Chapter 7 – New York Nights
774 Words
Selena was nearly done with the week’s reports when Dante’s voice came through the intercom.
“Miss Hart. My office.”
Two words. Calm. Controlled. Enough to make her pulse trip over itself.
She straightened her blouse, told herself to breathe, and stepped inside.
Dante sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, eyes fixed on a document as if the world outside didn’t exist.
“Close the door,” he said without looking up.
The soft click behind her sounded louder than it should have.
When he finally lifted his gaze, it pinned her in place — that unreadable calm that always made her feel seen and stripped all at once.
“I’ll be traveling to New York next week,” he said. “The expansion deal needs final signatures. You’ll accompany me.”
Her fingers tightened on the folder she was holding. “Me?”
“I trust your precision,” he said simply. “You’ve been managing the data better than anyone else.”
Her breath hitched. “Of course. I’ll arrange everything.”
“Pack for three days,” he added, his tone dipping slightly lower.
And just like that, he turned back to his papers, signaling the conversation was over.
But all week, her thoughts refused to stay still.
Every time she saw him — the sharp cut of his suit, the way his hand brushed the edge of a desk, the controlled power in his voice — something inside her ached.
She told herself it was nerves. It wasn’t.
When she boarded the private jet beside him that Sunday, her pulse hadn’t calmed once.
⸻
The city greeted them in lights — golden veins cutting through the night sky.
Selena sat beside Dante in the sleek black car that carried them to the hotel, pretending she didn’t notice the way his shoulder brushed hers whenever the driver turned.
He was silent, focused on his phone. Yet every time she glanced his way, she felt the weight of his attention — like he knew she was watching.
The hotel was everything she’d imagined and more: marble floors, mirrored elevators, soft jazz spilling through the lobby. Their rooms were on the same floor, a few doors apart.
Close enough to feel dangerous.
She told herself she’d sleep early, keep it professional. But that was before the knock.
⸻
He stood in the doorway, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up again — a version of Dante she’d never seen.
“Join me for a drink,” he said, his voice low. “We need to discuss tomorrow’s meeting.”
It wasn’t really a question.
The lounge was quiet, dimly lit, the city glittering through floor-to-ceiling windows. He ordered whiskey; she asked for sparkling water, though her nerves could’ve used something stronger.
They spoke about numbers, proposals, clients — the kind of safe talk that didn’t match the current beneath it. But the longer they sat there, the more impossible it became to ignore the pull between them.
When he leaned in slightly, his voice dropped. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Selena?”
She froze. “No. You just… have a way of getting under people’s skin.”
Something flickered in his eyes — amusement, maybe danger.
“That’s not always a bad thing.”
She looked away, because looking at him was starting to feel like a mistake she wanted to make.
“Tomorrow’s presentation will determine a lot,” he continued, swirling the amber in his glass. “I expect excellence.”
“You’ll have it,” she said softly.
He looked at her then — really looked — and the air between them stilled. His gaze dropped, just for a second, to her mouth.
It was enough to steal her breath.
And then he straightened, cold control sliding back into place.
“Good. Get some rest.”
She blinked, pulse hammering, as he rose and left her sitting there. The faint scent of whiskey and his cologne lingered long after he was gone.
⸻
Back in her room, Selena pressed her palms to the cool surface of the door, trying to steady herself.
He had done nothing wrong. Nothing that crossed a line.
Yet her whole body was trembling like something had happened — like a truth had been spoken without words.
She undressed slowly, standing by the window in silence as the city pulsed below. New York felt alive in a way she wasn’t ready for — dangerous, thrilling, impossible to ignore.
And somewhere down the hall, Dante was probably sitting in his own suite, pretending not to think about her.
Pretending he was still in control.
- Writer
