LATE NIGHT
1464 Words
The office had gone dark around them.
Adrian noticed it first — the way the floor had emptied, one desk at a time, until the only light came from his office and the small lamp on Nina's desk. The city glittered beyond the windows, indifferent to the two people working late, pretending not to notice each other.
He should go home. He knew that. The report was finished. The emails were sent. There was no reason to stay.
But Nina was still at her desk, her head bent over a spreadsheet, her glasses slipping down her nose. She'd pulled her hair loose from its knot at some point, and it fell in dark waves around her face. She was humming — something soft, something he almost recognized.
He leaned against his doorframe. "You're still here."
She looked up. Her eyes were tired but alert. "So are you."
"I asked first."
She smiled. It was a small smile, barely there, but it changed her whole face. "I'm almost done. The Calloway follow-up. Marcus wants it by morning."
"He always wants things by morning."
"Then I should probably finish."
He should have said goodnight. Should have walked to the elevator, driven home, fallen into his empty bed. Instead, he walked to her desk.
"What do you need?"
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"The Calloway follow-up. What do you need? I can help."
"You're the CEO."
"So? I used to be an analyst. I remember how to read a spreadsheet."
She studied him for a moment, her head tilted. Then she slid the file across her desk. "Page four. The projections don't match the historical data. I've been staring at it for an hour, and I can't figure out why."
He pulled a chair next to her desk — closer than he should have — and sat down.
---
They worked side by side for the next hour.
Not talking much. Just breathing the same air. His shoulder almost touched hers. Her hand brushed his when she reached for a pen. Neither of them moved away.
The city darkened outside. The office grew quieter. The only sounds were the soft click of the keyboard and the occasional murmur of one of them explaining a number, a trend, a possibility.
Adrian found the discrepancy first. "Here. Look."
He leaned closer to point at the screen. His chest almost touched her back. He could smell her shampoo — something floral, something clean, something that made him think of spring rain.
She turned her head. Their faces were inches apart.
"Oh," she said. "I see it."
Neither of them moved.
---
The moment stretched.
Adrian could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. The way her breath caught, just slightly. The pulse at her throat, beating faster than it should.
He should pull back. He should stand up. He should go home to his wife, even if his wife didn't want him there.
But Nina's hand was on the desk, inches from his. And her lips were parted. And the air between them was thick with something he hadn't felt in years.
"Nina," he said. Her name came out lower than he intended. Rougher.
"Adrian." His name in her mouth sounded like a question.
He lifted his hand. Moved it toward her face. His fingers hovered near her cheek, not touching — just feeling the warmth radiating from her skin.
She closed her eyes.
She closed her eyes.
That was all the permission he needed.
---
He touched her face.
Just his fingertips, just the curve of her cheekbone. Her skin was soft, warm, alive. She leaned into his touch like a flower turning toward the sun.
His thumb traced down to her jaw. Her lips parted further. A small sound escaped her — not a word, just a breath, just an ache.
"Nina," he whispered again.
"Adrian." Her voice was barely audible. "We shouldn't —"
"I know."
"Then why —"
"Because I can't remember the last time someone looked at me like I mattered."
Her eyes opened. In the dim light, they were dark, deep, full of something he couldn't name. She lifted her own hand and placed it over his, holding it against her face.
"I look at you," she said, "and I see someone who's been invisible for too long."
He leaned closer. His forehead almost touched hers. His breath mingled with hers. He could feel the heat of her body, the slight tremble in her hand, the way her heart was beating as fast as his.
"If I kiss you," he said, "I won't be able to stop."
"Then don't."
---
The elevator dinged.
They both froze.
Footsteps in the hallway. Someone clearing their throat. Linda's voice, surprised: "Mr. Cross? I thought you'd gone home."
Adrian pulled back. Stood up. His hand fell to his side. Nina turned to her computer, her face carefully blank.
"I was just finishing the Calloway follow-up," he said. His voice was steady, but his hands were shaking.
Linda looked from him to Nina. Her expression didn't change — but her eyes were sharp. She saw everything. She always did.
"Marcus called," she said. "He wants the report by eight tomorrow."
"Then he'll have it."
Linda nodded. "Goodnight, Mr. Cross. Goodnight, Nina."
"Goodnight, Linda."
She walked to her desk, gathered her bag, and left. The elevator doors closed behind her.
The office was silent again.
---
Adrian stood at Nina's desk, not moving. She sat in her chair, not looking at him.
"Nina."
She shook her head. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't say you're sorry. Because I'm not. And I don't want to hear that you are."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I'm not sorry."
She looked up. Her eyes were bright — not with tears, but with something fiercer. Hope, maybe. Or hunger.
"Then what are you?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't. Because he didn't know what he was anymore. A husband? A liar? A man who'd just almost kissed his assistant in an empty office at nine o'clock at night?
All he knew was that he wanted to do it again.
"We should go home," he said.
"I don't have a home," she said. "I have an apartment."
"Then go to your apartment. And I'll go to mine."
She stood up. Gathered her things. Put her glasses back on. The armor was back in place — but he'd seen underneath it. He'd felt her skin. He'd heard her breath catch.
At the elevator, she pressed the button. The doors opened.
"Goodnight, Adrian."
"Goodnight, Nina."
She stepped inside. The doors began to close.
He reached out and stopped them.
"Tomorrow," he said.
She looked at him through the narrowing gap. "Tomorrow what?"
He didn't have an answer. He just held her gaze until the doors closed between them.
---
The drive home was a blur.
Adrian parked in the garage, walked through the dark house, and stood in the kitchen without turning on the lights. Vanessa's car was in the driveway. She was upstairs, probably asleep, probably not waiting for him.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey. Drank it standing at the window, looking out at the empty street.
His phone buzzed.
Nina: I finished the report. It's in your inbox.
He stared at the message. Professional. Distant. The opposite of what had happened between them.
He typed back: Thank you. Go to sleep.
Nina: I can't.
Adrian: Neither can I.
A long pause. Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Nina: Goodnight, Adrian.
Adrian: Goodnight, Nina.
He set the phone down and poured another whiskey.
Upstairs, in the bedroom, Vanessa lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She'd heard him come in. She'd heard the ice clink in the glass. She'd heard him not come up.
She didn't call out to him.
She reached under her pillow and checked her phone.
Derek: I can't stop thinking about you.
She smiled in the dark.
Vanessa: Neither can I.
---
In her apartment, Nina sat on her bed, still dressed, still trembling.
She touched her cheek where Adrian's fingers had been. The ghost of his hand was still there. The ghost of his breath. The ghost of what might have happened if Linda hadn't interrupted.
She should feel guilty. She should feel triumphant — this was part of the plan, after all. Get close to him. Make him want her. Destroy Vanessa's marriage.
But she didn't feel triumphant.
She felt hungry.
And terrified.
And more alive than she'd felt in three years.
She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. His face floated behind her lids. His voice echoed in her ears.
"If I kiss you, I won't be able to stop."
She whispered into the dark: "Then don't."
But he wasn't there to hear her.
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