Chapter 10 - Five SecondsThree years after the wedding, I stood backstage at the largest annual leadership conference Hawkins Media had ever hosted and tried not to throw up.
“You’re going to be fine.”
Jade stood behind me adjusting a microphone attached to my blazer.
“You say that because you’re not about to speak in front of four thousand people.”
“I once organized an outdoor wedding during a hurricane.”
“Different.”
“The bride’s mother threatened me with a centerpiece.”
“Still different.”
She finished adjusting the microphone.
“There.”
I looked at myself in the mirror.
Thirty-two.
Senior executive vice president.
Head of global strategy.
Married three years.
Still occasionally unable to believe any of those statements belonged to me.
Onstage, Marcus was finishing his introduction.
The conference celebrated Hawkins Media’s expansion into fourteen countries and the launch of three major platforms.
The company had grown enormously.
So had I.
Two years earlier, I had been offered the chief strategy officer position.
Elliot deliberately left the board vote.
Unanimous approval.
No favoritism argument possible.
At least none that mattered anymore.
The industry knew my work now.
My name had become separate enough from Elliot’s that financial publications sometimes interviewed me without mentioning him until the final paragraph.
Exactly what I had once wanted.
Strangely, once I finally had it, I stopped worrying about it so much.
“Ready?” Jade asked.
“No.”
“Excellent.”
“What?”
“Every confident woman I know who claims she’s ready is lying.”
Marcus’s voice came through the speakers.
“And now, the woman responsible for approximately half of our international growth and eighty percent of Elliot Hawkins’s personality improvement…”
The audience laughed.
“Marcus,” I muttered.
Jade shoved me toward the stage.
“Go.”
I walked into the lights.
Applause hit me.
Four thousand people.
Employees.
Partners.
Investors.
Journalists.
For one second, the old Alexia appeared.
The twenty-six-year-old assistant sitting invisible outside the CEO’s office.
Then I saw Elliot in the front row.
No special expression.
No dramatic gesture.
Just watching.
Proud.
Calm.
Certain.
I smiled.
And began.
Forty minutes later, I walked offstage to a standing ovation.
Jade immediately hugged me.
“You crushed it.”
“I didn’t vomit.”
“Professional milestone.”
Marcus appeared.
“Excellent.”
“Thank you.”
“Better than adequate.”
I stared at him.
“Elliot has infected you.”
“He’s been saying that for years. It’s company vocabulary now.”
“Unacceptable.”
“Too late.”
Elliot found me ten minutes later.
He waited until we were alone in a corridor.
Then he kissed me.
“HR,” I whispered.
“I’m CEO.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You married me voluntarily.”
“Temporary insanity.”
“Five seconds?”
“Three years and counting.”
His smile softened.
“You were incredible.”
“Thank you.”
“No. Really.”
He touched my face.
“I sat there thinking about that first presentation when I couldn’t stop staring at you.”
“The social-media strategy?”
“Yes.”
“When Marcus noticed you weren’t watching the slides.”
“I was watching something significantly more interesting.”
I rolled my eyes.
Then I noticed something different.
He looked nervous.
Very nervous.
My smile disappeared.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Elliot.”
“Everything is fine.”
“You’re touching your watch.”
He immediately stopped.
That was his tell.
After years together, I knew every one.
Watch when nervous.
Jaw when angry.
Hair when frustrated.
Left eyebrow when trying not to laugh.
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
“Terrible liar.”
“You taught me.”
Then his phone buzzed.
He looked at it.
And smiled.
A strange smile.
Soft.
Almost emotional.
“What?”
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“I run strategy. Questions are my entire profession.”
He took my hand.
We went upstairs.
Past executive offices.
Past conference rooms.
Toward reception.
The same reception.
Our framed magazine covers still hung where we had married.
The plaque still read:
IT STARTED HERE.
But the original Forbes poster had been returned.
Temporarily.
It stood on an easel.
I stopped.
“No.”
Elliot smiled.
“Yes.”
“What are you doing?”
“Recreating history.”
“I’m leaving.”
He pulled me gently back.
“Wait.”
Then I heard voices.
A group of employees appeared around the corner.
New hires.
Maybe twenty of them.
Marcus stood in front.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Marcus grinned.
“Welcome to Hawkins Media orientation.”
“Marcus.”
“Today we discuss company culture.”
“I will fire you.”
“You don’t have authority.”
“I’m on the executive committee.”
