Author's Note:

Hey everyone! Welcome to my new fic! This is part of the Reylo Let's Go To The Movie's fic exchange. It's based on a prompt to do a modern AU based on the Sandra Bullock/Ryan Reynolds romcom The Proposal. This is a cleaner adaptation of the version I've got going on Ao3, for my readers who prefer T stuff. Also the Ao3 version is a/b/o, and this one is just a straight modern AU.

Anyway, hope you enjoy the ride! Updates should be frequent. It'll only be 10-12 chapters, maybe a little less, so a quick fic. Still working on finishing TMIM in the meantime.

THIS OPEN FLAME

a modern reylo "proposal" au

chapter one

Authority is a mindset.

Power cannot be taken from me.

Authority is a mindset.

The thump thump thump of each heavy footfall on the treadmill drums through Rey's whole body, carrying with it the steady chanting of her mind. Faint dawn light creeps over the cityscape sprawling outside her window, gold at the edge of silhouetted buildings. The treadmill clock counts her through the cool-down, speed slowing.

Her morning ritual requires this exercise, both of the body and of the mind.

She has to repeat this mantra to herself every morning.

It is necessary, because being born into nothing will not be Rey's life sentence.

She showers, gulps down a protein shake, and changes into a practical charcoal gray suit cut with clean lines. Beneath, she wears a white button-up, and a pair of sensible yellow pumps. She arranges her hair the way she always does — down, combed, straightened. Sometimes it bothers her to have her hair the way, but she never puts it up at the office because that feels vulnerable for some reason, and vulnerability is is unacceptable.

Only Rey recognizes the shadows of shab at the edge of her rigidly professional appearance. Her suit isn't name-brand, her pumps are thrift store finds, her earrings came in a pack of eight, and her makeup options wouldn't excite anyone. But these signals of her charade are well-concealed, and the front she presents compels everyone to take her seriously. Which is exactly how she needs it.

A precisely 8:43, she takes a cab downtown, to the highrise that really is more her home than her own apartment, and has been for the last five years. Dagobah Publishing House, one of the Big Five book publishers, a dominant voice in literature throughout the world. And Rey is the Editorial Director of RESIST, a DPH-imprint for emerging markets in new adult and adult fiction. She knows how it looks, being as young as she is in a position as powerful as she has — especially with a famous face like Luke Skywalker at the head of the company.

People whisper behind her back. She knows they do. About how she slept her way into the promotion three years ago.

It can't possibly be because she's earned it, dammit. How she'd burned alive with raw ambition and channeled her unmatched eye for commercially successful stories into her work, until at last fortune bent to her and gave her a tribute. It can't possibly be because Rey will not accept anything less than the very best out of a life that had started out so very bad.

No. It has to be because she seduced her boss's boss's boss. For too many, no other explanation makes sense. No other explanation justifies a woman as young as she is being in such a position of power.

The elevator pings a neutral announcement as it opens, and Rey walks out onto the floor that she thinks of as her own domain. Her denizens operate beneath her disinterested glance, scampering about like industrious worker bees — as she expects of them. A buzz of activity whirls around her as she strides through the center aisle between cubicles, weaving her way to her corner office currently bathed in morning sunlight. The bustle has a nervous edge to it, and Rey definitely notices the way people flinch away from her, the way they avoid eye contact or nervously shoot glances to one another. Of course she notices. She always does.

And she always pretends it doesn't sting.

Because authority is a mindset, and in Rey's mindset? She's all alpha, baby.

She finally gets to her office, and Ben is right where he should be, standing by her desk, a tablet in hand with her schedule for the day, a coffee held out for the taking. She lifts it from his grasp, a subtle glance tracing over the gray button-up that is definitely way too small for him, stretched over his mammoth chest like it's three seconds away from bursting and revealing superhero spandex beneath it.

Still, she decides not to comment on the absurdity of the shirt — he's obviously trying to hide it behind his impeccably tied tie and his tailored suit jacket. Instead she takes her coffee over to her desk and sits down.

