Not So likely

Jannah

With each step I take, I curse Kaitlyn under my breath and wonder why I let her manipulate me into fulfilling her whims for the "plot." My life is not a fucking plot, and I'm not her favorite female lead in those stupid, porn-filled books she calls dark romance.

It's funny how I have all these thoughts piled to the roof of my brain when I know I'm too curious myself to back away from her plan. After discovering Aaron had a twin, I spent two good hours looking up these guys. I've never seen a family as private as theirs. All their Instagrams are private, and the few pictures of them are from either receiving awards or making presentations.

Zero paparazzi pictures.

No info about their love life...

No videos where I can identify their voices. There's a funny feeling in my stomach that makes me feel like they're hiding something. Everything is too discreet. I know a lot of rich people are private like that, but there's nothing about them in their bios-no school, age... nothing.

No wonder he could slip away so easily, the little voice in my head reminds me. Kaitlyn hasn't-and wouldn't-stop texting me every now and then to ask if I'm okay and if I'm ready for "Mission Impossible." Trust her to turn something scary into a joke.

I reply the first few times, and when it seems like she won't stop bothering me, I place my phone on DND. How she finds time to text this fast and work at the same time will forever remain a mystery.

All HODs have a meeting with Aaron later in the day, so apparently, that's the only moment I have to seize.

Do I feel brave about it? No.

Do I wish there was some other way around? Hell yes!

Don't I want to strangle Kaitlyn for putting this shitty thought in my head? Duh!

Am I going to go ahead with the plan just because I'm curious and want closure? Of course.

When I glance at my watch, it's only twelve minutes to eleven, which is when the meeting itself is scheduled to happen. I round up the rest of my work, make the sign of the cross on my chest-which is very hypocritical since I'm as atheist as shit-then leave my office.

When I check my iMessage, it's no surprise that Kait's texts have accumulated and are now seven unread messages. I don't open them since I'm not ready to read her motivational shit and not reply back, which would eventually spiral into another issue.

The boardroom is a wide hall with glass-paneled walls and a long silver desk in the center. It's really your typical boardroom. I'm one of the first to come in, an iPad in my sweaty palms and a wrist clamped tightly around my busy hand that is shaking.

The last time I'd been this anxious was years ago, during my first debate in junior high. But here I am, shaking like a fucking jelly because I want to confront-no, politely inquire from my smoldering hot CEO, who looks like the same man I fell in love with during the summer, if he's who I think he is... Goddamnit! Even the thought of this whole shit makes me want to back down.

I spent my coffee break making up sentences I'd use when I eventually asked him, but I crossed each of them out since they all sounded silly. I know if I ask Kait, she'll tell me to let it flow naturally. Naturally, my ass.

The AC is cold enough to demand a sweater over my shirt, but I'm sweating around my forehead.

"Jan, are you okay?" Mrs. Sanchez sends me a worried look, and I manage to pull my most authentic fake smile.

"I'm okay, I ran down here, that's all." Luckily for me, she doesn't probe, but I catch her eyes moving to a fat bead of sweat sliding along the side of my face before she nods and turns away.

I dab my sweat immediately and scold myself mentally.

It's just a fucking question you're about to ask, Jannah. It's not the end of the world, I remind myself, but even that sounds like medicine after death.

The buzz in the room slowly dies when the door opens and Aaron steps in. I lower my gaze and begin to nibble on the wall of my lips.

Once again, he's dumped the conventional suit, and instead, he's in a dress-up shirt, dark blue jeans, and sneakers. I have to say he looks hot, as stupid as that sounds because it's simply the truth. He wears his confidence like a man would wear his favorite cologne.

"Let's keep this brief," his voice is warm but firm, a clear indication that he's all business and eager to get over with this protocol. "We'll go over last quarter's performance, projections, and any urgent concerns you may have."

I try to focus, but my heart is performing cartwheels against my ribcage, causing it to push forward with every move. The meeting starts with a rundown of reports from each department-financial updates, marketing strategies, and upcoming projects. I pretend to take notes, but my mind is elsewhere. Every time Aaron speaks, my chest tightens. His voice-it's familiar. Too familiar.

At one point, his eyes briefly meet mine, and I swear my breath catches in my throat. I force myself to look down at my notes, my grip tightening on my stylus pen.

The meeting ends faster than it would have if his father were around. As usual, everyone is shaking hands with him, and they have those plastered smiles on their faces that don't reach their eyes as they shake his hand. I make sure I'm the last one to meet him.

"Miss?" He arches a brow, and I tell him my name.

"It's an honor to work under you. I wish you the best," I add, and he flashes me a professional smile. I take advantage of this and blurt out my haphazardly constructed question.

"Were you, by any chance, in Mexico during the summer? You look quite familiar."

His shoulders tense for a split moment, his brows furrowing as a thoughtful expression clouds his countenance.

"I don't think so. Maybe you saw my brother. People always mistake us for the other," Aaron says quickly, his hands slipping out of mine as he takes a step backward, his smile slightly faltering.

My lips form into an "O," and I apologize before taking my walk of shame.

On the bright side, I found out Clinton is the culprit, and on the other hand, I feel so embarrassed. I don't know why, but maybe it's because of his response.

When I find Clinton, he's not going to like it.