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Chapter 10 – A Flicker of Recognition
The days that followed Eleanor’s unsettling encounter with Marcus over her perfume settled into a routine of intense professional focus. The immediate tension in the office was palpable. Marcus was a demanding boss, his expectations sky-high. He relied heavily on his executive assistant, and Eleanor found herself working at a relentless pace, striving to anticipate his every need and ensure the smooth operation of his complex schedule.
Marcus Sterling didn’t believe in distractions.
He ran a multi-billion-dollar company with the ruthless efficiency of a man who trusted no one to do a job better than he could do it himself. Meetings were tightly scheduled, emails scanned with the eye of a hawk, and even his morning espresso brewed on a timer to eliminate lag.
But now, something—someone—was throwing that system off balance.
Her name was Eleanor Quinn.
By the end of her first week, Marcus had reviewed every task she’d been assigned. She was methodical, precise, and maddeningly… familiar. The way she moved. The way her voice dropped when she was focused. The perfume. Especially the perfume.
It was haunting him.
It wasn’t just a fragrance. It was a memory. One that pulled at something deep and buried.
He caught himself watching her more than once—not in the overt way of a man intrigued by a new hire, but in short, sharp glances. As if trying to decode a cipher he didn’t realize he’d once written.
Professionally, they were a well-oiled machine. Eleanor’s meticulous organizational skills and her quick understanding of Marcus’s work style made her an invaluable asset. He, in turn, acknowledged her efficiency with curt nods of approval and the continued delegation of increasingly important tasks. Yet, beneath the surface of their strictly professional interactions, something else hummed. An undercurrent of awareness that neither of them fully acknowledged, but that colored every interaction.
Marcus found himself unexpectedly observant of Eleanor. He noticed the way she would bite her lip in concentration as she reviewed his briefing notes, the precise angle at which she placed his pens on his desk, the quiet efficiency with which she handled even the most demanding requests. He would catch her humming softly to herself as she organized her workspace in the morning, a small, almost childlike habit that was at odds with her otherwise composed demeanor. He even became attuned to the faint, lingering scent of her custom perfume after she left his office, a fragrance that continued to prick at his memory, an elusive ghost of a forgotten moment.
She never flinched under his scrutiny. If anything, she seemed to become more poised, more polished. But beneath her composed exterior, Eleanor was always on edge. She could feel the weight of his gaze like heat against her skin, and every time his eyes lingered, she braced for the moment he would see the face from that night reflected in hers.
He couldn’t quite place it, this nagging sense of familiarity. It wasn't just the perfume. There was something in the determined set of her jaw when she was faced with a challenge, the rare, genuine smile that would occasionally light up her face when she achieved a particularly satisfying outcome, the way her eyes would sometimes hold a flicker of something… vulnerable? It unsettled him. He was a man who prided himself on his sharp instincts, his ability to read people. But Eleanor Evans was proving to be an enigma, a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. He told himself it was simply because she was new, because he needed to understand his key personnel. But the truth, a small, insistent whisper in the back of his mind, felt like something more.
Eleanor, on her part, was acutely aware of Marcus’s gaze. She felt his eyes on her frequently, not in a leering or inappropriate way, but with an intensity that made her feel like she was under a microscope. Every time he looked at her, especially when his gaze lingered a moment too long, she felt a fresh wave of panic, convinced he was on the verge of seeing through her carefully constructed facade, of recognizing the connection they unknowingly shared.
The near-recognition over the perfume had put her on high alert. She started being even more meticulous in her role, determined to be the perfect executive assistant, someone so indispensable that he would have no reason to scrutinize her personal life. She built her walls higher, focusing all her energy on her work, on being efficient, organized, and utterly professional. Any hint of the woman he had met at the masquerade, the woman who had shared a night of reckless abandon, was firmly locked away.
Yet, the irony of the situation was a constant, almost unbearable weight. The man who was undeniably her child’s father was just a few feet away, separated only by a closed door. They worked side-by-side, navigating the high-stakes world of corporate finance, completely oblivious to the profound, life-altering connection that bound them together. The tension in the air was not just professional; it was thick with unspoken truths, with a past that lay dormant but threatened to resurface at any moment. Eleanor moved through her days with a carefully guarded exterior, her heart a tightly wound spring, waiting for the inevitable moment when the fragile balance would finally tip. The flicker of recognition in Marcus Sterling’s violet-blue eyes was a warning, a subtle tremor before what Eleanor feared might be a catastrophic earthquake.
In a quiet moment between meetings, he finally broke protocol.
“You’ve worked in the city before?” he asked, casually, eyes fixed on a report.
She didn’t miss a beat. “Years ago. I freelanced for a few agencies before relocating.”
“And now you’re back.”
“New opportunities,” she said smoothly. “New goals.”
He nodded slowly, but his gaze had sharpened.
Later that evening, as Eleanor was gathering her things, Marcus stepped out of his office. He wasn’t even aware of doing it, not consciously. But there she was, standing by the elevator, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear—the exact same motion he remembered from a ballroom balcony half a decade ago.
The image slammed into him: silver mask, red lips, the scent of jasmine and smoke. A soft gasp. A whispered name he never learned.
Eleanor turned, meeting his eyes. And for the first time since she’d walked into his office, she looked caught.
Marcus tilted his head.
“You said you hadn’t worked at Sterling before,” he said slowly.
“I haven’t.”
“But you’ve attended our events?” His voice was a little too quiet. A little too sharp.
She forced a small smile. “Not that I recall.”
The elevator dinged.
She stepped in without another word, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
As the doors closed between them, Marcus stood frozen in the hallway, staring at the space she had just occupied.
Something wasn’t adding up. Not just in his mind—but in his memory.
The stranger from the masquerade… the ghost in his thoughts… the woman whose scent still lingered in his blood.
He hadn’t remembered her name then. But now, every instinct screamed he had finally found her.
And she was hiding something.
