," she chirps.
I lean back, crossing my arms. "I don't need you to buy me coffee, Miss Wilson. I believe I made that clear earlier."
Her smile doesn't waver. "Please, call me Sarah. And I know, but I thought maybe you'd changed your mind…"
I cut her off. "I haven't. I have a lot to do so…"
But Sarah doesn't budge. Instead, she leans in slightly, her voice lowering. "You know, I've been thinking about the gala. It was fun, wasn't it?"
I sigh. Didn't she hear me mention my girlfriend? "Miss Wilson-"
"Sarah," she corrects gently.
I sigh. "Sarah. I am not sure if you remember. But I told you I was seeing someone."
She nods, but there's a glint in her eye that unsettles me. "Of course. But who says we can't be friends?"
I'm about to deliver a scathing retort when her father's voice booms across the office. "Sarah! Can you come in here?"
Sarah stands, smoothing her skirt.
"There's nothing wrong with being friends," she murmurs before sauntering away.
I watch her go, a mixture of annoyance and confusion swirling in my chest. What game is she playing? And why do I find myself so affected by it?
No, I shouldn't bother with her.
I hunch over my desk, trying to focus on the quarterly reports, when I sense her presence.
Again.
Sarah's perfume - something light and floral - wafts over me before I even look up. I grit my teeth, bracing for another inane attempt at small talk.
"Matthew?" Her voice is soft, almost hesitant.
I glance up, ready to dismiss her, but the papers in her hand catch my eye. "What are those?"
"Daddy told me to deliver them to you," she says, her eyes smiling.
Something tells me her father did not purposely send her here.
"Leave them on the desk. Thanks," I say, my tone clipped.
Sarah bites her lip, her brow furrowing. "Well, I thought I should let you know that there are discrepancies in the cash flow statement. Something's not adding up."
My eyebrows rise involuntarily. This isn't what I expected.
"Show me," I demand, gesturing to the chair beside my desk.
She sits, leaning in close as she spreads the papers out. Her finger traces over rows of numbers, and her explanation is surprisingly articulate. "See here? The depreciation doesn't match the asset acquisition timeline. I've tried adjusting for…"
I listen, my initial reluctance giving way to curiosity. Her understanding of the financials is far beyond what I'd assumed. As she walks me through her calculations, I find myself nodding along, impressed despite myself.
"You're right," I mutter, circling a figure. "There's an error in the base assumptions. Good catch."
Sarah beams, her green eyes lighting up. "Really? Oh, thank you! Daddy thought I was wrong."
I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how close she's sitting. "Yes, well. It's a complex problem. How did you figure it out?"
She grins. "Didn't I tell you? I am very good at math."
And here I thought she was some airhead.
I grunt noncommittally, but I can't help watching as she gathers her papers. There's a grace to her movements, a quiet confidence I hadn't noticed before.
I guess there's more to Sarah Wilson than I gave her credit for. She's not just some vapid socialite playing at business. The girl's got a brain, and she knows how to use it.
A twinge of something - respect? Admiration? - tugs at me. I push it away, irritated at myself for even entertaining such thoughts. It doesn't matter how intelligent she is. I can't let her flirt with me.
~-~
Over the next few days, Sarah becomes an unavoidable presence.
She's in meetings I attend, lingering in hallways, and, of course, finding reasons to "accidentally" bump into me. Her enthusiasm hasn't wavered, to my growing annoyance.
"Matthew, I wanted to invite you to lunch," she announces one afternoon, stepping into my office without knocking. Again.
I glare at her. "You know, most people knock before entering."
She grins, unabashed. "Oh, sorry. Lunch?"
"I'm busy," I reply curtly, returning my attention to the report on my desk.
Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "Oh, come on, Matthew. Even you have to eat."
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Sarah, I don't think—"
"It's just lunch," she interrupts, her tone cheerful but firm. "No ulterior motives. As friends."
"Ahem…"
My heart skips a beat when I spot…her.
