The Fifty-Dollar Smile

The whispers started the second she stepped onto the tenth floor. News of her morning summons to the CEO's office had spread like a plague. By lunchtime, the company cafeteria buzzed with venomous gossip. Eyes darted toward her table from every direction. People muttered behind their hands, leaning close to their coworkers, convinced the plagiarism scandal was an undeniable, confirmed truth.

Celine ignored every single stare. She chewed her salad, her expression undisturbed.

She set her fork down on the plastic tray and looked across the table. "Mr. Carmine, I need to take some time off starting the day after tomorrow."

Simon studied her drained face. He saw the dark circles under her eyes. "Alright. With everything going on today, a break makes sense."

Clara leaned in from the side, offering a supportive smile. "Yeah, you deserve to rest. Once the security cameras get fixed, the truth will come out and clear your name. You just need to lay low."

Celine shook her head. "I am not taking time off because of the rumors. I will get this whole mess sorted before my break begins. I refuse to leave a massive problem for the company to clean up. I am just exhausted and need sleep."

She offered no further explanation. She pulled her phone from her pocket, opening her banking app. She typed in Vance's number, sent a fifty-dollar Venmo transfer, and typed a blunt note: *Breakfast money*.

Upstairs, the executive boardroom felt like a pressurized cabin holding a live explosive. The silence stretched thin. Senior managers held their breath, sweating under the icy glare of their CEO sitting at the head of the long glass table. Millions of dollars were on the line.

A sharp notification ping broke the quiet.

Heads snapped up. Panic flashed across the executives' faces. Someone had forgotten to silence their phone, a fatal mistake in Vance Sterling's presence.

Vance picked up the device resting next to his notepad. He unlocked the screen. His dark eyes scanned the alert.

A soft, short chuckle slipped from his throat.

The sound echoed through the massive room. Every executive stared in genuine shock. The notoriously cold CEO had just laughed. No one dared to speak. No one dared to even blink. It was the first time anyone had heard him make a sound resembling joy.

Nolan stood right beside Vance, glancing down at the lit screen. He clamped his mouth shut, hiding a knowing smirk. He knew exactly who had sent that message.

Vance locked his phone and looked up at the frozen room. "We will adjourn for now. We will resume this afternoon."

He tapped the screen one last time to accept the fifty dollars, ignoring the stunned faces around him.

Back in the cafeteria, Clara watched the HR manager strut past their table.

Clara leaned closer, keeping her voice low and eager. "I heard from HR that the CEO is hiring a new secretary. He requested a woman. Do you think Mr. Sterling is dropping the ice-king act?"

Celine pictured Vance accepting her money without a second thought. That man could stand in front of an open furnace and still freeze the flames. Her mind was already racing several steps ahead. She kept her mouth shut and finished her lunch.

After parting ways with Clara, Celine headed straight for the underground parking garage. She unlocked her car, slid into the driver's seat, and dialed Trent.

She had stood him up at the theater the night before, claiming her car had broken down. The irony was that Aubrey and Trent had run into each other outside the venue. Terrified Celine would catch them sneaking around, they pretended to be casual acquaintances. Trent had waited all night for a girlfriend who never showed, getting nothing but mockery from Aubrey.

Trent picked up on the second ring.

Celine fed him a sweet, helpless tone, asking him to handle her car maintenance.

He agreed without hesitation.

Celine ended the call, tossing her phone onto the passenger seat. Trent's guilty conscience over his secret, physical meetings with Aubrey made him easy to manipulate. Getting him to handle the car freed up her afternoon to investigate the real threat.

She adjusted her hidden dashboard camera and touched up her makeup in the rearview mirror. Her mind replayed the morning's chaotic drama in the design department. Most of the people throwing insults had looked genuinely angry. But one face stood out in the crowd.

Jenna Pruitt.

The wealthy designer had watched the screaming match with a faint, amused smirk. She looked like someone enjoying a play she had directed. Jenna's father handled the transportation logistics for the company. Everyone loved her. She bought expensive coffees for the team and wore designer clothes.

Celine was not ready to jump to conclusions, but Jenna was her prime suspect.

Ten minutes before the official end of the workday, Celine packed her bag. She walked out of the double glass doors, slipping out early for the first time since she joined the company.

She reached her car and changed out of her office clothes. She pulled on a black tactical jacket and dark pants, zipped up to her chin to blend into the shadows. Slipping behind a concrete pillar near the executive elevators, she waited in the dark garage.

She held her phone up, keeping the camera lens focused on the exit lanes.

The elevator doors chimed. Heels clicked against the concrete. Jenna Pruitt stepped out, swinging a designer handbag. She slid into her white BMW and drove toward the exit ramp.

Celine snapped a dozen photos of the car leaving the premises. The timing cemented her theory.

She lowered her phone, her mind racing with the next steps of her dangerous plan. She stepped out from behind the concrete pillar and hurried toward the elevator bays, intent on getting back inside.

She crashed straight into a towering wall of solid muscle.

Her white canvas sneakers tangled with polished leather dress shoes. Her phone slipped from her grip, clattering onto the concrete. Gravity yanked her forward.

A thick, muscular arm clamped around her waist. The force jerked her off her feet, yanking her flush against a hard chest.

The impact snapped her hair tie. A cascade of blonde waves spilled wildly over her shoulders. Panic hijacked her senses. Her fingers dug blindly into his dress shirt to steady herself.

Riiiip.

Two buttons tore free from the fabric. They bounced off her forehead with a sharp sting before hitting the floor. Celine pressed her face into his chest, rubbing her brow. "Ow!"

