Day-four Strategic Progress

Elliot

The morning sunlight poured through my office window as I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers. Yesterday had gone better than I expected. Susan hadn’t outright rejected the notebook I gave her, and though she’d put up her usual defenses, I’d seen the flicker of something in her eyes. Nostalgia? Uncertainty? I wasn’t sure, but it was progress.

Today, I had to keep the momentum going. This wasn’t just about grand gestures—it was about consistency. Susan needed to see that I wasn’t the man who walked away ten years ago.

“Mr. Prescott,” Gerald’s voice broke through my thoughts as he entered my office. “Here’s the updated agenda for today. You’ve got a team briefing at 11, followed by a lunch meeting with the investors at 1.”

I nodded, glancing at the papers in his hand. “And Susan? Anything on her schedule I should know about?”

Gerald frowned, puzzled. “Not that I’m aware of. Do you want me to check?”

“No,” I said quickly. I didn’t want Gerald poking around too much. He was sharp, and the last thing I needed was for him to start connecting the dots. “I’ll handle it.”

Once he left, I pulled up Susan’s profile in the system. It wasn’t exactly ethical to track her schedule, but I justified it as part of my plan. She had a meeting with the marketing team at 10, which meant she’d likely be at her desk afterward.

Perfect.

By 10:45, I was standing outside her office, a stack of reports in hand. The reports weren’t important—just a convenient excuse to show up. I took a deep breath, composed myself, and knocked.

“Come in,” her voice called out, muffled but clear.

I stepped inside, keeping my expression neutral. Susan was seated at her desk, typing away on her laptop. When she looked up and saw me, her eyes narrowed slightly, the suspicion I’d come to expect flashing across her face.

“Elliot,” she said, her tone cautious. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to go over some numbers from yesterday’s strategy session,” I said, holding up the reports. “Thought we could discuss how to align the marketing plan with the new targets.”

Her brows lifted. “Couldn’t you have emailed me?”

“I could have,” I admitted, setting the papers on her desk. “But I prefer face-to-face conversations. Email doesn’t allow for nuance.”

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

As we went over the reports, I made a point to keep the conversation professional. No personal comments, no hints of the history between us—just work. But I couldn’t help sneaking glances at her. The way she furrowed her brow when something didn’t add up. The way she tapped her pen against the desk when she was thinking.

God, I’d missed this—missed her.

When we were done, I stood to leave, but before I reached the door, I turned back. “Oh, and Susan?”

She looked up, her guard still firmly in place. “What?”

“I meant what I said yesterday,” I told her, keeping my tone steady. “I believe in you. More than you know.”

Her expression faltered for just a moment, but she quickly masked it. “Thanks,” she said, her voice clipped. “But believing in me doesn’t change the past.”

“I know,” I said softly. “But maybe it can change the future.”

I left before she could respond, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

In chess, the best moves are the ones your opponent doesn’t see coming. And while I wasn’t sure if Susan was starting to let her guard down, I knew one thing for certain: I was getting to her.

The way she’d hesitated, the way her voice softened for just a fraction of a second—it was enough to give me hope.

This wasn’t a victory, not yet. But it was a step in the right direction.

And I was more determined than ever to see this through.

***

Susan

By the time Elliot walked out of my office, I could barely focus. My hands hovered over the keyboard, frozen, as I stared blankly at the spreadsheet on my screen. His words echoed in my mind: “I believe in you. More than you know.”

What was he playing at?

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling sharply. He had no right to show up here, acting like he suddenly cared about me, about my work. It was infuriating, the way he strolled into my office with that calm confidence, as if the past didn’t matter. As if he hadn’t broken my heart and left me to pick up the pieces on my own.

I reached for my phone and texted Meera:

We need to talk. Coffee after work?

She replied almost instantly.

Already curious. Meet me at 6.

---

By the time I met Meera at our usual café, my frustration had simmered, replaced by confusion and unease. Meera was already at a corner table, a steaming cup of chai in front of her. She waved me over, her expression both concerned and amused.

“So,” she said as I slid into the seat across from her, “what’s got you looking like someone just stole your lunch money?”

I laughed humor-lessly. “It’s Elliot.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

I took a sip of my latte, stalling for a moment. “He’s been… different. Ever since I started working with him, he’s been going out of his way to talk to me, to encourage me.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Meera said, her tone cautious.

I shot her a look. “It’s Elliot Prescott. The man who left me ten years ago without a second thought. The same man who didn’t even try to stay. And now he’s suddenly all supportive and… thoughtful?”

Meera leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “What exactly has he done?”

I sighed. “First, there was the appointment letter. He personally gave it to me, said he believed in me. Then yesterday, he gave me this notebook filled with strategies and notes—stuff he says will help me succeed in this role. And today, he shows up in my office with some excuse about marketing reports, only to remind me, again, that he believes in me.”

Meera raised an eyebrow. “Wow. He’s really putting in the effort.”

“That’s the problem,” I said, my voice rising slightly. “Why is he putting in the effort? Why now? He walked away from me once, Meera. I can’t let him do it again.”

She studied me for a long moment before speaking. “Maybe he’s trying to make amends. Maybe he regrets what happened.”

“Regret doesn’t change the past,” I said firmly. “And it doesn’t stop history from repeating itself.”

“True,” Meera conceded. “But people can change, Susan. Maybe he’s not the same guy he was back then.”

I shook my head, the knot in my chest tightening. “I can’t risk it. Not with him. Not again. It took me years to rebuild my life after he left, to move on. If I let him in now…” My voice trailed off, and I looked down at my hands.

Meera reached across the table, her hand resting on mine. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. Just… keep your guard up and see what he does. Actions speak louder than words, remember?”

I nodded, though her words did little to ease my turmoil.

As I walked home that evening, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Elliot was playing some sort of game. But there was a part of me—a small, treacherous part—that wanted to believe he was genuine.

That part of me was dangerous. It was the part that still remembered the boy who used to make me laugh until I cried, who used to hold me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

But that boy was gone.

And if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up heartbroken all over again.