“Elliot?”
Elliot pretended to consider.
“Marcus is essential.”
“Traitor.”
The new employees looked completely confused.
Marcus gestured dramatically toward the poster.
“This artifact represents the single most consequential act of employee feedback in company history.”
I covered my face.
Someone laughed.
Elliot pulled my hands down.
“You need to own your legacy.”
“I hate all of you.”
Marcus continued.
“Years ago, our current chief strategy officer was working late…”
“Marcus.”
“…when she decided to communicate her dissatisfaction directly to the CEO.”
“Technically indirectly.”
“Via printed media.”
Several employees started laughing.
“And then,” Marcus said solemnly, “she kissed the poster.”
The group erupted.
One woman raised her hand.
“How long?”
I pointed at her.
“Don’t.”
Elliot answered immediately.
“Five seconds.”
“That number is disputed.”
“I counted.”
“You were standing ten feet away.”
“I had an excellent view.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You married me.”
The orientation group was now openly laughing.
I should have been embarrassed.
Maybe some part of me was.
But mostly I was happy.
Because the story no longer represented humiliation.
It represented distance traveled.
After everyone left, I stayed in reception.
Elliot stood beside me.
“You set that up.”
“Partially.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the elevators.
“Because someone wanted to see it.”
“Who?”
Before he could answer, small footsteps came down the hallway.
I froze.
A little girl appeared.
Dark brown hair.
Green eyes.
Pink sneakers flashing with every step.
Three years old.
Our daughter.
Emma.
She was holding Victoria’s hand.
My heart immediately melted.
“Mama!”
She ran.
I crouched and caught her.
“What are you doing here?”
“Daddy surprise.”
I looked over her shoulder at Elliot.
He was smiling.
Victoria approached.
“Your daughter has asked approximately seventeen times when she can see the famous poster.”
“You told her?”
Victoria looked offended.
“Everyone told her.”
Marcus appeared again.
“Corporate history.”
“I really am firing you.”
Emma twisted in my arms and pointed.
“Daddy picture.”
“Yes.”
“Daddy young.”
Elliot put a hand on his chest.
“I’m still young.”
Victoria laughed.
“Debatable.”
Emma studied the poster.
Then looked at me.
“Mama kiss Daddy picture?”
Silence.
Everyone looked at me.
“No.”
Elliot coughed.
“Yes.”
I glared.
“She’s three.”
“She deserves historical accuracy.”
Emma’s eyes widened.
“Why?”
Excellent question.
Why had I kissed the poster?
Stress?
Attraction?
Temporary madness?
Destiny seemed too dramatic.
“Because Mama was having a very strange day.”
Emma thought about this.
Then walked toward the poster.
“No.”
Elliot moved immediately.
“What?”
She puckered her lips.
“I kiss Daddy.”
“Absolutely not.”
I started laughing.
Elliot picked her up before she could reach the photograph.
“That is my poster.”
Emma giggled.
“Daddy jealous.”
Victoria nearly collapsed laughing.
I stared at Elliot.
“She gets that from you.”
“Impossible.”
“She absolutely does.”
Emma put both hands on his cheeks.
“Kiss real Daddy.”
Then she kissed his cheek.
Elliot’s entire face softened.
Every time.
No matter how often Emma did something affectionate, part of him still looked surprised.
As if that lonely boy inside him still could not quite believe love could arrive without conditions.
He hugged her.
I moved closer and rested my head against his shoulder.
For a moment, the four of us stood there.
Victoria.
Emma.
Elliot.
Me.
Three generations of a family that had once struggled terribly with knowing how to stay.
Now very good at it.
Later that evening, after Emma went home with Victoria for a sleepover, Elliot and I returned to our apartment.
We ate takeout directly from containers.
No gala.
No business dinner.
No chef.
Just us.
I sat barefoot on the couch, reading emails.
Elliot came from the kitchen holding wine.
“You’re working.”
“So are you.”
“I’m researching.”
“What?”
He showed me his tablet.
A house listing.
I stared.
Large yard.
Trees.
Forty minutes outside Manhattan.
“What’s this?”
“A house.”
“I recognize the architectural concept.”
He ignored the sarcasm.
“Emma needs space.”
“She has an entire apartment.”
“She needs grass.”
“She sees grass.”
“In parks.”
“That’s usually where grass lives.”
He sat beside me.
“I’m serious.”
I studied him.
