CHAPTER 4 - PROFESSIONAL LIFELINES

Bella's POV

The electricity between us held for one more heartbeat. Two. Then Alex stepped back. Cleared his throat.

"We should get back." His voice came out rough. Like gravel. "Your father will wonder where you are."

Professional mask. Sliding into place like armor. But I'd seen under it now. Seen the way his pupils had blown wide. The way his chest rose and fell like he'd been running.

"Right. Yes. The party." Words. I needed words to work properly.

He gestured toward the house. "After you."

"We should probably not walk in together."

"Good thinking." Was that disappointment in his voice? No. I was imagining things. Stress and moonlight playing tricks.

I went first. Forced my legs to work. The kitchen door felt miles away. Behind me, his footsteps stayed carefully distant.

Inside, the party roared on. Mrs. Chen grabbed me immediately.

"Isabella! Where did you disappear to? My nephew has been looking everywhere."

"Just needed some air."

Her nephew appeared like magic. Sweet kid. Boring as plain toast. I smiled and nodded while he talked about his accounting job. But my eyes kept searching. Finding Alex across the room. Watching him charm Papa's friends. The way his hands moved when he talked. How his laugh made my stomach flip.

Stop it. Stop it right now.

"Picture time!" Papa's voice boomed. "Where are my two favorite people?"

Oh no.

"Alex! Bella! Come here!"

The crowd parted. Alex moved toward us with that easy confidence. Like the garden never happened. Like my world hadn't just tilted off its axis.

"Stand together. Closer!" Papa pushed us side by side. "This is perfect. My best friend and my baby girl."

Alex's hand settled on my lower back. Polite. Appropriate. Except his palm burned through the fabric like a brand. His cologne wrapped around me. Something expensive and woodsy that made me want to turn my face into his neck and just breathe.

"Smile, mija!"

I smiled. He smiled. The camera flashed. His thumb moved. Just barely. The tiniest stroke against my spine.

My knees went liquid.

"One more!" Papa insisted.

This time I felt Alex's breathing change. Felt the tension in his body. We were standing too close. I could feel his heat. The solid strength of him.

"Beautiful!" Papa beamed. "Just like when you were little and Alex would carry you on his shoulders."

Right. When I was little. When this was innocent.

The rest of the party blurred. I drifted through conversations. Accepted compliments on my dress. Dodged more nephew setups. But I felt him. Every moment. Like a magnet pulling at my skin.

He left without saying goodbye.

Sunday I spent in bed. Laptop open. Staring at nothing.

Biological response. That's all. Stress hormones. Moonlight. The tuxedo. Any woman would have reacted the same way. It meant nothing.

I repeated it like a prayer.

My phone rang Monday morning. The house line. I almost didn't answer.

"Martinez residence."

"Bella? It's Alex Blackwood."

My stupid heart did a backflip. "Oh. Hi."

"I hope I'm not calling too early. I wanted to discuss that professional opportunity we talked about at the coffee shop."

Professional. Right. Good. "Of course."

"Would you be able to meet at my office? Say, two o'clock? I can have my assistant send a car."

"I can drive myself."

"The parking downtown is terrible. Please. Let me at least save you that headache."

Papa appeared in my doorway, curious.

"That would be... helpful. Thank you."

"Excellent. Two o'clock then."

I hung up. Papa smiled. "Was that Alex? Such a good man. Always looking out for you."

Yeah. Looking out for me. That's definitely what was happening.

The car arrived at one thirty. Black Town Car. Driver in a suit. I felt like a fraud climbing in wearing my only interview outfit. Navy blazer that was too heavy for the weather. Skirt that kept riding up.

Blackwood Industries towered over the financial district. All glass and steel and intimidation. The lobby made me feel small. Marble everything. Art that probably cost more than my entire education.

"Ms. Martinez?" A woman appeared. Polished. Perfect. "Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."

The elevator climbed. Twentieth floor. Twenty fifth. My ears popped. My stomach churned.

What was I doing here?

The executive floor stole my breath. Floor to ceiling windows. The entire city spread out like a promise. Or a threat.

"Right this way."

Alex's office door was heavy. Real wood. Not the fake stuff. Everything here whispered money. Power. Things I'd never have.

He stood when I entered. Different suit today. Charcoal grey. Still perfect. Still making my mouth go dry.

"Bella. Thank you for coming."

Professional. Distant. Like Saturday never happened.

"Your office is... impressive."

"Ostentatious, my sister says." He gestured to a chair across from his massive desk. "Please. Sit."

I sat. Tried not to fidget. The chair probably cost more than my car. If I still had a car.

He slid a folder across the desk. "The position details."

I opened it. Read the number. Read it again.

"This salary... it's very generous."

"It's market rate for someone with your qualifications."

"My qualifications? I'm a broke PhD student."

"You're a specialist in contemporary art authentication. Published papers on detection methods. Fluent in three languages. Your undergraduate thesis on emotional resonance in modern installations was brilliant."

"You read my thesis?"

"I research everyone I hire." He leaned back. All business. "The position is six months initially. Full benefits. Flexible schedule to accommodate your dissertation. You'd be curating the entire Gilded Rose collection. Acquisitions. Authentication. Installation."

Everything I needed. Handed to me on a silver platter.

"Why me? Really?"

"Because you understand art isn't just decoration. It's storytelling. The Gilded Rose needs someone who sees that."

I flipped through the contract. Legal words swimming together.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. Though I should warn you, I'm a demanding boss. I expect excellence."

"I wouldn't give you anything less."

Something flickered in his eyes. "No. You wouldn't."

The air shifted. Just for a second. Then he was all business again.

"Take your time reviewing everything. My legal team can answer any questions."

I should read every line. Should negotiate. Should do a lot of things.

Instead I was drowning in how his voice wrapped around certain words. How his fingers drummed the desk when he was thinking. How the afternoon light caught the silver in his hair.

"I know this seems sudden." His voice dropped. Quieter. Intimate. "But I need someone I trust completely. Someone who sees beyond the commercial value of art."

Our eyes met across that massive desk.

The electricity hit like lightning. My hand trembled as I reached for the pen. Not from nervousness. From wanting to reach for something else entirely.