Unspoken Sparks
1037 Words
The elevator doors slid open with a low chime, and Zara stepped out into the sleek, glass-walled floor of Wolfe Enterprises’ executive suite. She’d only been here once—during her first week, when she’d accidentally wandered in looking for the restroom and been promptly redirected by an assistant who looked like she ironed her blazers with disdain. This time, she was summoned.
Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she approached Aiden Wolfe’s office. The door was already open. Bold of him, she thought. Or maybe it was intentional—a subtle show of power. A message that said: I know you’re coming. I always know.
Zara squared her shoulders and stepped in.
Aiden didn’t look up immediately. He was seated behind his massive desk, fingers dancing over the keyboard. The skyline framed him like a painting—cold, impossibly high, and untouchable. His suit was charcoal grey today, his tie a dark navy that brought out the steel in his eyes. He was every inch the CEO: unreadable, calm, and quietly dangerous.
“You called?” she said, voice firm, even though her pulse betrayed her.
He looked up slowly. His gaze swept over her, lingering just half a second too long.
“I did,” Aiden said. “Close the door.”
She did, with just enough force for it to thud slightly behind her.
He gestured to the seat opposite his. “Sit.”
Zara hesitated, then sat down, smoothing her skirt over her knees.
“There’s a charity gala this Friday night,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s hosted by our biggest investors. I want you there.”
Zara blinked. “Me?”
“You.”
“Why?”
Aiden tilted his head. “Do you question all of your assignments this thoroughly, or is it just when they come from me?”
She smiled sweetly. “Only when they sound suspiciously like a trap.”
“Suspicious,” he echoed, voice calm, “would be if I invited you for dinner at my penthouse. This is a black-tie event. Business. You’ll be representing Wolfe Enterprises.”
“And you want me specifically?”
“I want someone who can hold a conversation and doesn’t crumble under pressure.” He paused, eyes glinting. “That narrows it down to… you.”
Zara folded her arms. “You flatter me.”
“I try not to.”
There was a beat of silence. The tension that always danced between them suddenly felt less like a spark and more like a current—alive and unpredictable.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go. What time?”
“I’ll send a car. Seven sharp.”
Zara stood, but didn’t turn to leave yet. “Anything else, Mr. Wolfe?”
He rose, and suddenly, she felt the shift in the room. He was close—closer than she remembered standing next to him since that first day when coffee had scalded her blouse and kicked off this entire chaotic chain of events.
His gaze didn’t drop. “Wear red,” he said. “It suits you.”
By Friday night, Zara was pacing her apartment, glaring at her reflection.
The dress—red, fitted, off-shoulder—looked scandalously expensive. A personal delivery from the office stylist. A “suggestion,” according to the note attached. Zara hadn’t even known Wolfe Enterprises had an in-house stylist.
She slipped on her heels, touched up her lipstick, and forced her pulse to calm down. It was a work event. Aiden Wolfe was just a CEO. An arrogant, irritating, insufferable CEO. Who apparently had excellent taste in clothing.
The black car pulled up exactly at seven.
She expected a driver.
She didn’t expect Aiden to be in the back seat.
He looked up as she opened the door and stilled.
His eyes swept over her like a second skin. “Good,” he said. “You followed instructions.”
She climbed in, ignoring the way his gaze seemed to burn through her, and crossed her legs like she hadn’t just felt his voice somewhere beneath her ribs.
“Are you always this dramatic, or is it just for company events?” she asked.
Aiden smirked. “You haven’t seen dramatic yet.”
The gala was all crystal chandeliers, jazz music, and fake laughter. Zara let her eyes scan the crowd. She’d been to a few networking events before, but this was another level—power in every handshake, money in every smile.
Aiden didn’t leave her side.
He introduced her as Wolfe Enterprises’ newest strategy associate, and no one batted an eye. She held her own, smiled politely, answered questions with just enough confidence to appear competent without being arrogant. But every time Aiden’s hand brushed her lower back—just slightly, just enough to guide her—her breath hitched.
She hated how aware she was of him. How the scent of his cologne lingered in her nose long after he stepped away. How the briefest glance from him across the ballroom made her feel like the only woman in the room.
Midway through the night, he leaned in.
“You’re doing well,” he murmured against her ear.
“I didn’t come here to impress you,” she whispered back.
“That’s the part that’s impressive.”
They left past midnight.
The car ride back was silent, except for the hum of the city. Zara turned to look out the window, heart still racing from the afterglow of too many eyes, too much champagne, and far too much Aiden Wolfe.
As the car slowed in front of her building, she turned to him.
“Thanks for the invitation,” she said.
His eyes found hers in the dim light. “You’re welcome.”
She reached for the door handle.
“Zara.”
She froze.
He didn’t touch her. Just watched her, his voice low and unreadable.
“Don’t fall for me.”
The words sent a jolt down her spine.
She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
But her voice was too soft. Too unsure.
And the worst part?
She didn’t know who she was warning—him or herself.
- Writer
