The heart he never showed

The Man Behind Closed Doors The mahogany office was silent, except for the heavy rain beating against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Downstairs, the rest of the family and the associates knew better than to disturb Wesley Kennedy when the ledger did not balance. They kept their distance and spoke in whispers. To the rest of the world, Wesley Kennedy was ice and locked doors. He was a cold, calculating man who settled disputes with a single hard look and never offered a second chance. But you knew a different side of him. You were sitting right across his oversized desk, spinning a stray paperclip between your fingers. While Wesley reviewed the documents in front of him, you remained lost in your own thoughts. He did not look up until he heard the quiet clink of metal against wood. Setting his pen down slowly, he lifted his gaze toward you. The harsh lines of his face softened the moment his eyes met yours. Without saying a word, he pushed the stack of papers aside, rose from his leather chair, and walked around the desk. He stopped beside your chair. His expression remained blank to the outside world, but his hand reached out to brush a stray lock of hair away from your forehead. His fingers lingered against your cheek, warm and gentle. "You've been staring at that paperclip for ten minutes," Wesley said, his voice low and lacking the sharp edge he used with everyone else. "Are you bored, or are you just trying to avoid telling me you skipped lunch again?" You looked up at him. "Hi." Wesley's hand remained against your cheek, his thumb tracing a slow circle over your skin. He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his hazel eyes. "Hi?" he repeated, lowering his voice. "That's it? You come into my office, sit there playing with office supplies, and all I get is a 'hi'?" He chuckled—a low, private sound meant only for you. It was the kind of sound no employee or family member had ever heard. Leaning down, his broad shoulders blocked out the dim orange light coming through the windows, creating a small, private space between you and the rest of the world. "You're lucky you're cute, Olaitan Hiqmat," he murmured, his fingers moving from your cheek to the back of your neck, drawing you just a little closer. "Otherwise, I might think you were ignoring me on purpose." "No, I wasn't," you replied. Wesley tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heartbeat before meeting your eyes again. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "No, you weren't?" he asked, sounding skeptical but far too fond of you to be genuinely annoyed. "You were staring at a paperclip like it held the secrets to the universe, Hiqmat. I was watching you." His hand at the back of your neck tightened slightly as he leaned closer. The scent of his expensive, woody cologne filled the space between you. "If you weren't ignoring me, then you were thinking about something else," he whispered near your ear. "Care to share? Or do I have to guess?" He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hazel eyes searching your face with an intensity that would have made anyone else uncomfortable. "Mmm... nothing," you answered. "Nothing," Wesley repeated, his voice flat but carrying an unmistakable hint of playfulness. "You say 'nothing' as though it's the truth, but your eyes say something else entirely." He released your neck and placed both hands on the armrests of your chair, leaning over you. His face was only inches from yours. The rain continued to drum against the windows, but the office suddenly felt smaller and warmer. "You've got that look," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over your face. "The one where you're trying to look innocent, but you're actually thinking about how much you want to annoy me." His hand moved from the armrest to your chin, gently tilting your face toward him. "Tell me the truth, Hiqmat," he said, his voice low and steady. You suddenly remembered the world outside his office. "Well, I think someone is knocking. I have to go now." Wesley's eyes darkened, but he did not immediately move away. Instead, he leaned closer, his chest almost brushing yours. "Someone's knocking?" he repeated, his voice turning colder and more authoritative. "Let them knock. I didn't give anyone permission to enter my office." A sharp rap sounded against the heavy mahogany door. "Mr. Kennedy? I have those reports you requested," a muffled voice called from the hallway. Wesley did not look toward the door. His gaze remained fixed on yours. "You think you can just walk out like that?" he asked quietly, a slow smile spreading across his face. "After you've been sitting here looking at me like that for the last twenty minutes?" You looked at him, then toward the door. "But don't you think you have to answer him?" you asked. "Promise to tell you the reason later." Wesley's jaw tightened at the word promise. He knew you. He knew that later usually meant not anytime soon. "You're negotiating with me now?" he asked, his voice low. "That's a bold move, Hiqmat." The knocking grew louder and more insistent. "Mr. Kennedy? It'll only take a second, sir." Wesley sighed through his nose, clearly irritated. Finally, he turned toward the door, his expression snapping back into the cold, professional mask he wore for everyone else. "Leave them on the desk and get out," he barked. "I'll review them when I'm ready." "But, sir—" "Did I stutter?" The footsteps outside retreated quickly, the person eager to escape his temper. You watched Wesley turn back toward you. The cold expression disappeared the moment his eyes met yours again. He studied your face, noticing the innocent, almost pleading look that always seemed to soften him. "Hmm, can I use the Ladi—"