Boardroom and Heartbeats

The Gala

Lena checked her reflection in the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time. Her sleek black dress hugged her frame in just the right places, elegant but understated—appropriate for a charity gala while still letting her blend in. She’d swept her hair into a low chignon and opted for minimal jewelry, knowing the focus of the evening wouldn’t be on her.

Still, nerves buzzed under her skin like an electric current. This wasn’t just another high-society event—it was an opportunity. If she played her cards right, she might finally uncover more about Donovan Steele and the world he inhabited.

A sharp honk from outside her apartment snapped her out of her thoughts. Pulling on her coat, she grabbed her clutch and headed down to meet the car.

When she stepped outside, her breath caught. The sleek black limousine idling at the curb was as polished and imposing as the man waiting inside.

The Ride

As the driver opened the door, Lena slid into the plush leather seat, where Donovan was already seated, looking impossibly refined in a tailored black tuxedo. The sight of him momentarily stole her words—his sharp jawline, his perfectly knotted tie, the calm power he exuded.

“Ms. Moreau,” he greeted, his voice smooth and unreadable.

“Mr. Steele,” she replied, clasping her hands in her lap to steady herself.

The car pulled away, the city lights flickering through the tinted windows. The silence stretched between them, not awkward but heavy with unspoken words.

Lena finally broke it. “Do you attend many events like this?”

“More than I’d like,” Donovan admitted, his gaze fixed out the window. “Charity is a necessary part of maintaining public perception, but most of these people care more about appearances than the causes they claim to support.”

Lena raised an eyebrow, surprised by his candor. “And you? What do you care about?”

He turned his head, his steel-blue eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, his lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

“You’ll have to figure that out, won’t you?”

Lena’s heart thudded in her chest, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “Maybe I will.”

The Grand Entrance

The gala was held at one of the city’s most prestigious hotels, its grand ballroom glittering with crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors. The air hummed with the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses.

Lena stepped into the room alongside Donovan, immediately feeling the weight of a hundred curious stares. Heads turned as they entered, whispers rippling through the crowd. She realized with a start that people weren’t just looking at Donovan—they were looking at her.

“Don’t let it bother you,” Donovan murmured, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “They’re vultures. Ignore them.”

Easier said than done, Lena thought, but she squared her shoulders and followed his lead.

Networking and Observation

The next hour passed in a blur of handshakes and introductions. Donovan navigated the crowd with ease, shifting seamlessly from charming billionaire to shrewd negotiator depending on who he was speaking to.

Lena stayed by his side, taking mental notes and occasionally jotting down details on her phone. She recognized several prominent figures—business magnates, politicians, even a few celebrities—and tried to piece together the network Donovan operated within.

But her journalistic instincts told her there was more to the event than met the eye. The way some of the conversations dropped to hushed tones when she approached, the fleeting glances exchanged between certain guests—it all felt like the tip of an iceberg she couldn’t yet see.

It didn’t help that Donovan kept her on her toes, his sharp gaze flicking to her every so often as if assessing her performance.

“Ms. Moreau,” he said during a lull in the evening. “What do you think of tonight’s proceedings?”

Lena hesitated, unsure how honest she should be. “It’s... strategic,” she said carefully. “A lot of smiles, but not much sincerity.”

Donovan’s lips twitched in amusement. “You’re observant. Good. You’ll need that.”

An Uncomfortable Encounter

Lena was just beginning to feel like she could handle the evening when a voice cut through the crowd, smooth and laced with danger.

“Donovan Steele. Always a pleasure.”

Turning, Lena saw a man approaching—tall, sharply dressed, with an air of smug confidence. His dark eyes flicked to Lena briefly before settling back on Donovan.

“Michael Grant,” Donovan said coolly, his posture stiffening. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Surprise,” Michael said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

Lena quickly pieced together that this was Michael Grant, CEO of a rival tech company and one of Donovan’s fiercest competitors.

The tension between the two men was palpable, crackling like a live wire.

“And who’s this?” Michael asked, his gaze lingering on Lena.

“None of your concern,” Donovan replied sharply, stepping slightly closer to her.

Michael chuckled, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Well, I hope you’re treating her better than your last assistant. What was her name? Claire?”

Donovan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

Lena felt the weight of Michael’s gaze on her, his smile predatory. “Careful, Ms. Moreau. Working for Donovan Steele can be... hazardous to your career.”

Before Lena could respond, Donovan stepped forward, his voice like ice. “Walk away, Michael. Now.”

For a moment, Michael looked like he might push further. But then he smirked, raising his hands in mock surrender. “As you wish. Enjoy the evening.”

As Michael disappeared into the crowd, Donovan let out a slow breath, his tension visible in the rigid line of his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Lena asked before she could stop herself.

Donovan glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Let’s keep moving.”

A Moment of Vulnerability

Toward the end of the evening, Lena found herself standing with Donovan on the terrace, the city lights twinkling like stars below.

The air was cool, a welcome contrast to the stuffy warmth of the ballroom.

“Michael Grant seemed... intense,” Lena said carefully, testing the waters.

Donovan’s jaw tightened. “He thrives on stirring trouble. Ignore him.”

Lena hesitated, then took a step closer. “You handled it well.”

For a moment, Donovan didn’t respond. Then, to her surprise, he turned to her, his expression softer than she’d ever seen it.

“You did well tonight,” he said, his voice quiet. “Better than I expected.”

Lena felt a flicker of warmth at the compliment, but she quickly tamped it down. “Just doing my job.”

Donovan’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “You’re more than capable, Ms. Moreau. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Lena’s breath hitched, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, the mask he always wore seemed to slip, revealing something deeper—something real.

But before she could respond, Donovan straightened, the moment passing as quickly as it had come.

“Let’s head back inside,” he said, his tone returning to its usual briskness.

As Lena followed him, her mind whirled. She’d come to this gala looking for cracks in Donovan’s armor, and she’d found them. But what surprised her most was how much she wanted to know what lay beneath.