Amanda walks into the room, her eyes scanning the two of us with a raised eyebrow. The tension is palpable. Sarah, still smiling brightly, glances up at her, clearly unfazed.
"I thought I'd surprise you," Amanda says. She steps further into the room, her presence suddenly more commanding.
"Hey, babe," I reply, standing up to greet her with a soft kiss on the cheek. I shoot a quick, apologetic glance at her. Amanda has always been the jealous type, so I hope she doesn't think something is going on between my boss's daughter and me.
Sarah's smile doesn't waver, though the glint in her eyes sharpens just a little. "Hi, I am Sarah."
Amanda raises an eyebrow, her gaze flicking from me to Sarah and then back to me with a questioning look.
I can feel the tension building. "This is Amanda," I say, offering a tight smile, trying to keep things casual. "My girlfriend."
Sarah doesn't flinch. If anything, her smile grows wider. "Nice to meet you, Amanda." Her voice is sweet, but there's an edge to it that doesn't escape me. She's playing this perfectly, like some kind of game I can't figure out.
Amanda's eyes narrow slightly, but she stays composed, offering a polite, though somewhat forced, smile. "Nice to meet you too, Sarah."
"Sarah is my Boss, Charles Wilson's daughter," I add.
Amanda looked at Sarah one more time before stepping closer to me, slipping her arm around mine with possessiveness. "Well, I hope you're not too busy for a little lunch, Matthew."
I glance at Sarah, whose smile hasn't wavered, though I notice her fingers grip her papers just a little tighter. Something about her unshakable demeanor unnerves me.
"Of course," I say quickly, trying to smooth things over. "I can spare an hour. Let's go, babe."
As I turn to leave with Amanda, I can feel Sarah's eyes on my back, that unsettling smile still fixed on her face. It leaves me with a strange sense of unease.
Amanda stays close, her arm still linked with mine as we make our way down the hallway. She glances at me, her expression still tight. "She seems friendly. Almost too friendly."
I try to brush it off. "She's just young and a little too bubbly, that's all. Nothing to worry about."
Amanda's brow furrows slightly. "I don't like the way she looked at you."
"She's just my Boss's daughter," I say, trying to downplay it. "Nothing more."
Amanda seems to accept that, but I can still feel the weight of her doubt. She's protective, always has been, and right now, I can't blame her for being a little suspicious.
"So, tell me more about this Sarah," Amanda says right after we sit down for lunch.
I grin. "Jealous? You shouldn't be."
Amanda doesn't seem convinced. "I just don't like the way she looked too comfortable with you. A little too much, don't you think?"
"Honestly, Amanda, I find her annoying. So, like I said, you have nothing to worry about." I take a sip of my drink, hoping that it will suppress her worries.
But Amanda isn't buying it. "I don't trust people like that. All bubbly and fake." Her voice is quiet, but there's a sharpness to it that I can't ignore. "And you've been looking a little… distracted lately."
I set my drink down, leaning back in my seat. This conversation has taken a turn I wasn't prepared for. "It's just work," I say firmly. "You know how it is. Long hours, tight deadlines."
Amanda's eyes soften just a little. "I know. But I can't help feeling like something's off. It's the way she looks at you. Like she's… sizing you up."
I groan inwardly. "Come on, Amanda. You're overthinking it."
But despite my reassurances, something gnaws at me. The way Sarah looked at me before Amanda arrived, the way her smile never faltered—there's something almost predatory about it. I shake the thought away. I'm imagining things.
Amanda picks at her salad, her eyes still flickering between me and the space around us. "I don't want to be paranoid, Matthew, but I'm not blind. I see how she acts around you." She pauses, eyes narrowing. "And I don't like it."
I reach across the table, placing my hand over hers. "Look, I get it. But nothing's going on between me and Sarah. You have my word."
For a moment, she looks at me, her expression softening. "I trust you," she says quietly, but there's still a trace of doubt in her voice. "I just don't like how she's making me feel."
I squeeze her hand reassuringly. "You've got nothing to worry about. I'm not interested in her."