Chapter 10: Jealousy
1660words
I turned at the familiar voice, nearly dropping my coffee cup in surprise. "Michael?"
Michael Bennett, my closest friend from business school, stood in the coffee shop doorway, his familiar grin lighting up his face. Before I could respond, he crossed the space between us and swept me into a bear hug that lifted me off my feet.
"What are you doing here?" I laughed as he set me down. "I thought you were still in Chicago."
"Transferred last month. I've been trying to reach you, but your number changed." He studied me, his expression warm with genuine affection. "You look amazing. Different somehow."
Self-consciously, I touched my hair—now professionally styled—and adjusted my designer coat. The external trappings of my new life still felt foreign, like I was playing dress-up in someone else's clothes.
"A lot has changed," I admitted. "Do you have time to catch up?"
We settled at a corner table, and I gave him the sanitized version of my life—my engagement to Alexander, my father's improving health, carefully omitting the contractual nature of my relationship.
"Wait, wait," Michael interrupted, eyes wide. "You're engaged to Alexander Blackwood? The Alexander Blackwood? How did that happen?"
"We met through work," I said, the practiced lie coming easily now. "It was... unexpected."
"I'll say! Last I heard, you were swearing off relationships to focus on your career." He leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "Are you happy, Elena? Really happy?"
The question caught me off guard. In the whirlwind of the past months—the contract, the move, the corporate intrigue—I'd barely considered my own happiness.
"I'm..." I hesitated, searching for the right words. "I'm figuring things out."
Michael's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't press. Instead, he launched into stories about his new position, his recent breakup, his plans for the future. His easy laughter and familiar mannerisms were a balm after weeks in Alexander's controlled, high-stakes world.
I didn't notice the time passing until my phone buzzed with a text from Alexander: "Where are you? Car waiting downstairs."
I'd completely forgotten our dinner plans with potential investors.
"I have to go," I said, gathering my things. "But we should get together properly. Are you free for dinner this week?"
"For you? Always." Michael pulled me into another hug. "Just tell me when and where."
As we separated, I turned to find Alexander standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he observed our embrace.
"Alexander," I said, startled. "I thought you were sending the car."
"I was in the area." His tone was neutral, but his eyes were cold as they assessed Michael. "I don't believe we've met."
"Michael Bennett," Michael extended his hand, unfazed by Alexander's chilly demeanor. "Elena and I go way back to our MBA days at Columbia."
"Indeed." Alexander's handshake was brief, perfunctory. "Elena, we're expected at Le Bernardin in twenty minutes."
"Right, of course." I turned to Michael with an apologetic smile. "I'll call you about dinner."
"Looking forward to it," Michael replied, his eyes darting between Alexander and me with undisguised curiosity.
In the car, Alexander's silence was oppressive. I waited for him to speak, but he remained focused on his phone, answering emails with sharp, precise movements of his fingers.
"Michael is an old friend," I finally said, unable to bear the tension. "We lost touch after I left Morgan Stanley."
"Your personal relationships are your own affair," Alexander replied without looking up.
"Then why do you look like you want to fire someone?"
That got his attention. His eyes met mine, a flash of something—irritation? Possessiveness?—crossing his features before his expression smoothed into its usual mask.
"The investors tonight are conservative. Traditional. They expect a certain... decorum from their business partners and their partners' spouses."
"And you think hugging an old friend violates that decorum?"
"I think appearances matter." His tone was clipped. "Especially now, with Richard and Victoria looking for any weakness."
I bristled at the implication. "Michael isn't a 'weakness.' He's one of the few genuine connections I have left from before—" I stopped abruptly.
"Before me," Alexander finished, his voice softer now. "Before our arrangement changed your life."
The simple acknowledgment of what I'd given up—my independence, my privacy, my normal relationships—defused my anger.
"Yes," I admitted. "Sometimes I miss my old life. The simplicity of it."
Something shifted in Alexander's expression—a brief flash of what might have been regret. "I understand. But tonight—"
"Tonight I'll be the perfect fiancée," I assured him. "I always am, aren't I?"
He studied me for a moment, then nodded, turning back to his phone. But the tension between us remained, an invisible barrier neither of us seemed able to breach.
---
Three days later, Michael joined us for dinner at the penthouse—an invitation I'd extended and Alexander had reluctantly approved. I'd hoped the private setting would ease Alexander's apparent discomfort with my friend, but if anything, his demeanor was even more reserved.