"Good morning, Miss Johnson," says Ben. "You've got a conference call at nine—"

"Move it to ten. Also, who is Anne and why does she want me to call her?"

She turns the coffee cup in hand towards him so he can see the girlish scrawl across the side, a winking face drawn beneath the phone number. Her glance flicks up to her assistant.

He gives her a neutral expression and a shrug. "The barista from whom I always get your coffee."

"Don't you get coffee for yourself?" She arches a brow.

"Of course."

"So why would she not write her little booty call on your cup?"

He briefly looks indecisive, and then shrugs again. "She messed it up."

"It couldn't be because you ordered two of the same?"

"No."

"Mm-hm." Truthfully, after three years with this particular assistant, Rey is plenty used to — and a little tired of — random names and numbers scrawled across anything that was, however briefly, in Ben's possession in public.

She stands up. "We have a meeting with Pryde."

Ben frowns and glances at his tablet. "That wasn't on your schedule"

"I know. I'm improvising."

She knows this irritates him, and for some reason that gives her immense satisfaction.

"Does Pryde know about it?" he asks.

"He will in about thirty seconds. Come on. We're going to his office."

She heads to the door, but pauses to turn back and take one more sip of coffee — fortification, she tells herself. Power, she tells herself. Everyone thinks she's an ice queen. That's fine. Ice queens don't give a flying fart in hell what anyone thinks of them, because they're always the most powerful person in any room. Rey channels that now, chasing after that bitch persona they all seem to think she was born with.

Ben is already out when she emerges from her office. He falls into step behind her and says nothing as they march the length of cubicles again.

Rey catches a glimpse of a filthy, coffee-stained shirt out of the corner of her eye, much too big for the proofreader beta currently wearing it.

"That shirt looks nice," she remarks casually to Ben. "I hope your dry cleaner is a miracle worker."

"I'll let him know you're really rooting for him," he replies, not sounding the least bit chagrined to be caught wearing another man's shirt.

Rey smirks and lifts her chin a little, resolutely ignoring her underlings once again until they reach the office door of the man in question and opens it without a knock.

"Ah, Rey, come on in," he says rather sarcastically, and Rey won't show it but she's already bristling. Pryde won't call her Ms. Johnson like everyone else, and they both know it's a not-so-subtle reminder that he does not recognize a twenty-something girl as his superior. Every interaction has this unpleasant, old publishing dinosaur battling for dominance against a woman young enough to be his granddaughter. He still thinks his sex, age, and seniority means she should be falling all over herself to please him.

Rey is delighted to have an excuse for what she's about to do today.

"Lovely desk, Ken. Is it new?"

"It's two thousand year old Egyptian wood," he says with undisguised condescension, like she's a child and he must speak very slowly.

Rey hums, a slight smile creeping at the corner of her lips. "Must have been quite the chore to get it all the way up here. What a pity."

"Pity?"

"You're fired, Ken." Rey is cool as a cucumber when she says it, like she's remarking about the weather.

There's something from her assistant, some noise maybe, but she ignores it. Her gaze flies over to the man, watching his face turn from spray bottle tan to brilliant scarlet.

"Excuse me?" he grinds out.

"I asked you to get Mothma on Oprah three weeks ago, and you failed. You said it was impossible."

"It is impossible," he seethed.

"Did you even call her?"

"Of course not. Mothma doesn't do publicity, everyone knows that."

"Huh. Strange, because I spoke to her yesterday and she agreed."

"She what?"

Rey sighs, full pity in her voice. "All you had to do was call her, Ken. But we both know why you wouldn't do that. So you're fired."

"I'm fired because some publishing princess moldy old—"

"No, Ken," Rey interrupts before he can get it out, "that is only the final mark on your ledger. It's comments like that, the many complaints we've had against you for sexism, racism, ableism, and any other kind of '-ism' — those are all the real reason you're being fired. And besides all that? You're lazy, incompetent, and really bad at your job."

