Chapter Seven - Professionalism
1074 Words
The first thing I noticed when I woke up Monday morning was that the other side of the bed was empty.
For a second, I just stared at it.
Then I remembered everything that had happened.
The hours we'd spent together.
The conversations afterward.
The fact that Solomon had stayed.
I sat up slowly and looked around the bedroom. He was gone.
There was, however, a folded piece of paper on the bedside table and I picked it up.
Had to go home to shower, change, and deal with a few things before work. I'll see you there. — S
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
I smiled despite myself.
“Of course he has to make leaving look romantic.”
I got ready for work, but the closer I got to Nova Home, the more nervous I became.
Because there was one tiny problem. I had absolutely no idea how I was supposed to behave around Solomon now.
Was he still my boss? Obviously.
Was he also the man I'd spent the entire previous day with? Unfortunately, yes.
Were we now... something? I had no idea.
So I chose the safest possible option.
Professionalism. Extreme professionalism.
By the time I reached the forty-ninth floor, I had transformed myself into the most polite executive assistant in corporate history.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Would you like your coffee?”
“Your meeting begins in fifteen minutes, sir.”
“The documents are ready, sir.”
I was so professional that I was beginning to annoy myself. When Solomon finally stepped out of his office, he looked at me for several seconds. I could practically see the amusement spreading across his face.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Baruch.”
His eyebrow rose.
“Mr. Baruch?”
“Yes, sir.”
He stared at me. I stared back. Then he walked over to my desk.
“Come into my office.”
I followed him. The moment the door closed, his expression changed.
“You're doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Acting like I'm a stranger.”
“You're my employer.”
“Yesterday I wasn't?” He leaned against the desk.
I immediately looked away.
“That is irrelevant.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“You're adorable when you're nervous.” He smiled.
“I'm not nervous.”
“You've said 'sir' six times in the last ten minutes.”
“Because you're my boss.”
He laughed quietly. I turned toward the door.
“Is that all?”
“No.”
I looked back. He stepped closer, lowered his voice, and kissed me. My entire carefully constructed professional personality disappeared instantly. I pulled back, looking horrified.
“We're at work.”
“I know.”
“Someone could walk in.”
“Then we'll behave professionally.”
“You're enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
He kissed my forehead before stepping away. I stood there completely flustered.
“You're impossible.”
“And you're still calling me sir.”
I left his office before I embarrassed myself further. The rest of the morning was torture.
Every time I started concentrating, Solomon found some excuse to appear beside my desk.
Sometimes it was a question about a meeting.
Sometimes it was a document.
Sometimes he simply stood there for a moment, touched my waist as he passed, and continued walking as if he hadn't just completely destroyed my ability to remember what I was doing.
Once, when we were alone in the corridor, he pulled me into a quick hug. I froze.
Then hugged him back.
“You're going to make me lose my mind,” I whispered.
“That's the idea.”
“Solomon.”
“Relax.”
Then footsteps approached. We immediately stepped apart. A member of the board appeared around the corner.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Solomon replied calmly.
I straightened my jacket.
“Good morning, sir.”
The board member looked between us and I smiled professionally. Solomon did the same. He walked past us without another word. The second he disappeared, Solomon looked at me.
“You're terrible at hiding your face.”
“Shut up.”
He laughed. By lunchtime, I had accepted that I was going to spend the entire day in a state of permanent embarrassment.
And somehow, Solomon was having the time of his life.
He'd pass me in the hallway and give me that little smile.
He'd brush his fingers against my hand when nobody was looking.
Once, while I was reading through a report, he came up behind me and rested his hands briefly on my shoulders. I nearly jumped out of my chair.
“You're going to kill me.”
“Probably.”
“Can you please act normal?”
“No.”
“I knew I hated you for a reason.”
“You don't hate me.”
“No.” I looked up at him. “I really don't.”
For the first time that day, his teasing expression softened. He leaned down and kissed my cheek. Then he walked away before I could say anything.
At six, he appeared beside my desk.
“Dinner?”
“Are you asking or ordering?”
“Asking.”
“Then yes.” I smiled.
We went to one of our usual restaurants, but tonight felt different.
Maybe because we'd crossed another line.
Maybe because we both knew it.
We sat across from each other while I ordered pasta, because apparently I had become predictable, and Solomon watched me with an expression I couldn't quite read. When the food arrived, we talked about work for a few minutes. Then the conversation slowly drifted elsewhere. At some point, his hand found mine on the table. I looked down, then at him.
He didn't move it away. Instead, he intertwined his fingers with mine, making me smile.
“You know people can see us.”
“I know.”
“You don't care?”
“No.”
My heart did something stupid. I squeezed his hand.
Outside the restaurant, the city was already dark, the windows of the skyscrapers glowing above the streets. And as we walked toward the car, Solomon kept holding my hand.
I didn't let go.
Maybe Monday wasn't as terrifying as I'd expected.
Maybe this was something.
I just had absolutely no idea what that something was yet.
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