A crisp, deep sandalwood scent filled her lungs, overwhelming her senses. She froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She tilted her head back, looking up at the sharp jawline and familiar dark eyes. Heat flared in her cheeks, turning her skin a burning pink instantly. "Mr. Sterling..."

Vance did not move. His dark gaze drifted down from her spilled blonde hair to his own ruined shirt. The torn fabric gaped open, exposing the sharp line of his collarbone and the firm, heavy cut of his chest muscle.

He looked back into her eyes. "That is the second shirt you have ruined."

His voice was a flat, emotionless hum. The deep vibration traveled from his chest straight into her palms. Her stomach flipped at the sound.

Celine bit her lip in deep mortification. She reached out with trembling fingers, pulling the edges of his ruined shirt together. She carefully smoothed the expensive fabric flat against his warm skin, then reached up to straighten his crooked silk tie.

Vance turned stock-still. He stood unblinking in the dim garage lighting. Her light touches grazed his chest, sending a burning heat rushing through his blood. His vision blurred at the edges. His jaw clenched tight. He shifted his eyes away, avoiding her gaze.

Celine took a giant step back. She bent at the waist, executing a frantic ninety-degree bow. "I am so sorry, Mr. Sterling!"

Vance remained silent. His chest heaved with a sharp intake of breath. He bent down, scooped her fallen phone from the concrete, and held it out. His large hand dwarfed the device.

Celine grabbed it with both hands, muttered a rushed thank you, and spun around. She sprinted toward her car, humiliated.

She threw herself into the driver's seat, slammed the door shut, and buried her face in her hands.

Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. The phantom sensation of his chest muscle lingered on her fingertips. She pressed her forehead against the steering wheel, sucking in deep breaths of the stale garage air.

Am I just fated to keep running into him lately? And why won't my stupid face stop burning bright red?

Once her racing pulse slowed to a normal rhythm, she peeked through the windshield. His spot by the elevators was empty. He was gone.

Celine sat up straight, pushing the burning embarrassment out of her mind. She had a job to do.

She took the stairs to the second-floor break room. She brewed two strong cups of black coffee. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a foil packet of sleeping pills. She crushed two tablets using the back of a spoon, dividing the white powder evenly into the steaming liquid.

She carried the spiked drinks down the hall to the security office. Setting the cups on the floor by the door, she stuck a fake yellow Post-it note to the wall.

*Thanks for your hard work.*

She knocked three times on the heavy door and ducked around the corner.

The door creaked open. A heavy-set guard peered out, looked down at the coffee, and smiled. He scooped up the cups and retreated inside. The lock clicked shut.

Celine checked her watch. She waited exactly ten minutes in the shadows.

She stepped out and knocked again. Silence answered her.

She pressed the handle. The door swung open.

Two guards slumped over the main console, snoring deeply in their chairs. Half-empty coffee cups sat next to the keyboards.

Celine slipped silently inside, closing the door behind her. She slid into the spare rolling chair and tapped the mouse.

The camera feeds were all active. The system had not been destroyed at all. The missing footage from the design department had just been poorly edited.

She opened the file directory, clicking straight into the Recycle Bin. The deleted video files sat right at the top. She easily retrieved the original footage, plugged her flash drive into the USB port, and dragged the files over. She watched the progress bar hit one hundred percent.

She pulled the drive, wiped down the mouse with her sleeve, and slipped away into the night.

An hour later, Celine sat cross-legged on her living room couch. She chewed a cold turkey sandwich while staring at her laptop screen.

The recovered video played on a loop.

The time stamp flashed 1:15 AM. Jenna Pruitt walked into the design department, looked around the empty desks, and slipped straight toward Celine's workstation. Jenna held the missing designs.

Jenna was the real culprit.

Celine swallowed her food. Her mind clicked the puzzle pieces together. The timeline explained why Jenna had been rushing out of the parking garage so frantically earlier.

Did she see me with Vance down there?

Just the thought of him made Celine's face burn hot all over again.

A heavy knot formed in her stomach. Jenna's father handled the critical shipping logistics for Sterling Boutique. If Celine walked into HR tomorrow and blew this scandal wide open, Jenna would be fired. Her father would retaliate. He could pull his entire fleet, massively damaging Vance's business empire.

If I blow this whole thing wide open, will it hurt him?

Celine hovered her finger over the trackpad. She could clear her own name in five minutes. But doing so would punish the man who had just stood in the parking garage and handed back her phone. She hesitated heavily.

She sighed and closed the laptop. She leaned back against the couch cushions, turning her head.

Vance's expensive suit jacket rested on the armrest right beside her.

She reached out, tracing the dark fabric. The vivid memory of his strong, secure embrace in the parking garage flooded her senses. She remembered the hard wall of his chest. She remembered the heat radiating from his skin when she fixed his tie.

Her heart launched into another wild stutter.

She pulled her hand back, burying her face in a throw pillow. Tossed into a storm of messy thoughts and unexpected feelings, the logic she usually relied on proved useless.

She dragged herself to bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She stared at the ceiling.

She rolled to her left side. She rolled to her right. The sandalwood scent seemed to haunt her bedroom. The image of Jenna's smug smirk battled with the memory of Vance's sharp collarbone.

She lay awake the entire night, tossing and turning restlessly.

As the sun began to peek through her blinds, painting the room in pale morning light, her racing mind finally settled on a single conclusion. Taking the flash drive to Simon or HR was too dangerous. Handing it to the authorities would cause a corporate war.

She had only one choice. She had to go and find Vance in person to resolve the crisis.