"I've been here for twenty years," he starts.

Rey cuts him off calmly. "I'll give you two weeks to get something set up and get your fancy stolen artifact of a desk packed up and shipped out."

With that, she turns and breezes out of the room, signaling for Ben to follow. He does.

"What's his twenty?" she asks when they're a few steps outside the office.

Ben glances behind him. "He's pacing. He's got crazy eyes. I think he's gonna blow."

"Don't do it, Ken," Rey sighs softly.

But the office door behind her bursts open anyway and suddenly Pryde is in the hallway bellowing.

"You bitch," he screams. "You can't fire me!"

Rey turns around. Ben stands in front of her, his built body a veritable redwood between her and the man she's just fired. He's a lot taller than she is, and broader to boot, all pale skin and groomed, thick, dark hair. A wall she can't see through. She rolls her eyes and steps to the side of him, out from behind her human wall, crossing her arms over her chest. She's deadly calm, and lets the lethal frost inside her seep into her glare.

"I gave you a graceful way out of here, which is more than you deserve, Ken. If you insist on this scene, you'll lose that opportunity."

Pryde stalks towards her, pointing an accusing finger. "You're nothing but a nasty ass shrew in need of a firm hand to show you your rightful place. You're a heartless hag who doesn't belong. And everyone knows it. That's why nobody here can stand you. The only reason you got this job was an affirmative action bid, so Skywalker could show the world how progressive his company is. It's ridiculous. You don't deserve it, and you'll run this imprint into the ground before you die miserable and alone."

Rey sighs. "You will go back to your office, Ken, gather your things, and leave quietly now, or I'll have Ben and security throw you out on your ass."

"Oh! You wanna talk about your neutered cur?" Pryde turns his attention to Ben, pure disgust twisting his features. "You disgrace your sex, taking orders from her like you've got your tail between your legs. Who cut your dick off and turned you into a little girl? You are better than she is. You're the superior being. So act like it and stop being her lapdog. That position should be yours and you know it. She stole it from you."

Ben's whole body seems to ripple with anger. He steps forward, fists curling at his side. "Okay, time to go. Kaydel, call security and tell them I'm bringing them someone to add to their list of banned visitors."

Kaydel, the secretary across the bullpen, picks up the phone but her fingers hover over the dial. The spectacle of a this showdown is apparently too good to resist. It makes Rey bristle. They're not animals in a zoo.

But if they were, it wouldn't be very exciting. Ben is a young man, in the prime of his virility, all power and dominance and presence. And Pryde is...past all that. He knows the younger male would win in a physical fight, and so he backs down, huffing his rage, storming out and back to his office to slam the door.

Rey can feel everyone watching her. She rolls her eyes and spins on her heel, marching back to her own office as if this whole display is so far beneath her.

A few seconds later, Ben comes in behind. He looks peeved.

There could be some awkwardness here, potentially. It's an unconventional situation that neither of them acknowledge. Rey is younger than Ben by a few years. They both have masters degrees, but he went to a more prestigious school, and he's technically been with the company longer than she has. Her promotion was something of a coup. Though she and Ben did not work in the same department before this, and she has no reason to think he'd been considered and turned down for the position, it's still just controversial enough that they do not discuss it.

Rey knows Ben chafes at the arrangement, though he's never said anything. She also knows what the others say about him, and how they tease him mercilessly for being the witch's thrall, and how does he like taking it up the butt — crude things like that.

So she refuses to let it be awkward. Instead she merely sits at her desk and looks up at him. "We'll have a full weekend, reassigning his authors and assessing possible replacements." Ben's expression flickers, a brief hardening of the lines around his mouth, before it clears again. Rey lifts a brow. "You have a problem with that? Some plans for the weekend, maybe?"

"No, I'll be here. I was going home for my grandmother's 90th birthday party, but if you need me here—"

"I do."

