Close Quarters
1027 Words
Lena didn’t move.
Nico’s hand was still around her wrist—cool skin, controlled strength. His voice had dropped to a velvet edge, but there was nothing soft in the tension crackling between them.
“If you don’t want this… say it now.”
She blinked up at him, a pulse thudding in her throat.
“What exactly is ‘this,’ Wolfe?” she asked, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. “The s****l tension you’re pretending doesn’t exist, or the ego trip you’re calling a campaign?”
His gaze dropped to her lips. “Both.”
A slow smirk curved her mouth. “Then don’t worry, I want the job. Not the man.”
He released her wrist without a word.
But the look he gave her as she walked out of that elevator wasn’t defeating.
It was a promise.
The next morning, Lena stood in front of the Wolfe International jet on the private runway and fought the urge to turn around and go home.
She hadn’t packed for this trip—hell, she’d barely had time to blink. Nico’s assistant had texted her at midnight:
Investor retreat. Aspen. 48 hours. Dress sharply. Play nice.
And just like that, she was airborne.
The flight was all glass, leather, and silent luxury. Nico didn’t speak to her once, not during takeoff, not over coffee, not while she sat reviewing pitch notes across from him at the sleek conference table in the sky.
But every time she glanced up, he was watching her.
Not like a boss.
Like a man trying very hard to decide if he wanted to strangle her or ruin her.
Possibly both.
The resort was perched on a mountain slope like something out of a billionaire fantasy stone, steel, and fire-lit lounges carved into the snow.
A red-lipped concierge handed them key cards with a warm smile. “Mr. Wolfe, your suite is ready. I’ve upgraded the accommodation to one bedroom, one lounge, and a shared workspace. Very intimate.”
Lena blinked. “One?”
The woman smiled again. “Of course. As requested.”
Nico didn’t flinch.
Lena did.
She turned to him, her voice low. “You booked a room?”
His mouth twitched, just a little. “You’ll survive.”
“Nico”
“You’re the one who wanted proximity,” he said, brushing past her. “You’re about to get it.”
The suite was obscene.
Golden light poured over thick fur rugs and velvet armchairs. There was a fireplace, a view of the snowy peaks, and an oversized bed she immediately ignored.
“You’ll sleep on the couch,” she said.
He arched a brow. “You think you can command me now?”
“No,” she said sweetly. “I just know you’re not touching that bed.”
He set down his briefcase, calm as ever. “You’re welcome to sleep in the lounge.”
Lena rolled her eyes. “If you snore, I call a cab.”
“If you talk in your sleep, I’m recording it.”
They stared at each other, and then, unexpectedly, they both laughed. It was a short, surprising, and genuine laugh, and it caused something within her to shift in the worst possible way. For a brief moment, Nico Wolfe seemed human, and that was dangerous.
By nightfall, the shared workspace between their bedroom and lounge looked like a war zone. Laptops open, contracts printed, coffee cups stacked. Lena sat cross-legged on the couch, still in her black dress from the flight, while Nico stood at the window in rolled-up sleeves, phone to his ear.
She wasn’t listening to the call.
She was watching the way his back tensed. The way his hand moved through his hair. The way he moved was like he was always holding something back.
Her phone buzzed with a reminder of her evening notes. She blinked, annoyed with herself, and stood.
As she passed Nico on the way to the kitchenette, he said without looking, “You’re restless.”
“I’m not your dog.”
“But you are pacing like one.”
She spun around. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yet you’re still here.”
“I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?”
He turned, and his eyes met hers across the room. They were quiet and unreadable.
“You always have a choice, Lena.”
The way he said her name, soft but firm, sent a chill down her spine. She hated that she noticed it. Hated that her skin reacted to the way his gaze slid down her frame, not crude, but curious. Controlled.
“You keep doing that,” she murmured.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like you’re trying not to touch me.”
Silence.
Nico stepped forward once, then again, slow and deliberate. His sleeves were still rolled up, exposing strong forearms, and his eyes were locked on hers with devastating stillness.
Lena didn’t step back.
But her breath caught when he reached out and gently took the pen from her fingers.
“You want honesty?” he said, his voice low. “Fine.”
Another step closer. There was no space between them now. Just heat.
“I’m not trying to touch you. I’m trying not to cross a line I won’t come back from.”
She should have said something. Anything.
But the air was gone. Words vanished. All that filled the void was the quiet thunder of her pulse in her ears and the presence of him in front of her, with the question hanging in the air: What happens if I touch him first?
Her hand moved before her brain did.
Just the lightest graze of her fingertips brushed against his wrist.
Nico inhaled sharply.
The next moment happened fast. One step back. Then two.
His voice came out strangled with restraint. “We have a meeting with the lead board tomorrow at eight. Be ready.”
He turned away.
Lena stood still. Heart pounding. Skin hot. Mouth dry.
She didn’t know what scared her more, that he almost kissed her… or that she almost let him.
- Writer
