She Works Reception At His Office Building, Not Knowing The CEO Has Been Wanting To Ask Her Out
Visions of Art and Honesty
The next week passed in a whirlwind for Julia. Her revised job description arrived with a substantial raise, and she now split her time between reception duties and developing the lobby art initiative.
She found herself exchanging emails with Connor, each professional but increasingly comfortable as they discussed art selection criteria and logistics.
By the time they were scheduled to meet again, Julia had assembled a comprehensive proposal that included budget projections, artist selection processes, and a marketing plan.
“This is impressive,” Connor said as they reviewed her materials in a conference room. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“I’ve been dreaming of doing something like this since graduation,” Julia admitted. “Instead, I’ve been working reception jobs to pay the bills.”
Connor looked up.
“Why didn’t you pursue gallery work?”
Julia hesitated.
“The 2008 recession hit my family hard. My father lost his job and my mother got sick. I needed stable income to help support them, and entry-level gallery positions were scarce and paid barely minimum wage.”
Connor nodded thoughtfully.
“I understand family obligations. My father died when I was in college. I started Alision partly to support my mother and younger sister.”
“I didn’t know that,” Julia said softly.
“Not part of the official company story,” he replied with a small smile. “The financial press prefers the narrative of the ambitious architectural prodigy.”
They shared a look of understanding that lingered perhaps a moment too long before Connor cleared his throat.
“Would you be available to visit some potential artist studios this weekend? It might help us establish selection criteria.”
Julia blinked, surprised by the weekend request for work.
“A working lunch,” Connor clarified quickly. “There’s an artist collective open house downtown on Saturday. Completely optional, of course.”
Was she imagining the slight nervousness in his tone?
“That sounds great, actually. I’d love to go.”
“Excellent. I’ll have my driver pick you up at noon if that works.”
Later that day, Julia found herself analyzing their interaction with Deanna over coffee.
“It’s not a date,” Julia insisted.
“It’s a work thing? A work thing on a Saturday with the CEO personally?” Deanna raised an eyebrow. “Who happens to be gorgeous, single, and for some reason very interested in your art opinions.”
“He values my expertise,” Julia protested.
“Honey, he could hire a professional curator with a PhD if he wanted expertise.” Deanna stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “How many times has he come through the lobby this week?”
Julia felt her cheeks warm.
“Three, maybe four. And before this art project, I don’t know, maybe once a month?”
Julia sighed.
“You’re reading too much into this. He’s the CEO; I’m nobody.”
“You’re somebody he’s noticed,” Deanna countered. “Just wear something cute on Saturday. Okay?”
Saturday arrived with perfect early summer weather. Julia had spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing her outfit, settling on a sundress that was casual enough for an art show but still flattering.
When the sleek black car pulled up outside her modest apartment building, she took a deep breath before stepping outside. The driver opened the door, and Julia was surprised to find Connor already inside, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt.
He looked more like an off-duty model than a CEO.
“Hi,” he said, looking equally surprised by her appearance. “You look very nice.”
“Thanks,” she replied, suddenly feeling shy. “So do you. It’s strange seeing you not in a suit.”
“I save those for the office,” he said with a smile. “I thought we’d start with lunch before the art collective. There’s a great place nearby.”
Lunch was at a small farm-to-table restaurant where Connor was clearly known, as the owner greeted him warmly and led them to a secluded corner table with a view of the river.
“Come here often?” Julia asked as they settled in.
“The owner is an old friend. We went to college together before I dropped out to start Alision.” Connor handed her a menu. “Everything’s good, but the seasonal specials are usually exceptional.”
Throughout lunch, their conversation flowed easily. They discussed architecture, art, and their favorite places in the city.
Julia learned that despite his wealth and position, Connor had simple tastes and valued experiences over possessions. He listened intently as she spoke about her family, her dreams of opening a small gallery, and her love of photography.
“Why haven’t you pursued photography more seriously?” he asked as they shared a dessert.
