The CEO Above My Desk (Mckenzie Shinabery) novel Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Violet

89

By late afternoon, the building has decided I’m entertainment.

It starts subtly. It always does.

A pause before someone speaks to me. A glance that lingers too long. Voices lowering when I pass, then lifting again once I’m gone. The kind of attention that isn’t curiosity so much as calculation.

Avery’s firing didn’t just ripple-it detonated.

And the councilwoman’s little spectacle earlier? That poured gasoline on it.

I feel it in the way people approach the desk now. Not to work. Not for answers. But to test.

“Can you check if Rowan’s available?” a junior exec asks, leaning too casually against the counter.

“No,” I reply without looking up. “He’s not.”

“Well, I didn’t ask him,” he says, smiling like that matters.

“And I didn’t ask for commentary,” I answer. “Next.”

He blinks, caught off guard, then straightens and leaves.

Camille catches my eye from across the lobby. She gives me a look that says don’t engage. Then, two minutes later, she intercepts a woman who’s hovering near the desk pretending to check her phone.

“He’s unavailable,” Camille says flatly before the woman can speak. “And she’s working.”

The woman bristles. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“You are now,” Camille replies. “Move along.”

The woman mutters something under her breath and walks away.

I exhale slowly through my nose.

Does no one do their jobs anymore?

It’s like the moment Avery left, everyone decided the desk was up for grabs. Like they could poke it. Push it. See if it still held.

See if I did.

Phones ring nonstop. Not real calls-half of them are fishing attempts. “Quick questions.” “Just wanted to see if-” “I know Rowan’s busy, but-”

No.

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No.

No.

B

1 redirect, reroute, deny, log. My fingers move automatically, muscle memory carrying me through while my mind stays sharp. I don’t snap. I don’t flinch. I don’t give anyone the satisfaction of thinking they got under my skin.

But I feel it.

The shift.

Before, I was invisible. Useful, ignored, tolerated.

Now I’m visible.

And visibility invites challenge.

By five, the lobby feels tight. Like a room waiting for something else to go wrong. People hover longer than necessary. Conversations stall when Rowan’s office door opens, then resume when it closes.

Someone laughs too loudly.

Someone else whispers my name.

Camille sends three people away in ten minutes.

“You’re not getting through,” she tells one man sharply. “No, not today. Not tomorrow either.”

He scowls. “Since when do you get to decide?”

Camille smiles. It’s all teeth. “Since she does.”

She jerks her chin toward me.

The man looks at me then-really looks-and something in his expression shifts. He nods stiffly and walks off.

I don’t thank Camille. She doesn’t need it.

The call comes in at 5:48.

I see the number and my stomach drops before I even answer.

“Violet Pierce,” I say, steady out of habit.

“Ms. Pierce,” a nurse says, breathless but trying not to sound alarmist “This is Evergreen Rehabilitation There’s been an incident with your mother”

My grip tightens on the receiver. “What kind of incident?”

“She fell during a transfer,” the nurse explains quickly. “She’s okay-no fractures, no head injury-but she was shaken. Very shaken. She keeps asking for

you.”

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My chest aches in a way I don’t have time for.

“Is she stable?” I ask.

“Yes,” the nurse reassures. “Vitals are good. We’re monitoring her.”

I close my eyes for half a second. “When do visiting hours end?”

“Eight p.m.”

I glance at the clock on my screen. 5:49.

“I’ll be there tonight,” I say. “I might be cutting it close.”

“That’s not a problem,” the nurse replies gently. “If you arrive late, we’ll still let you in. She’ll want to see you.”

Of course she will.

“Thank you,” I say, and hang up.

I don’t sit there spiraling. I don’t let myself.

Instead, I lift my hand and motion for Camille.

She’s at my side in seconds, eyes sharp. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom fell,” I say quietly. “She’s okay, but she’s asking for me,”

Rowan’s door doesn’t have a nameplate. It never has. Like he doesn’t need one. Like the space itself knows who it belongs to.

I knock once.

“Come in,” he says immediately.

I step inside and close the door behind me.

He’s standing at his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, phone in his hand. He doesn’t look up right away. Just sets the phone down slowly, deliberately.

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Chapter 22

“Yes?” he says.

“I wanted to check if you needed anything before I left for the day.” I say. Neutral. Professional. My voice doesn’t give me away.

Silence stretches.

Too long.

Rowan finally looks at me. Not sharp. Not cold.

Assessing.

“The rehab center called twice,” he says. “They don’t usually do that.”

My stomach tightens.

“I handled it,” I reply.

“I know,” he says. “I want to know why.”

I hesitate.

It’s brief-but he catches it.

His jaw tightens a fraction. “Pierce.”

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The CEO Above My Desk