Love in the Boardroom

Chapter 5 – The Almost

The office was quiet at night, too quiet. The usual hum of voices, the ringing phones, the clatter of heels against marble floors—all silenced by the late hour. Only the distant glow of the city seeped through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the open space.

Lillian should have gone home hours ago. But deadlines loomed, and she refused to let Matt Salvatore outpace her. Not that she would admit she was competing against him, of course. She told herself it was about excellence, about proving herself, about the campaign.

Still, her hand trembled slightly as she adjusted her glasses and typed another line of notes. Because somewhere in her mind, she knew he was still here too.

As if summoned by her thoughts, his voice broke the silence.

“You really don’t know how to quit, do you?”

She jumped, twisting in her chair to find him leaning against the doorway. Jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, tie undone. His hair was slightly mussed, as though he’d run his hands through it a dozen times in frustration—or habit.

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be?” she asked, trying for casual disdain.

“Nowhere better than here,” he said, and for once there was no smirk, just a low honesty that unsettled her more than his teasing.

Her throat tightened. She turned back to her screen. “Well, some of us don’t have the luxury of coasting on charm. Some of us actually work.”

“And some of us,” he murmured, walking toward her desk, “know when to pause and… recalibrate.”

When she finally looked up, he was holding two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

Her eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

“You look like you’re about to combust. Think of this as… preventative maintenance.”

She wanted to refuse. She should refuse. But the glass he poured glowed amber under the office lights, and suddenly her throat was dry.

“One drink,” she said firmly, taking it from him. “Then I get back to work.”

“Scout’s honor.”

He clinked his glass against hers. The first sip burned, sharp and warm, sliding down her throat and loosening something she didn’t want loosened.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the city lights flickering around them. Then Matt leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“You know,” he said lazily, “you’re not what I expected.”

She stiffened. “And what, exactly, did you expect?”

“Cold. Calculated. Maybe even boring.”

“Charming,” she muttered, taking another sip.

“But you’re not.” His gaze lingered on her, heavy and unsettling. “You’re sharp, yeah. Ruthless when you want to be. But you’re also—” He hesitated, as though deciding whether to continue.

“Also what?” she demanded.

“Passionate,” he said finally, voice lower now. “You don’t just work—you bleed for what you want. I didn’t see that coming.”

Her cheeks warmed, though whether from the whiskey or his words, she didn’t know. She laughed dryly, trying to deflect. “Careful, Salvatore. Someone might think you’re complimenting me.”

“Maybe I am.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and humming. She couldn’t look away from him, from the intensity in his eyes.

And then she realized—with a rush of panic—that he wasn’t looking at her notes. He wasn’t even pretending to.

He was looking at her mouth.

Her lips parted, a sharp inhale betraying her. He noticed. His jaw tightened, and something dangerous flickered in his expression.

The glass in her hand trembled. She set it down, her heart hammering. “We should—”

But her words faltered when he stood, crossing the small space between them in a few strides. He braced one hand on the back of her chair, the other on the desk beside her, caging her in without touching her.

Her pulse roared in her ears. “Matt—”

“Say my name again,” he murmured, so close she could feel the heat of his body.

She swallowed hard, torn between fury and the ache low in her stomach. “This is inappropriate.”

“Probably.” His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. “But you want it too.”

Her breath caught.

Because he was right. Damn him, he was right.

The air between them vibrated with tension, her body screaming at her to close the last inch, to feel his mouth on hers. His scent surrounded her—spice and heat, intoxicating. His gaze dipped again, lingering on her lips, and she knew—knew—that if she leaned forward, just slightly, they would shatter every line they’d drawn.

Her hands gripped the armrests of her chair, nails digging into the leather. She was on the verge of moving—of surrendering—when the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Both of them froze.

A janitor pushed a cart past the glass walls, humming softly to himself, oblivious to the storm inside.

Matt exhaled slowly, stepping back. The space between them felt like a chasm.

“You’re lucky,” he said softly, eyes still burning into hers.

She forced a laugh, though her voice shook. “You mean you’re lucky. Because that was never going to happen.”

His smirk returned, slow and dangerous. “Keep telling yourself that, Moore.”

And then he was gone, striding out of her office as if nothing had happened, leaving her trembling in the aftermath.

Lillian collapsed back into her chair, pressing her hands to her face. She couldn’t believe she had almost kissed him. Almost let herself fall into the one thing she swore she’d never want.

But the worst part—the part that terrified her—wasn’t how close she’d come.

It was how much she wanted to.