LET ME KNOW YOU
870 Words
Over the next two weeks, it became harder and harder to remember why I was there.
We fell into a rhythm—arriving early, staying late, working through lunch and sometimes dinner. Zane had been right about the pace being relentless, but what he hadn't mentioned was how exhilarating it could be. How satisfying it felt to solve impossible problems, to anticipate his needs before he voiced them, to be genuinely good at something that mattered.
We started having coffee together in the mornings before the chaos began. Just ten minutes, sometimes fifteen, talking about nothing important. He told me about the sustainable housing project in Portland he was trying to get off the ground. I told him about the used bookstore I'd found that had an entire shelf of first editions. Small things. True things.
Too many true things.
I caught him watching me sometimes when he thought I wasn't looking. Caught myself watching him back. Noticed the way his whole face changed when he smiled. The way he rolled his shoulders when he was stressed. The slight furrow between his eyebrows when he was concentrating.
I was supposed to be studying him to exploit him.
Instead, I was just... studying him.
"Working late again?"
I looked up from my computer to find Zane leaning in his doorway. It was past eight, the office dark except for our two pools of light.
"Just finishing the briefing for your meeting with the mayor tomorrow."
"It can wait until morning."
"I'm almost done."
He walked over, peering at my screen. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—something subtle and expensive and maddeningly distracting. "That's not the briefing. That's the gala seating chart."
Damn. I'd been trying to map out where the painting would be during the party, which rooms would have the least security coverage, which guests might provide useful distractions. But I couldn't exactly tell him that.
"I was curious," I said. "I've never been to anything like this before."
"You're coming, aren't you?"
I blinked. "What?"
"The gala. I assumed—" He straightened, suddenly looking uncertain in a way I'd never seen from him. "I mean, you're my executive assistant. You should be there. Unless you have other plans?"
This was it. The opening I'd been working toward. The invitation that would give me access to everything.
So why did my chest feel tight?
"I don't have other plans," I said carefully. "But are you sure? It seems like a personal event, not a work thing."
"It's definitely a work thing. Donors, board members, people I need to impress. Having you there would be—" He stopped, ran a hand through his hair. "Helpful. It would be helpful."
"Then I'd be happy to come."
"Good. Great." He smiled, but there was something else in his expression now. Something I couldn't quite read. "You'll need a dress. Something formal. Send me the receipt and I'll—"
"I can buy my own dress."
"Elena—"
"I'm not a charity case, Zane."
His name had slipped out without thinking—the first time I'd called him anything other than Mr. Frost. We both noticed. The air between us shifted, charged with something electric and dangerous.
"I never thought you were," he said quietly. "But this is a work expense, and I don't expect you to spend your own money on something you'll wear for one night."
He was right. It made logical sense. And yet accepting felt like crossing some invisible line I'd been carefully avoiding.
"Okay," I said finally. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He didn't move. Didn't step back. Just stood there, close enough to touch, looking at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"That first day, in the interview. You said you were tired of playing it safe. Was that true?"
No. It was Elena's truth, not mine. I've never played anything safe in my entire life.
"Yes," I lied.
"Good." He reached out, hesitated, then tucked a strand of hair behind my ear—the touch so gentle it made my breath catch. "Because I have a feeling you're exactly the kind of risk worth taking."
Then he stepped back, professional distance reasserting itself like a wall between us. "Go home, Elena. Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be another long one."
"Goodnight, Zane."
"Goodnight."
I watched him disappear into his office, heard him gathering his things. Sat frozen at my desk with my heart racing and my skin still tingling where he'd touched me.
This was bad.
This was so, so bad.
Because somewhere between the coffee runs and the late nights and the shared truths I'd never meant to tell, I'd started to forget I was playing a role.
Started to forget this was all a lie.
Started to forget that in three weeks, I was going to betray the first person who'd made me feel like I might deserve something better.
My phone buzzed. Mr. Murky: The gala invitation. Perfect. Don't forget what you're there to do.
I deleted the message and stared at my reflection in the darkened window.
I didn't recognize the girl looking back at me.
- Writer
