The Memory

Her knees shook when she stepped out of Jenkins’ office. She couldn’t tell whether her legs were still carrying her because she wanted them to or simply out of sheer stubbornness. The door slid shut behind her in near-total silence, and somehow that pissed her off. Part of her wished she could’ve slammed it hard enough to rattle the entire floor.

Steve was waiting.

Of course he was.

He leaned against the wall with his arms loosely crossed, his eyes moving over her from head to toe. Not hungry. Not even curious.

That almost made it worse.

Marie had expected a smirk, some trace of satisfaction, maybe judgment. Instead he looked cool, distant, professionally unreadable. Which only made her painfully aware that he’d probably heard everything.

Without thinking, she straightened her jacket and stared right back at him, openly defiant.

Yeah? So what?

Judge me. I dare you.

Steve pushed off the wall.

“Miss Lehnert.”

Neutral voice. Controlled expression. Too controlled.

What are you hiding?

Out loud she said, “I need to speak to Mr. Moreau. Right now.”

Steve glanced down at his smartwatch.

“That can be arranged. He’s in his apartment.”

They started walking. Steve stayed just ahead of her, close enough that she could feel his presence without actually touching him.

The hallway felt aggressively sterile. Cold white lighting reflected off polished surfaces. Somewhere overhead, the climate system hummed with mechanical precision. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and artificial citrus.

Marie noticed everything.

Probably because her body was still flooded with adrenaline.

Or because she was scared.

What exactly am I supposed to tell Étienne?

What can I tell him?

That she’d traded away her principles to keep her seat at the negotiating table.

She flinched almost imperceptibly as a sharp ache pulsed through her body, reminding her exactly what Jenkins had done to her. Her thighs trembled at the memory of moving against him, of forcing herself to keep going while his rough breathing filled the room.

And the worst part wasn’t the pain.

It wasn’t even the humiliation.

It was realizing her body didn’t condemn what happened nearly as clearly as her mind did.

The instant the thought hit her — the memory of him inside her — a deep pull twisted low in her stomach. Her knees weakened so suddenly she instinctively grabbed Steve’s arm to steady herself.

He stopped immediately.

“What is it?”

Marie waited until she trusted her voice again. She straightened her spine.

“Not to Mr. Moreau.”

One eyebrow lifted slightly, but he didn’t question the change.

“Then where?”

She took a slow breath and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. She needed time to think. Time to figure out what the hell she actually wanted.

Time she didn’t have.

“Can we get a drink before the conference starts?” she asked quietly. “Something stronger than coffee.”

After a quick glance at his wrist display, he nodded once.

“Yeah. We’ve got time for the bar.”

There was something in his voice.

Not concern. Was he surprised? Amused?

Marie couldn’t tell.

“Good,” she said. “Let’s go.”