New Goal

Susan

I sat at my desk, staring at the glowing screen of my laptop, pretending to focus on the quarterly sales report in front of me. Numbers and graphs blurred together, and for the life of me, I couldn’t concentrate. My mind was trapped, replaying fragments of the previous night in an endless loop.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling deeply. What was I thinking?

The memories hit me like flashes of lightning—his touch, his lips, the heat between us. The way I felt safe and completely untethered at the same time. I could still feel his hands on my skin, still hear the way he said my name like it was some kind of prayer.

Stop it, Susan. It was nothing. Just a lapse in judgment.

But even as I told myself that, my stomach churned. I pressed my fingers against my temple, willing the headache from the hangover—and the guilt—to subside.

When I woke up this morning tangled in his sheets, every nerve in my body screamed to run. I didn’t even know who I was last night. Was it the alcohol? The stress? Or something deeper that I wasn’t ready to confront?

And then, there was him—Elliot. His presence was so infuriatingly calm, as if he hadn’t just turned my world upside down. When I tried to sneak out quietly, his arm had tightened around my waist, and then he had the audacity to call me “babe.”

I could still hear his voice, casual and amused, as if waking up next to me was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to push the memory away. This was just a one-night stand, not a reunion.

At least, that’s what I would tell him if it came up. I had no choice. If I let him think this was more than a drunken mistake, I’d be opening myself up to the one thing I couldn’t afford: heartbreak.

I straightened my back, forcing a mask of indifference onto my face. Elliot wasn’t going to get under my skin. Not again.

But just as I resolved to bury the whole thing, the sound of footsteps pulled my attention to the doorway.

There he was.

Elliot Prescott, looking maddeningly perfect in his tailored suit, as if he hadn’t spent the night being the same reckless, impulsive person I had. His eyes locked onto mine, and a flicker of something I couldn’t quite place passed over his face.

I braced myself, already prepared to put up a facade. “Morning,” I said, my voice cool and professional.

“Good morning,” he replied, his tone casual but his gaze far too intense for my liking.

He stepped into the room, leaning against the edge of my desk like he owned the place—and maybe he did. That was the thing about Elliot; he had a way of commanding every space he entered.

“Rough night?” he asked, his lips quirking into that infuriatingly knowing smirk.

I forced a small laugh. “Just a normal Monday night,” I said, shrugging as if last night hadn’t been the most exhilarating and confusing night of my life. “I hope you’re not expecting a repeat performance, Mr Prescott. I don’t usually make a habit of mixing business with... whatever that was.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, and I felt a tiny surge of satisfaction.

Elliot tilted his head, studying me like he could see through my act. “Is that what you think it was? A mistake?”

I met his gaze head-on, determined not to falter. “That’s exactly what it was,” I said, my voice firm. “A one-time thing. Nothing more.”

His jaw tightened, but he quickly recovered, giving me a lazy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If that’s how you want to see it.”

“It is,” I said quickly, standing up and gathering a stack of papers as if I had somewhere to be. I couldn’t let this conversation linger. If I did, he’d find a way to break through my defenses.

“Good,” he said, straightening. “Because I’d hate for you to think I’m anything but a professional.”

His tone was light, but there was an edge to it that made my stomach twist.

As he turned to leave, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. But the moment he was gone, I slumped back into my chair, my carefully constructed facade crumbling.

I wasn’t sure what bothered me more: the fact that I had to lie to him—or the fact that a part of me wished I didn’t have to.

**

Elliot

I leaned back in my chair, my hands clasped together as I stared blankly at the file in front of me. It wasn’t that the project details weren’t important—on the contrary, the numbers Gerald had prepared were impressive—but my mind was somewhere else entirely. Or rather, on someone else. Susan.

She had brushed me off earlier with her carefully constructed indifference, pretending that last night had meant nothing to her. But I knew better.

The way her lips had parted when she saw me walk into her office, the slight falter in her voice when she dismissed what happened between us—it was all there, written in her eyes. She was shaken, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise.

But then she said it. "It was a mistake."

Her words had hit me harder than I expected. A mistake? Is that what she thought? I clenched my jaw, trying to push the irritation aside. Fine. If that’s the game she wants to play, I’ll play along.

She thinks she can push me away. But she doesn’t realize that the more she pulls, the tighter I’ll hold. Still, I needed to be smart about this. I couldn’t keep cornering her—it wasn’t working.

If she wanted space, I’d give it to her.

A knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts. Gerald stepped in, his usual calm demeanor in place.

“Gerald,” I said, leaning forward, “I need you to do something for me.”

He nodded, ready as always to handle whatever task I threw his way.

“Move Susan from the executive floor to the marketing department,” I said, my voice steady and firm.

Gerald blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Move her? But she’s currently working on projects tied directly to your office. Wouldn’t that disrupt—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I interrupted. “She’ll be just as effective in marketing. Frame it as a reassignment to better align her skills with the department’s needs. Make it sound like a promotion if you have to. Just do it.”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Understood.”

As he left the room, I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly. Moving her to a different floor wasn’t just about creating distance. It was about disrupting her comfort zone, making her think.

Susan was too guarded, too determined to keep me at arm’s length. If I stayed close, she’d build her walls higher. But if I acted like I didn’t care, like I could let her go...

She’d come to me.

This wasn’t just about strategy—it was about patience. Susan needed to realize that running from whatever was between us wouldn’t make it disappear.

And if that meant pretending she didn’t matter, even for a little while, I’d do it. I’d push her away just enough to make her question everything.

---

By the time the evening rolled around, I was pacing my apartment, restless and irritated. I’d spent the entire day ignoring her, avoiding any chance of running into her. It was harder than I thought it would be.

I missed the way she challenged me, the way her presence filled a room without her even realizing it. But I couldn’t let her know that. Not yet.

I poured myself a glass of whiskey, letting the burn distract me from the gnawing frustration in my chest.

This was for the best.

If pushing her away was what it took to bring her closer, then I’d do it. And when the time came, when she finally let down those walls, she’d see that walking away from me wasn’t an option.

Because whether Susan wanted to admit it or not, she was mine. She always had been. And she always would be.