Throughout the meal, Alexander questioned Michael with the precision of a prosecutor—about his career, his education, his family background. Each answer seemed to deepen Alexander's frown.
"And how exactly did you and Elena meet?" Alexander asked, swirling his wine with deliberate casualness.
"Financial Modeling class, first semester," Michael replied easily. "Elena saved me from certain failure. I was hopeless with projections until she tutored me."
"Michael exaggerates," I interjected. "He helped me just as much with Organizational Behavior."
"We made a good team," Michael agreed, smiling at me with obvious affection. "Everyone thought we'd end up together, actually."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Alexander's expression didn't change, but his knuckles whitened around his wine glass.
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
"Ancient history," I said quickly. "We were always better as friends."
"The best of friends," Michael added, oblivious to the tension. "Which reminds me—how did you two meet? Elena was vague on the details."
Alexander's eyes met mine across the table, a silent communication passing between us. "Elena consulted on a financial matter for Blackwood International," he said smoothly. "Her insights were... invaluable."
"And that led to romance?" Michael pressed, his journalistic instincts clearly sensing a story. "Seems like a big leap from business consultant to fiancée."
"Some connections are immediate," Alexander replied, his gaze still locked with mine. "Undeniable."
Something in his tone made my heart skip. For a moment, it almost sounded like he meant it.
"Well, I'm happy for you both," Michael said, though his expression remained curious. "Elena deserves someone who appreciates her brilliance. She was always the smartest person in any room."
"She still is," Alexander agreed, surprising me with the genuine admiration in his voice.
After dinner, as I walked Michael to the elevator, he pulled me aside. "He's intense," he whispered. "Are you sure about this, Elena? He seems... controlling."
"It's complicated," I admitted. "But I know what I'm doing."
Michael didn't look convinced. "Just remember you can always call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
His concern touched me, a reminder of the genuine friendships I'd neglected since entering Alexander's world. "I will. Thank you for coming tonight."
After Michael left, I found Alexander in his office, ostensibly working but clearly waiting for my return.
"Your friend seems very... attached to you," he observed without looking up from his laptop.
"Michael's been there for me through some difficult times," I replied, leaning against the doorframe. "He's important to me."
Alexander's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Were you involved romantically?"
The blunt question caught me off guard. "That's not relevant to our arrangement."
"Perhaps not." He finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine with unexpected intensity. "But I find I want to know anyway."
The admission—so at odds with his usual detachment—made my pulse quicken. "Briefly, in grad school. It didn't work out."
"Why not?"
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "We wanted different things. He was focused on his career, climbing the corporate ladder. I needed to be available for my family."
Alexander nodded slowly, processing this information. "And now?"
"Now what?"
"Do you still want different things?"
I studied him, trying to understand the real question beneath his words. "Michael and I are just friends, Alexander. Nothing more."
"Good." The single word hung between us, charged with implications neither of us seemed ready to address.
"Why do you care?" I finally asked, needing to understand his uncharacteristic interest in my past.
Alexander stood, moving around the desk until he was standing before me, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"Because," he said quietly, "I'm finding it increasingly difficult to remember that our relationship isn't real."
My breath caught. "Alexander—"
"I know it's not part of our agreement," he continued, his voice low and intense. "I know there are boundaries we established. But Elena..." His hand rose to cup my cheek, the touch sending electricity through me. "I find myself forgetting this isn't real sometimes."
The raw honesty in his admission broke something open inside me—the careful compartmentalization I'd maintained between our contractual relationship and my growing feelings.
"I forget too," I whispered, the confession both terrifying and liberating.
For a moment, we stood frozen in the acknowledgment of this shared, dangerous truth. Then Alexander stepped back, his hand falling away from my face.
"We should be careful," he said, his voice regaining its usual control. "Emotions complicate business arrangements."
"Yes," I agreed, though my racing heart argued otherwise. "They do."
As I retreated to my room that night, I couldn't shake the memory of his touch, the intensity in his eyes when he'd admitted to forgetting our relationship wasn't real.
Because the truth—the dangerous, undeniable truth—was that my feelings for Alexander had long since crossed the line from contractual to genuine. And based on his reaction to Michael, his unexpected confession, I suspected his had too.
The question was: what were we going to do about it?