Julia shrugged.
“Time, mainly. And equipment is expensive.”
“You should make time for what you love,” Connor said seriously. “Life has a way of slipping past otherwise.”
At the Art Collective, they wandered through studios and exhibition spaces, occasionally separating to view different works before finding each other again to share opinions. Julia felt increasingly comfortable, forgetting the power dynamic that usually existed between them.
“What do you think of her work?” Connor asked, nodding toward a series of abstract landscapes.
“Technically impressive, but there’s an emotional distance,” Julia observed. “Beautiful, but safe.”
Connor smiled.
“You’re good at this—seeing beyond technique to intention.”
“Years of practice,” she replied. “Though most of the time I’m just talking to myself in galleries.”
“I’d listen to your commentary anytime,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.
The moment was broken by his phone buzzing. Connor checked it with a frown.
“I’m sorry. There’s an issue with one of our international projects; I need to make a call.”
“Of course,” Julia said, stepping away to give him privacy.
While Connor was on his call, Julia wandered into a small studio where a photographer was displaying striking black and white urban portraits. She was so engrossed that she didn’t notice Connor’s return until he spoke from beside her.
“These remind me of Diane Arbus, but with more compassion.”
Julia nodded.
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
The photographer, overhearing them, approached.
“That’s the highest compliment. Are you photographers yourselves?”
“Julia is,” Connor said before she could respond. “Though she’s too modest to admit it.”
Julia felt her cheeks warm.
“I’m an amateur at best.”
“The best photographers are the ones who see the world differently,” the photographer said, “not the ones with expensive equipment.”
Later, as they walked back to the car, Connor seemed unusually quiet.
“Is everything okay with your project?” Julia asked. “Is it sorted now?”
He hesitated.
“Julia, I’ve been thinking. Would you consider this afternoon work, or something else?”
Julia’s heart skipped.
“What would ‘something else’ be?”
Connor stopped walking, turning to face her.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you to lunch since about a week after you started at Elision. But I never found the right moment or the right words.”
“Then you submitted that proposal,” he continued, “and it seemed like the universe was giving me an opportunity.”
Julia stared at him, processing his words.
“You created an entire art program just to spend time with me?”
Connor looked mortified.
“No, the program is brilliant on its merits, but I’d be lying if I said your involvement wasn’t a significant factor in my enthusiasm.”
“So, today was me being a coward,” Connor admitted. “Setting it up as work so it wouldn’t feel like I was crossing a line.”
Julia couldn’t help but smile.
“Connor Evans, are you trying to tell me you’ve been wanting to ask me out for eight months?”
He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking boyish rather than commanding.
“Yes, and doing a terrible job of it, apparently.”
“Why me?” Julia asked softly. “You’re, well, you, and I’m just a receptionist with an art degree.”
“You’re not just anything,” Connor said firmly. “You’re intelligent, passionate, and kind to everyone who walks through those doors. You have this smile that lights up the entire lobby.”
He looked away, embarrassed.
“And now I sound like a stalker.”
Julia laughed, the tension breaking.
“A very polite, respectful stalker.”
“Julia,” Connor said, his voice serious again. “Would you have dinner with me sometime? Not as your boss, not for work—just me asking you.”
Julia felt a rush of warmth.
“I think I’d like that very much.”
“Really?” The surprise in his voice was endearing.
“Really,” she confirmed. “Though there’s the small issue of you being my boss.”
Connor nodded.
“I’ve thought about that. HR has clear protocols for these situations: complete transparency, no direct reporting line.” He paused. “I would never want to put you in an uncomfortable position.”
“I appreciate that,” Julia said. “And I think we can figure it out. But, Connor?”
“Yes?”
“Next time you want to ask a woman out, maybe just ask without creating an entire corporate initiative first.”
His laughter echoed down the street, genuine and unrestrained.
“Noted. Though, in my defense, it’s a really good initiative.”