“You want to move?”
“Not immediately.”
“But eventually.”
“Maybe.”
His fingers played with mine.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“Very.”
He smiled.
“Another child.”
I stopped.
That conversation had come up casually before.
Never this directly.
“You want another?”
“I think so.”
His voice became quieter.
“I didn’t know if I’d be good at being a father.”
“You are.”
“I know that now.”
Not arrogant.
Not this time.
Certain.
Earned.
“Emma changed everything.”
I smiled.
“She does that.”
“I thought work was legacy.”
He looked toward the window.
“The company. Buildings. Numbers. Things with my name attached.”
Then back at me.
“Now I think legacy is whether she grows up knowing she’s loved.”
My eyes burned.
“And another hypothetical Hawkins?”
“Summers-Hawkins.”
I smiled.
“You remembered.”
“I learn.”
“Slowly.”
“But effectively.”
I closed my laptop.
“So you want a house and another baby.”
“Eventually.”
“Anything else?”
He thought.
“A dog.”
“No.”
“Emma wants one.”
“Emma wants a pony.”
“We could afford—”
“No.”
“Fine.”
He looked genuinely disappointed.
I laughed and leaned into him.
“Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come back to the office that night?”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
“All the time.”
“What do you think?”
“I think eventually I would have noticed you.”
“You’re very confident.”
“I would have.”
“How?”
He shrugged.
“You were too good to remain invisible.”
My heart squeezed.
“But maybe it would’ve taken longer,” he admitted.
“Years?”
“Possibly.”
“I might have quit.”
“Then I would’ve hired you back.”
“You can’t deny resignations.”
“I still disagree.”
I laughed.
Then he became serious.
“But I’m glad I came back.”
“Why did you?”
“I forgot a contract.”
I stared.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“A contract changed our entire lives?”
“Apparently.”
“That’s disturbingly unromantic.”
“I can invent something.”
“No.”
I smiled.
“I like the truth.”
He kissed my forehead.
“So do I.”
We sat quietly.
Three years of marriage.
A daughter.
A company.
An imperfect family slowly healing around us.
A possible house.
Maybe another child.
A life neither of us could have predicted.
And somehow everything traced back to five ridiculous seconds.
I lifted my head.
“Elliot?”
“Yes?”
“I have a confession.”
His eyebrows rose.
“What?”
“The kiss really might have been five seconds.”
Absolute silence.
Then his face transformed.
Victory.
Pure, unbearable victory.
“I knew it.”
“I said might.”
“You admitted it.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I’m taking it back.”
“Too late.”
He reached for his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Messaging Marcus.”
I lunged.
“Elliot!”
He stood and held the phone above my reach.
“This is historic confirmation.”
“I will divorce you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“How confident are you?”
“Extremely.”
“Give me the phone.”
“Say it again.”
“Never.”
“Five seconds.”
“Temporary insanity.”
“Commitment.”
“Stress.”
“Attraction.”
“Exhaustion.”
“Love.”
That stopped me.
He lowered the phone.
His smile softened.
Maybe he was right.
Not about the exact number of seconds.
He was absolutely insufferable about that.
But about everything underneath.
Maybe some part of me had already been falling in love before I understood what I was feeling.
Maybe anger had simply been safer to admit.
Maybe kissing a photograph had been the ridiculous moment when everything I had buried for a year finally escaped.
I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Fine.”
His eyes gleamed.
“Fine what?”
“Maybe a little attraction.”
“A little?”
“Don’t push it.”
“How much?”
I kissed him.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Then I pulled back.
He stared at me.
I smiled.
“There.”
“What?”
“Five seconds.”
His hands tightened around my waist.
“That was longer.”
“You didn’t count properly.”
“I always count properly.”
“Prove it.”
His expression changed.
Dangerous.
Playful.
Familiar.
“I can.”
He kissed me again.
And this time neither of us counted.
Because after all these years, the exact number no longer mattered.
The poster had only started the story.
Everything after it—the risk, the fear, the arguments, the career victories, the family we built—had been a choice.
Made again and again.
To see each other.
To trust each other.
To stay.
And if anyone ever asked how Elliot Hawkins, impossible billionaire CEO, ended up marrying the assistant he ignored for a year, there was technically a complicated answer.
But Marcus preferred the short version.
She kissed the poster.
He caught her.
Five seconds.
May you like
Commitment.
And somehow, unbelievably, forever.
