PART 2: I ARRIVED LATE, MUDDY, AND MOCKED FOR MY DREAM JOB—THEN THE CEO SAW WHAT I WAS CARRYING

Grayson Pierce noticed.

Of course he did.

He pressed a button near the panel. “We’ll stop at the executive floor first. You need towels, dry clothes, and someone to look at your hands.”

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

His eyes moved to the blood drying across my knuckles.

“No, you’re not.”

It wasn’t harsh. That was what undid me.

I had expected suspicion. Condescension. Maybe a polished thank-you before being quietly escorted out. What I didn’t expect was simple concern, delivered without performance.

I looked down at the folder pressed against my chest. Water had soaked through the cheap blue cover. The edges of my documents curled outward, ink bleeding in places where I had held it too tightly in the rain.

“My proposal,” I murmured.

“We can print another copy.”

“Not all of it.”

Grayson’s gaze sharpened slightly.

I regretted speaking at once.

The elevator slowed. When the doors opened, we stepped into a quiet hallway lined with glass offices and soft gray carpeting. A woman in her fifties looked up from a desk outside a corner suite. She had silver-streaked hair, intelligent eyes, and the composed expression of someone who had seen enough corporate emergencies to rank them by smell.

“Mr. Pierce,” she said, rising. “Your nine-thirty with Legal—”

“Move it ten minutes. And ask Facilities for a first-aid kit. Also, find something dry for Ms. Bellamy. Sweater, blazer, anything.”

The woman looked at me properly then. Not the way the lobby had looked at me. Not with contempt, but assessment.

“Of course.” She turned toward me. “I’m Elise Hart, Mr. Pierce’s executive assistant.”

“Nora Bellamy,” I said, and immediately felt ridiculous. He had already said my name downstairs.

Elise’s expression softened. “Come with me.”

Grayson did not leave. He walked beside us into a spacious conference room where the city stretched beyond floor-to-ceiling windows, all steel towers and gray morning light. Elise returned quickly with towels, bottled water, and a small medical kit. A few minutes later, she handed me a folded navy cardigan and a pair of soft black flats that looked new.

“Emergency wardrobe,” she said. “You’d be surprised how often coffee, rain, and panic collide in this building.”

Despite everything, I nearly smiled.

In the restroom adjoining the conference room, I cleaned mud from my face and arms as best I could. My blouse was beyond saving, but the cardigan hid the worst of it. The flats were half a size too large, but after walking in a broken heel, they felt merciful.

When I returned, Grayson was standing near the window, speaking quietly into his phone.

“No,” he said. “I said I want the raw lobby footage preserved. From eight-thirty onward. No edits, no internal review before it reaches my office.”

He paused.

“I’m aware of who oversees lobby protocol.”

Another pause.

“Then let Ms. Crane know I asked personally.”

He ended the call and turned back to me.

Something about his expression told me that what had happened downstairs was not merely embarrassing. It had confirmed something he had already suspected.

Elise gently cleaned the scrapes on my palms while I tried not to wince.

“Did the child have family nearby?” she asked.

“His older sister,” I said. “Maybe twelve. She was trying to get help, but the rain was so loud and traffic kept passing. Nobody stopped.”

Grayson’s face tightened, though he said nothing.

“They took him to St. Mary’s,” I continued. “The paramedic said he was breathing. He was scared, but awake.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Leo.” My throat warmed around it. “He kept apologizing for getting my folder wet.”

Elise made a soft sound. “Poor baby.”

I looked at the table, suddenly afraid emotion would catch up with me if I let it.

Grayson pulled out a chair across from me. “Ms. Bellamy, before we discuss the job, I need to ask something.”

I nodded.

“Why didn’t you lead with that downstairs?”

I blinked.

“The child,” he clarified. “You could have told them immediately.”

I thought of the lobby. Of all those polished shoes and amused eyes. Of the receptionist’s careful disgust.

“I didn’t think they would believe me.”

He said nothing.

“And,” I added after a moment, “I didn’t save him so people would clap for me.”

Something in his face changed.

Not dramatically. Just a slight stillness, as if an answer had settled exactly where he expected it.

Elise finished wrapping a bandage around my palm. “There. Not perfect, but better.”