"I'll tell them I'm not coming." He doesn't look the least bit happy about it. But Rey doesn't pay him to be happy, she pays him to do his job. Which is what needs to happen this weekend.

She nods and flicks her fingers in a dismissive gesture. "Go figure out whatever you need to do to make this weekend productive. And don't forget to move that nine o'clock meeting."

His jaw pulses once but he turns and goes anyway. He always does. Ben is a good assistant, and Rey's life would be infinitely harder without him. Truthfully, he would be an excellent candidate to replace Pryde as editor, but Rey isn't sure she can stomach training a new assistant. He's organized and quiet and resourceful. She doesn't have to babysit him, he's a good person to bounce ideas off, or problematize any issue, and he takes initiative on important tasks she hasn't even thought to assign yet.

He's more than qualified to move on, which she knows is what he wants. But she's not ready for that yet.

There's a manuscript on the corner of her desk with a sticky note from Ben explaining why he thinks it would be an excellent pick for the company, but it's un-agented, and Rey sticks to company policy that they do not accept un-agented manuscripts. She won't read it. It's been sitting there for weeks. She pushes it aside now with a frown and gets to work.

Outside her office, she can hear Ben on the phone.

"I know, Mom, I know. I'm sorry." He sounds frustrated. "What do you want me to say? I have to work. No, it isn't him. Don't you dare. No, Mom, do not do that. He won't listen to you, nor should he. It's fine. Tell Grams I'm sorry. Yeah, I know. I'm sure Dad is pissed, but I'm not throwing away the chance at a promotion — hang on, there's a call coming through. Yeah. Yeah I'll try to explain it all later. Call you back. Love you too. Bye."

Rey needs to draft a memo about a staff conference with the acquisitions team, but she's distracted. She gets up and goes to the door, maybe meaning to close it, but catches a glimpse of Ben at his desk in that ridiculously too-tight shirt, loosening his tie and running a flustered hand through his thick dark hair. He replies a quick, clipped affirmation to whoever it is on the phone now and hangs up.

"You talk to your family?" Rey asks, leaning on the door to her office.

He jumps, hastily tightening his tie again and turning to her. "Yes."

"Did they tell you to quit?"

"Every day. Skywalker and Jade want to see you."

She blinks at the abrupt shift in subject. "Now?"

"Now. In their office."

Rey closes her eyes with an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Come get me in ten minutes. We've got a lot to do."

"I just got the mockups for 2021's lineup for your approval."

"Great. We'll start with that. Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," he agreed.

Rey does not stop to ask herself if it's cruel of her to deny her longsuffering assistant the chance to go home and celebrate with his family. She can't afford the question. She didn't get to this coveted position by letting everyone else have what they want. If Ben intends to ride her coattails into positions of power, he will do the work she asks him to do — no caveats. No family.

What Ben doesn't know, and what Rey won't tell him, is that really, she's doing him a favor. Family holds you back. Best to cut them off like a wart and move on.

She takes the elevator up two floors to the executives' level. The assistant there gives her a cheerful greeting.

"Hi, Ms. Johnson! I'll let them—"

Rey walks right past her, pushing open the door to Luke Skywalker's office and making her way in.

Very few people would be comfortable barging into the office of one of the most famous publishers in the world, but Rey is one of them. Luke is her mentor and advisor, and their rapport is strong enough to tolerate presumptions like this.

He's in there with his business partner, Mara Jade.

"Good, Rey, you're here," Luke says when she shuts the door behind her. "Come on in and take a seat."

His voice sounds warm and friendly, so she isn't worried this is about to be some chastisement for a poor decision — not that she's made any. She sits a chair across the desk from the graying middle-aged man and his dashiki shirt. He wears flip-flops around the office and has both a beard and hair longer than is strictly professional, but he can get away with it. He is, after all, the CEO. Mara looks much more put together, as she always does.

"Congratulations on getting Monica to do the Oprah thing!" Mara says with an impressed grin. "She's a tough nut to crack."

"Thank you. I discovered that she just needed the right reassurance about why it was important for her example to reach millions of women."

