The CEO's Unspoken Love Novel

Chapter 38 Derek I buried myself in work until my eyes burned from staring at spreadsheets. The office had emptied hours ago, leaving only the hum of the air conditioning and the occasional ping of late-night emails. The silence should have been productive, but all I could hear was Eleanor's voice echoing in my head: "He's nothing to me... I'd sign divorce papers right now and be done with Derek Wells forever!" My phone vibrated against the desk. Eleanor's name appeared on the screen: [Derek, I'm sorry about what happened at the shop today.

Can we talk when you get home?] I glanced at the message, irritated by the interruption. Why was she bothering to explain? In two months, we'd sign divorce papers and be done with each other. I set the phone face-down without responding, annoyed at how her words kept replaying in my mind. It was just wounded pride, nothing more. A light knock interrupted my thoughts. My assistant poked her head through the doorway, her expression hesitant. "Mr. Wells, it's past midnight. Would you like me to arrange a car to take you home?" My phone vibrated again.

Another message from Eleanor: [It's getting late. Are you coming home tonight?] I looked up, momentarily disoriented. "No," I said, my voice colder than intended. "Book me a room at The Ritz-Carlton Hotel and have these files delivered there." After she left, I gathered my things mechanically. The persistence of Eleanor's messages was an unwelcome distraction. I had no obligation to report my whereabouts to her, especially after her little performance today. In the hotel room, I stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, Boston's glittering skyline spread below me like a constellation.

I poured myself a whiskey from the minibar, swirling the amber liquid before taking a long sip. My phone lit up with another message: [I understand if you need space, but I'd like to explain.] "Persistent, aren't you?" I muttered, surprised at how much her concern irritated me. I had no intention of responding. Why should I care what she thought? Why should it matter to me what some woman who was counting down the days until our divorce had to say? "Pathetic," I said to myself.

"A few words from a woman who's practically already my ex-wife, and I can't sleep." I tossed back the rest of my whiskey, bothered by my own reaction more than her words. It was absurd that I was letting this affect me at all. 1/2 The next morning, I walked into Frontier Capital in a pristine suit that belied my sleepless night. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, and my mood was as black as my coffee. The entire office seemed to hold its collective breath as I passed. My assistant handed me the morning reports, her hands trembling slightly.

"The Morgan Stanley presentation is ready for your review, and I've scheduled the conference call for- "This is missing a zero," I cut her off, tapping the page with my pen. "The Andersen portfolio is valued at 30 million, not 3 million." Her face paled. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Wells, I'll fix it right away." "A single zero," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "Do you have any idea what a single zero like this costs us? This isn't a rounding error -it's the difference between a strategic investment and complete misallocation of capital.

In our world, mistakes like this destroy companies." Her hands trembled as she took the report back. "Have it corrected immediately, then review every figure in the presentation three times. I won't tolerate another error of this magnitude." The petty satisfaction of seeing someone else uncomfortable momentarily distracted me from my own inexplicable agitation. I was Derek Wells-I didn't let personal matters interfere with business, and I certainly didn't let the opinions of others affect my mood. The executive meeting that followed was equally disastrous.

I slammed the market analysis report on the conference table, the sound making everyone flinch. "Is this a kindergarten project or a professional analysis?" I asked, my voice cutting through the tense air. "Because I can't tell the difference." One of the directors, a gray-haired man who'd been with the company since its founding, cleared his throat. "Derek, if I may explain the methodology we used-" "Save your excuses," I interrupted. "I want this completely redone by tomorrow morning.

And if you can't deliver that, don't bother coming in." Comments 51 Write Comments < SHARE 2/2 Ruby Walker Ruby Walker is a rising voice in the world of romance and spicy fiction. With a gift for weaving deep emotions, sizzling chemistry, and unexpected twists, her stories are a blend of passion and drama that captivate readers from start to finish. Ruby's writing style is bold and irresistible-perfect for those who crave intense, addictive love stories.