TANGLED WITH MR BLACKWOOD

Ethan wasn't the kind of man who replayed memories.

But that Saturday night refused to leave him.

The sound of her footsteps beside his.

The way she turned just before stepping out of his car and whispered, "Thanks."

The curve of her neck as she walked away.

And the silence he'd sat in afterward — a silence that said far more than words ever could.

He hadn't meant to drive her home.

He hadn't meant to wait for her to get inside.

But he had.

And now he couldn't seem to let it go.

It was Monday. But the weekend lingered in the corners of his thoughts like fog.

He'd passed her that morning in the hallway near the main conference wing. It was brief — a crossing of paths. She wore navy slacks, a cream blouse, and that same focused look she always wore when she was deep in numbers.

She didn't falter. Didn't flinch.

Just nodded, cool and professional, like nothing had happened.

And maybe nothing had.

Maybe he was the only one who kept remembering how she looked in soft lighting. Or how close they'd stood in the elevator that night.

He returned to the top floor and sat behind his desk with a file open, unread.

Lexi's portfolio from the gala division had been submitted early that morning.

Sleek, strategic. Beautiful.

Just like her.

He didn't open it. He didn't have to.

Her work spoke louder now than her voice ever had.

And that — that was the problem.

Because the higher she rose, the more attention she drew. Including from the ones who didn't like losing ground.

On the 18th floor, Lexi joined the midweek strategy meeting with quiet calm. Her name was now attached to more internal updates than anyone in her tier. Her file was being passed around with nods. Silent respect. Even Ava — sharp-eyed and unreadable — tapped her pen once during the presentation. Lexi had learned that meant approval.

She stood and gave her update.

Clear. Confident. Measured.

When she finished, a low hum of acknowledgment moved around the room.

Everyone could feel it.

Lexi wasn't just catching up anymore.

She was shining.

Camille, seated toward the far end of the table, flipped open her own copy of the proposal.

Her voice came smooth.

"It's good," she said. "But… emotional?"

Lexi turned slightly. "Sorry?"

Camille smiled. "Your theme. The humanitarian angle. It's beautiful, but maybe it leans too much into sentimentality. We don't want to lose the high-net-worth crowd by being too... warm."

A soft shift passed through the room.

Lexi's voice didn't waver. "The goal is to connect. These are real causes. Real lives. The right donors will respond to that."

Camille lifted one shoulder. "Just an observation."

Ethan said nothing. Just leaned back in his seat, watching the exchange with hooded eyes.

He didn't intervene.

He didn't have to.

Lexi held her ground without raising her voice.

And Camille — for now — backed off.

As the meeting ended, Camille rose, gathering her file with perfect calm.

As she turned to leave, her gaze paused — just for a second — on the folder with Lexi's name.

She said nothing.

But that look said everything.

Downstairs, during lunch break, the office kitchen buzzed faintly with the hum of the microwave and someone's throwback R&B playlist playing too low to be identified.

Lexi sat at the corner table, eating grilled pasta and pretending to care about a spreadsheet. Maya dropped her tray like it owed her money.

Lexi didn't even look up. "Bad salad?"

"Worse," Maya whispered. "The date."

Lexi blinked. "Wait. Eli? The architect?"

"The very one," Maya muttered. "I went."

"You went? I thought you canceled."

"He sent me a curated Spotify playlist. With handwritten captions. I was emotionally manipulated."

Lexi laughed. "And?"

"It was chaos. First of all, I got there early—first time in history. I ordered garlic bread. He walks in, hugs me, then whispers that he's allergic to garlic."

Lexi choked. "Stop."

"I offered him a slice. He recoiled like I handed him cyanide."

Lexi wiped her mouth, already laughing. "You can't make this up."

Just then, her phone buzzed. A video call.

Incoming Call: Shasha

Lexi groaned. "She has psychic timing."

She answered and tilted the screen. Maya leaned in too.

Shasha's face appeared, sunglasses on indoors, smoothie in hand, chaos in her voice. "I FELT A DISTURBANCE. Start talking."

Maya rolled her eyes. "It wasn't that bad."

Lexi: "She nearly murdered a man with garlic."

Shasha gasped. "You poisoned him?"

"I fed him," Maya snapped. "Turns out he's one of those guys who thinks basil is a lifestyle."

Shasha grinned. "What else?"

"He spent fifteen minutes explaining Brutalist architecture and then asked my five-year plan halfway through the starter."

Lexi winced. "Before dessert?"

"BEFORE THE WATER," Maya clarified. "I was still unfolding my napkin!"

Shasha clutched her pearls. "You were in a hostage situation."

"It gets worse," Maya added. "When he walked me to my car, he tried to kiss me. I leaned right. He went left. He kissed my ear."

Lexi nearly dropped her fork.

"He hit my earring," Maya said, deadpan. "It spun like a fan. I thought I was going blind."

Shasha was wheezing. "Your earring tried to defend you."

"I smiled, said thanks, went home and ate plantain chips."

Lexi: "Your life is a Netflix series."

Shasha: "Unscripted. Unhinged. Unapologetic."

Maya beamed. "I know."

When the call ended and Maya wandered off mid-rant about men and garlic, Lexi didn't follow.

She tucked her phone away, pulled her laptop back open, and went back to her spreadsheet.

There were things to be done — and she wasn't about to let distractions slow her momentum.

A few minutes later, Maya passed behind her, muttering, "Back to capitalism."

Lexi smirked, slid her blazer on, and stood.

Within minutes, the floor returned to its usual rhythm — keys clicking, printers humming, minds racing.

And Lexi? She didn't miss a beat.

Upstairs, Ethan stared out his office window. The skyline glittered like glass.

He should've been reading the quarterly projections.

Instead, he was remembering the shape of her laughter.

The way her eyes looked when she was focused. Or annoyed. Or flustered by nothing at all.

He turned back to his desk.

Lexi's gala file still sat there.

Unopened.

He wasn't sure what unsettled him more —

That he couldn't stop thinking about her…

Or that he wasn't trying to anymore.