Luke's startling blue eyes wrinkle a little around the edges in what Rey has learned is his look of affection and approval. "That's why you're the right person for your position. You get what we're trying to do here, with every title we publish."

Mara clears her throat. Rey's smile fades as Luke sighs and shakes his head. She can sense the bad news before it fully unfurls on his face.

"It's honestly such a shame. I can't stand it."

"What can't you stand?" she asks him.

Mara spares him the burden. "Rey, it's about your visa."

She frowns.

"Do you remember that we advised you not to go to the Toronto Literary Festival?"

"But it was too huge an opportunity—"

"And you went anyway, remember?" Mara's voice isn't accusing or angry, it's mildly amused. "Ben was sneezing for weeks from an allergic reaction to someone's perfume at the festival, remember?"

Luke laughs. "How could I forget?"

Rey remembers too. It was some chick dressed up like a hooker, saying she was supposed to be Sunny, the prostitute from Catcher in the Rye. It was, without a doubt, the worst excuse to dress in overly sexualized clothes and prey on handsome men Rey had ever seen. She came tripping up to Ben and hung on his neck, asking Rey to take a picture of them and giving him a kiss on the cheek in the meanwhile. Whatever janky perfume she'd used left Ben itching and sneezing. Rey wanted to dunk "Sunny" in a vat of acid.

"What does that have to do with my visa?" Rey asks impatiently.

"You'll recall, I think, that the reason we told you not to go was that it would complicate your visa renewal, which was already processing."

"And I'm guessing it did."

Luke nods. "It did. It has been denied."

Rey's stomach drops to the floor. "Denied?"

"We spoke to your immigration attorney this morning to try to plead your case," he explains. "You have to know that we would do anything we could to keep you."

"Unfortunately, you're slated to be deported," Mara adds.

"Deported," Rey repeats, stunned into horrified speechlessness.

Images of hazy, grimy London flash unpleasantly through her memories, drawing a chill to her skin and a grimace to her face. She can't go back there. Not while she's alive. She won't. London holds no fond memories for her at all. There's nothing for her there.

"It's difficult," Luke says, "but your attorney said we might be able to find a way for you to work from our satellite office in London. Sometimes they'll make provisions for deportees to continue working for US companies."

No. No, Rey wouldn't go back to London, even if she could keep her job there. Most of her authors were here anyway, and everything would be monstrously harder. That and the fact that she loathed everything about her time there.

"Come on, there has to be something else — I just went to Canada, for heaven's sake, that's basically not even leaving the country."

"Apparently the government feels differently," Mara sighs. "Believe us, Rey, we don't want to lose you."

"We can reapply," Luke says, as if this is supposed to soothe her, "but you'll still have to leave the country for at least a year."

"I can't do that," Rey pleads. "Just let me talk to my attorney."

"You can try, but honestly, there's—" Luke stops suddenly as the door opens, a briefly annoyed expression breaking his geniality. "Ben, we're in a meeting."

Ben's head, his long face and dark eyes and plush lips, are poking through the opening in the door. "Sorry to interrupt."

Rey's emotions are skyrocketing to unsustainable heights and she's three seconds away from combustion, this is not a moment where she can deal with whatever it is Ben's concocted to get her out of this meeting. She turns to give him a dismissive glower.

He ignores the look. "Ms. Johnson, I've got someone on the line from Ms. Winfrey's team. They need to speak to you about Mothma's interview. I tried to handle it. I told them you were otherwise engaged."

"Ben," Luke says impatiently again.

But something he said snaps Rey out of her rising panic. She blinks at him, the word repeating in her mind like a record skipping back on its track. It's...it's an outrageous plan. Horribly unethical. Completely wrong.

But she's just desperate enough to reach for it.

"I'm sorry," Ben says again and looks expectantly at Rey.

"Um…" she hesitates. It's maybe not the worst plan in the world. They can tolerate each other well enough. And he's not bad looking. Not at all. Not even a little. "Ben, can you step in here for a minute?"

