Maya POV
The city was quieter on Saturdays, but not peaceful enough to soothe the storm building inside me. I held the steering wheel tighter than necessary as I pulled into the nearly empty office parking lot. My jaw was clenched, my heart pounding with exhaustion and pure irritation. It was the weekend. I should’ve been home with Penelope. But instead, here I was—summoned like an employee with no life and no boundaries.
I got out of the car, slammed the door shut, and sighed deeply. The building looked deserted, the fluorescent lights flickering behind high glass windows. No receptionist. No chatter. Just the distant hum of electricity and the echo of my own angry heels clicking down the hallway.
“Of course he couldn’t email this,” I muttered under my breath, heading toward the executive floor. “Noah freaking Sterling just had to drag me in.”
When I got to his door, it was already open. He was sitting at his desk like he’d been born there—sharp suit even on a Saturday, hands steepled like some villain out of a crime drama.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up.
I blinked. “It’s Saturday.”
Noah finally lifted his eyes to mine—cold, calculating, unreadable. “And?”
I stepped into the office with a scoff. “I’m sorry, but it’s my weekend.”
He shrugged like that didn’t mean a thing. “Do you want money or not?”
I rolled my eyes so hard it almost gave me a headache. But I walked over anyway, because bills didn’t pay themselves. Because being broke wasn’t an option. Because he knew it, and that’s what pissed me off the most.
I dropped into the seat next to him and crossed my arms. “What do you want now?”
He raised an eyebrow. “A little respect would be appreciated.”
I snorted. “Respect is supposed to be earned.”
He scoffed and muttered, “Well.”
He spun his laptop toward me and pointed at the screen. “The pitch deck is a mess. The slides are out of order, and the data presentation doesn’t match the theme.”
I leaned in, eyes scanning the graphs and titles. “It looks fine to me. The narrative still flows.”
“Not to me,” he replied flatly. “Change the third slide to introduce the problem first, then move the market analysis to follow it. And the graph here—this bar chart? Replace it with a line graph.”
“That makes no sense,” I said. “The bar chart highlights comparisons better. A line graph implies progression, which isn’t what we’re showing here.”
“No,” he snapped. “You’re not listening. Do it my way.”
I started clicking, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I’d regret.
But after five minutes, he groaned and shoved his chair back. “No, not like that. God, why are you so stupid? I said restructure, not just rearrange!”
I froze, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“Excuse me?” I asked quietly.
He walked over and loomed behind me. “This is basic. A content specialist should know this. Where did you even get your degree from?”
I turned, slowly. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
“You want to know where I got my degree?” I stood up, heart pounding. “From a private university my mom worked three jobs to afford. I studied while babysitting my sister, while cleaning houses, while working part-time so I wouldn’t drown in student loans. That’s where I got my degree from.”
He didn’t move. Just stared.
“And yeah, I might not be the best,” I continued, my voice cracking, “but I work. I give you everything. My nights. My weekends. My sanity. And all you ever do is rip me apart!”
Noah’s face was unreadable.
And that silence? That heavy, suffocating silence? It made me snap. “You know what?” I said, voice trembling. “I’m done.”
“What—”
“No,” I cut him off. “I’m done trying to prove myself to someone who clearly decided I’m worthless from day one.”
Tears welled in my eyes, hot and furious.
“I’m not stupid. I’m not useless. I’ve worked too hard to be treated like trash by a man who can’t see past his own ego!”
I grabbed my bag, barely able to see through my tears, and rushed toward the door.
“Maya—”
But I didn’t stop.
I shoved the office door open and ran down the hallway, vision blurry, chest heaving. My breath caught in my throat as I turned the corner—and slammed straight into someone.
Strong arms caught me before I could fall.
“Maya?”
I blinked up into familiar, warm hazel eyes.
Alex Sterling.
“Maya,” he said again, gently brushing a tear off my cheek. “What happened?”
And just like that—I broke.