After Hours
768 Words
The next morning brought rain.
Not the heavy, stormy kind but the soft, rhythmic kind that tapped gently against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Stratosphere Global. The city below blurred into gray and silver, and for once, the office felt like a cocoon instead of a battlefield.
Ava arrived early earlier than usual, which meant she was there before Damien.
She liked the silence of the office at dawn. It gave her time to think. To breathe.
To not feel watched.
She settled into her chair, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and sipped the latte she picked up on the way in only to pause when she noticed the small, unfamiliar cup beside her laptop.
It had her name on it. Her full name. Handwritten.
Vanilla oat milk latte.
Her usual.
She blinked and glanced around.
No one.
But as she picked it up, still warm, a familiar voice drifted from behind her.
“You always get the good coffee. I figured I’d save you the trip.”
She turned and saw Damien strolling in, hair damp from the rain, black umbrella in hand. He was dressed in charcoal today—suit jacket over his shoulder, confidence on full display.
“You bought me coffee?”
He shrugged like it was nothing. “I owed you. You fixed the campaign timeline last night. I saw the updates.”
Ava held the cup a little tighter than necessary. “You could’ve just said thank you.”
“I could’ve,” he said with a small grin. “But where’s the charm in that?”
She rolled her eyes but took a sip. Perfect. Annoyingly perfect.
By mid-morning, the two were neck-deep in strategy meetings. Every exchange was a dance one step forward, one step too close. Ideas bounced back and forth, but so did glances. Sometimes lingering. Sometimes intense.
Around noon, their boss Meredith stopped by.
“I want a rough pitch ready by Friday,” she said, scanning both of them. “And a mock client presentation for internal review. And remember—together. No solo hero moves.”
“Of course,” Ava said smoothly. “We’re practically finishing each other’s sentences already.”
Damien chuckled beside her. “More like challenging every sentence she says.”
Meredith smirked. “Good. Keep each other sharp. Just don’t kill each other.”
When she walked off, Ava turned to Damien. “I don’t need sharpening.”
“I disagree,” he said, eyes sparkling. “You shine when you’re pissed at me.”
“I shine all the time.”
He leaned in slightly. “Yeah, but it’s more fun when I’m the reason.”
That evening, after hours, they stayed late again.
It had become routine now—shared takeout containers, shoulder-to-shoulder collaboration, low banter between bites. But tonight felt different.
The rain hadn’t stopped. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the lights outside cast golden reflections on the wet streets below. The office was empty except for them.
Damien leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, my spine’s a pretzel.”
Ava laughed lightly, tapping her pen against the armrest. “You know you can go home. I’ve got the budget numbers.”
“And miss watching you destroy a spreadsheet like it insulted your ancestors? Never.”
She tossed a balled-up napkin at him.
He caught it midair.
She raised a brow. “Show-off.”
“Only when it counts.”
A pause.
And then: “Why do you always do that?” she asked softly, not looking at him.
“Do what?”
“Act like you’re joking when you’re not.”
Damien didn’t respond right away. The quiet between them settled heavy.
Then he stood, walked to the window, hands in his pockets. “Because when I’m not joking… you look at me like you’re scared.”
Ava’s breath caught.
She stood slowly. Walked to stand beside him.
“I’m not scared,” she said.
“Good,” he murmured, eyes still on the rain. “Because I think I like you, Ava. And I don’t think I know how to not like you.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. She could lie. Deflect. Make a sarcastic comment.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she said quietly, “Then stop waiting for permission.”
Damien turned to her.
And kissed her.
It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t a battle.
It was soft. Careful. Like he didn’t want to scare her away.
She kissed him back.
And just like that, the storm outside wasn’t the only one breaking.
- Writer