He does, closing the door behind him.

"So…" she says slowly, nodding a little to herself. It's insane, but maybe not too insane. It's a gamble. She's good at gambles. They usually pay off. She glances at Luke and Mara. "I just remembered that you guys hadn't heard the good news yet."

"Good news?" Mara says.

"Right. Yeah. Actually it's pretty timely news, all things considered. I don't know why I didn't think to tell you before." Her hands are trying to flit nervously at her side.

Luke lifts a skeptical brow.

"We're, uh…" She sidesteps closer to her enormous assistant. "We're engaged. We're getting married."

Ben glances at her. "Who is getting married?"

"We are."

"Getting married," he repeats slowly, confused.

"Yes." Rey keeps her voice steady and gives him a pointed look, a fierce look, praying he'll get the message to play along.

His eyes dart up from her towards the two executives. The two executives who know him quite well — better than any assistant.

Luke leans back in his chair, hands behind his head as a ridiculous grin curls over his face. "Well, well, well," he chuckles. "When I told you that it'd be good for you to learn discipline and control working for Rey here, I didn't realize I'd be playing matchmaker with my only nephew."

Ben opens his mouth and Rey already knows he's about to protest, so she gives him a hard elbow jab and smiles instead. "Tale as old as time, right? The boss falling for her assistant."

Mara cocks her head, looking as if she's vastly enjoying herself. "Fate must be so hard to resist."

That definitely makes Rey cringe. Because she's worked so hard to fight the nonsense idea of destiny and fate her whole life. She is the master of her future, nothing and no one else. So this idea that some supernatural force is at work here, it makes her want to trash the whole idea.

Ben is rigid and silent beside her. She glances down at his hand and takes it with her own, skin almost crawling at the strangeness of the touch because they do not touch. Ever. It makes her want to sink into the ground with shame when she says it, but she forces the smile and the words with it.

"I wish you weren't right, Mara, but there's just...there's nothing to be done about it. All those weekends working late hours, all those book fairs and literary festivals…" she produces the most false-sounding laugh she's ever made in her life.

Luke spares her. "That's fine, Rey. We can work with this. Actually, I think it's delightful. We'll give your attorney a call and set you up an interview with INS today if we can. No time to waste here."

"Great." Rey drops Ben's hand as if it were made of fire. He still hasn't moved a muscle, and she doesn't have the guts to glance up at his face to see what emotions are there. "It'll work?"

Mara laughs. "For your sake, I hope so."

"Just make it legal," Luke reminds them. "We can work with legal."

"Great. Will do. Thanks. Let me know about the meeting." Rey suddenly wants to run out of there screaming. Instead she grabs Ben's sleeve and hauls him out with her. "We'll sort this mess out!" she calls over her shoulder.

The elevator ride is the most awkward of her life. She glances behind her shoulder at him, but no higher than his throat before she turns around and stares at the door again. He still hasn't said anything. His body language is...tense. It's really tense. She should offer something to ease this moment, to explain, maybe, but she won't. Not until he demands it. If he demands it.

Because this doesn't mean anything. It's just a maneuver to help her keep her job and not have to move back to the place where all her nightmares live. She won't go back there. Ben is her ticket to staying. That's it.

Power, she reminds herself. You have the power here.

So she lifts her chin and stalks out before him the moment the elevator door opens, making a bee-line for her office. Ben doesn't falter. He flows behind her like this is a normal day and they've just had a normal meeting. Nobody knows what went on in that room yet, so nobody gives them any glances or strange looks. Just as well. Rey isn't sure she'll be able to take it when they inevitably do find out.

She expects Ben to go to his desk, but he doesn't. He follows her into her office and shuts the door behind him. When she finally looks at his face he looks angry. His eyes, which are a complex kind of hazel that seem to favor the dark brown range much of the time, are black and hostile. His full lips are hard.

"What the hell was that?" he demands.

