Too Late For Regret, Mr. Carlson

The door of the Maybach thudded shut, sealing them inside. The silence was instant and absolute.

The air in the car smelled of rain, leather, and him. Beneath that, faint but undeniable, was the scent of her. Aubree's perfume. Something heavy and floral, like gardenias left out in the heat too long. It clung to his jacket. It filled Alexia's nose and made the bile rise in her throat.

Jensen leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. He looked exhausted. For a second, the mask slipped, and Alexia saw the lines of tension around his mouth.

Alexia's hand twitched. The instinct to reach out, to touch his forehead, to ask if he had a headache, was a phantom limb. It was an old habit from a time when he used to look at her and see her. She clenched her hand into a fist on her lap.

Next time, he said, his eyes still closed, "don't dress like you're attending a funeral. It's depressing."

Alexia swallowed. The words tasted like ash. "I'm not feeling well, Jensen."

He didn't open his eyes. "You're never feeling well, Alexia. It's always something. A headache. A stomach ache. It's exhausting."

Alexia looked out the window. The city lights smeared into long, neon streaks. It wasn't an excuse. It was a fact. But facts didn't matter in the Carlson court of law. Only perceptions mattered.

His phone buzzed.

His eyes snapped open. He pulled it from his pocket, the screen lighting up his face in a ghostly blue. Alexia saw the name. Bree.

Thanks for tonight. You saved me from that bore from Goldman. XOXO.

A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He typed a reply, his thumbs moving quickly. Then he flipped the phone face down on his thigh.

Alexia's stomach cramped violently. A gasp escaped her lips before she could stifle it. She fumbled with the clasp of her purse, her fingers shaking. She needed the painkillers. She needed something to stop the burning.

The pill bottle rattled against her keys.

Jensen's head snapped toward her. "What is that noise? Stop fidgeting."

Alexia froze. She dropped the bottle back into the depths of the bag. "Mints," she whispered. "Just mints."

He sighed, a sound of pure irritation.

The rest of the ride passed in a silence so heavy it felt like it had mass. When they pulled into the underground garage of the penthouse building, the darkness felt appropriate.

In the elevator, he watched the numbers climb. Alexia watched the floor.

As soon as the doors opened into the foyer, he walked away. "I'm going to the study," he said over his shoulder. "Don't wait up."

The door to the study clicked shut.

Alexia stood alone in the dark living room. She pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the window. She was twenty-six years old. She was married to one of the most powerful men in New York. And she had never been more alone.

The next morning, the fluorescent lights of Carlson Global felt like an interrogation.

Alexia swiped her badge-Alexia Pierce, Technical Consultant-and walked toward the R&D department. Her right side was a dull, throbbing ache now, a constant companion.

She passed the break room. Laughter spilled out.

Alexia heard Vivian from Marketing. "Did you see the photos on Page Six? Jensen and Aubree. They look like royalty."

Another voice. "Where was the wife?"

Vivian snorted. "Probably fixing a printer somewhere. Honestly, I don't know why he stays married to her. It's like watching a swan try to date a pigeon."

Alexia stopped. Her hand gripped the strap of her laptop bag.

A throat cleared loudly behind her.

She turned. Alf Snider, the head of engineering and the only person in this building who knew Alexia had written the core code for the new AI interface, was standing there. He looked furious.

Back to work! Alf barked at the break room. The laughter died instantly.

He turned to Alexia, his expression softening into concern. "Alexia. You look terrible."

She managed a weak smile. "Good morning to you too, Alf."

He didn't smile back. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Seriously. You're pale. You're sweating. Go home."

I can't, she said. "The migration isn't stable yet."

He reached out and gently took her arm, steadying her as she swayed slightly. "You are the only stable thing in this entire company, Alexia. But you're going to collapse."

Alexia opened her mouth to argue, but a shadow fell over them.

Jensen was standing at the end of the corridor. He was flanked by the CFO and two board members. But his eyes were fixed on Alf's hand on Alexia's arm.

The temperature in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees.

Jensen walked toward them. The executives trailed behind him, sensing blood.

Mr. Carlson, Alf began, stepping back, dropping his hand. "We were just discussing the-"

Jensen ignored him. He looked at Alexia. His gaze was a physical blow.

This is a place of business, he said, his voice low and lethal. "Not a singles bar."

Alexia felt the blood drain from her face. "Jensen…"

If you want to flirt with the staff, do it on your own time. Not on my payroll. And certainly not in my hallway.

The injustice of it choked Alexia. He had been with Aubree all night. He had let her touch him, whisper to him. And now this?

She looked down. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carlson."

Alf looked like he wanted to punch him. Alexia caught Alf's eye and shook her head slightly. Don't.

Jensen let out a short, derisive huff. "Get back to work. Both of you."

He walked away. He didn't look back.

Alexia stood there, shaking, while the whispers in the break room started up again, louder this time.