Professional Distance
842 Words
Myra's POV
The third late-night session felt heavier than the ones before.
I arrived at David’s study promptly at 9:30 PM, laptop in hand and notes already organized from my afternoon work at the university library. After last night’s emotional storm in my room, I’d forced myself to focus on the data instead of the ache that never seemed to leave me. Professional. Capable. That was the version of myself I needed to show him.
David was at his desk as usual, reviewing a report under the warm glow of the desk lamp. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through it during a long day of meetings. The sleeves of his charcoal shirt were rolled up, revealing strong forearms. He glanced up when I entered, offering a brief nod.
“Myra. Let’s get started.”
No lingering looks. No comments about my scent. Just the same calm, commanding professionalism that both comforted and frustrated me. He treated me exactly as he should: his daughter’s friend and temporary assistant. Nothing more.
We dove into the updated census files for the western territories. I presented my revised marketing strategy for strengthening alliances with smaller packs, highlighting demographic shifts and potential loyalty incentives. My voice stayed steady as I walked him through the spreadsheets.
David listened intently, leaning forward slightly. For the first time, I saw genuine interest spark in his golden-flecked eyes.
“This angle on inter-pack resource sharing,” he said, tapping a section of my report. “It’s sharp. Most analysts focus only on economic numbers. You’ve factored in social dynamics and historical loyalty patterns. Impressive.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest at the praise. I hadn’t expected it. “I cross-referenced last year’s alliance records with current census trends. It seemed like the missing piece.”
He nodded slowly, scanning the rest of my suggestions. “You have a strong analytical mind. Sophia mentioned you were top of your class, but this is better than I anticipated.”
The simple acknowledgment made my pulse quicken. I kept my expression neutral, but inside, his words settled deep. For someone who spent most of her life feeling invisible, especially to him, every bit of recognition felt like a lifeline.
We continued working side by side for nearly two hours. David occasionally leaned over to point out details on my screen or adjust a projection on his. The proximity was maddening. His scent—cedar, smoke, and quiet power—wrapped around me with every movement. I stayed focused on the work, refusing to let my thoughts drift into dangerous territory.
At one point, we both reached for the same tablet at the same time. Our hands brushed—his larger, warmer fingers grazing across the back of mine.
Time seemed to slow.
The contact was brief, barely a second, but it sent a spark racing up my arm and straight through my body. My breath caught. Heat flooded my cheeks and pooled lower, between my thighs. I pulled my hand back quickly, murmuring an apology.
David paused for half a beat, his gaze flicking to my face. His expression remained composed, professional, but something flickered in his eyes: awareness, perhaps. He cleared his throat.
“No need,” he said evenly, returning to the report. “Continue.”
I nodded, forcing my attention back to the screen. But my skin tingled where he’d touched me. My heart raced, and a warm, insistent ache settled deep in my core. I pressed my thighs together under the desk, trying to ignore how sensitive I suddenly felt. The professional mask stayed firmly in place, but inside I was unraveling from one simple brush of his hand.
We wrapped up shortly after midnight. David leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders.
“Solid progress tonight,” he said. “Keep this level of detail going forward. You’re proving to be quite valuable.”
Valuable. The word shouldn’t have affected me so much, but it did. I gathered my things, murmuring a quiet thank you.
As I reached the door, he added, almost as an afterthought, “Get some proper rest, Myra. You’ve earned it.”
I slipped out into the hallway, pulse still elevated from that fleeting touch. The mansion was quiet. No sign of Lila tonight, thankfully. I made my way to my room on steady legs, but once inside, I leaned against the closed door and let out a shaky breath.
One accidental brush of hands, and I was this affected.
I changed into my sleep clothes and climbed into bed, mind replaying the moment on loop. David’s professionalism was both a relief and a torment. He saw my work. He valued my mind. But the distance he maintained reminded me exactly where I stood.
Still, that small spark of awareness in his eyes lingered in my thoughts as I drifted toward sleep.
Tomorrow night, we would do it all over again.
And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending the tension didn’t exist.
- Writer