Rey scowls at him. "What?"

"Lying to my uncle? For what?"

"We went to Toronto."

"I don't recall getting engaged in Toronto."

She sighs. "It's just….immigration issues."

"I'm gonna need a lot more than that."

Rey sits down at her desk, pretending to straighten papers. "My visa application was denied because of Toronto. They were going to deport me. This way, I get to stay."

"We have offices in London."

"You really want to move to London?"

His frown deepens, with confusion more than anger now. "Why would I move to London? You're the one being deported."

"You're my assistant, Ben. Where I go, you go."

"Absolutely not," he says. "They have assistants in London. Make me an editor, and go enjoy your life."

"Nice try, but no. I'm not going to train a new assistant for the year I have to be there," she says coldly. "That would be a huge waste of resources."

"So getting married is the easier road." There's so much mockery in his smooth voice that Rey wants to sock him in the mouth.

"Yes, in fact, it is." She gives him an icy glare. "Your phone is ringing. Better go answer it. Might be Ms. Winfrey's people."

"We're not done talking about this."

"Yes we are. Now go do your job."

He turns sharply and strides out, a cloud of agitation left in his wake. Rey drops her head to her desk and groans when she's finally alone. This is not a good idea. Ben can play it cool in a lot of scenarios, but she's not sure this is one of them. And she doesn't really even know if she has the right to demand this of him, but just like before, Rey doesn't let herself wonder that for too long. She has to do this.

Because back in London is nothing but misery and sorrow and loneliness and every bad thing she's been running from since she left.

Ben will provide her way out, even if she has to drag him kicking and screaming.

She lifts her head just as he comes back in, arms crossing over his huge chest, scowl on his face. "That was Luke. Your attorney can get us in to see someone at Immigration right away if we can go now. You'll have to rearrange your entire schedule—"

"Do it," she says immediately, standing up. "Cancel everything you have to. This is more important."

"Committing fraud is more important." The words drip like acid, and she can feel his contempt.

She grabs her purse and phone. "Yes. Come on. We can walk."

Ben turns and leaves immediately, striding away from her so quickly she practically has to sprint to keep up. But sprinting isn't the look she wants to give her subordinates right now, so she walks purposefully and lets him get far ahead of her. She does rush the last few feet to the elevator though before he can go down without her. A few eyes follow them, but nobody stops working.

Good.

He's on the phone and on his tablet for the rest of their walk through the building, sending emails and making calls to clear her schedule for the next couple hours. At least he's still doing his work, she has to credit him for that. He doesn't miss a step, even though he's obviously rattled and irritated.

"Can you slow down?" she complains when they get outside and he takes off down the street, his absurdly long legs carrying him leagues ahead of her. Since no one is around to witness, she finally does run to keep up with him. "There's no fire. We'll get there."

"If I'm going to ruin my life for you, I'd rather get it over with as quickly as possible."

"Ruin your — wow, so dramatic. Like you were saving yourself for the right woman?"

"I'd like to think so." He shoots her a vicious side-eye, but at least he slows down enough that she can power-walk beside him.

She snorts derisively. "You're kind of a traditionalist."

He stops suddenly in his path and reaches out to grab her arm, pulling her to a stop with him. His eyes are blazing with intensity as he leans forward and says, "Yes I am. Not in my career, obviously, and not in the sense that a woman's place is in the home, but that is what I want. The family, the marriage, the romance and unity. You can mock me if you want, I've already known for some time how you put your own heart on ice and no longer remember what it is to crave companionship, but I'm not ashamed of it. And this? What you're asking? It's an insult. You need to know that if you're going to insist on doing this."

She's too practiced in keeping a stoic, cold face to flinch from the sting his words inflict. She glares and him and yanks her arm out of his grasp. "You can divorce me as soon as I get my green card and then you can go chase your happy domestic bliss."

"I absolutely will do that," he promises through gritted teeth.

"Good." Now she's the one speed walking away from him, but he doesn't even try to keep up with her.