Thin Lines
699 Words
Selena:
Monday came too fast.
I stood in front of my mirror at 6AM in the only decent dress I owned — black, fitted, just above the knee. Professional enough. I told myself the way it hugged my figure was irrelevant.
I was going to work. Not to impress anyone.
Definitely not him.
Croft Tower was already buzzing when I arrived at 7:58AM. His outgoing assistant handed me a thick folder at the elevator with the look of a soldier passing a weapon to someone walking into a warzone.
"His coffee is black. No sugar. He has three calls before 9AM and he hates being interrupted." She grabbed my arm before I could walk away. "And whatever you do —"
The office door opened.
Damien Croft filled the doorway like the room had been built around him. Dark suit. White shirt with the top button undone. Eyes that swept over me once — just once — before moving to the folder in my hands.
"Throw it away." His voice did something to the air. Flattened it.
I looked at the folder then back at him. "Why?"
"Because I don't need someone who follows instructions. I need someone who thinks." He turned back inside. "Close the door behind you."
I threw the folder in the trash and followed him in.
By noon I had answered forty emails, rescheduled two meetings and learned that Damien Croft operated at a frequency that made ordinary people look like they were moving in slow motion.
I was placing a contract on his desk at 1PM when I reached across to move something and his hand closed around my wrist.
Not rough. Not gentle. Just — certain. Like he had every right.
I froze.
His eyes lifted from the document slowly.
"You're in my light." he said quietly.
There was no light behind me. None I was blocking anyway.
I looked down at him. He looked up at me. Neither of us moved for three full seconds that felt like so much longer.
I pulled my wrist back. He let go — but not immediately. His fingers dragged slowly across my pulse point as they released me and I was absolutely certain he felt my heartbeat spike.
The ghost of a smile crossed his face.
I hated him for it.
Damien
I didn't know why I told her to stay for lunch.
I always ate alone. That was the rule. But watching her move around my office all morning had done something to my concentration I wasn't prepared to examine.
She sat across from me eating like she was trying to take up as little space as possible. Eyes down. Deliberately not looking at me.
I leaned forward. Close enough that I watched her breath catch slightly.
"You're not afraid of me." I said. Not a question.
She held my gaze. "Should I be?"
I let the silence stretch. Most people cracked — started talking, apologizing, filling the space with noise.
She didn't.
"Yes." I said quietly. "You should be."
Her chin lifted. That small defiant movement that had been driving me insane since Friday.
"Noted." she said.
And went back to eating like I hadn't just warned her.
It was 9PM when I told her to go home.
Thirteen hours without a single complaint. Heels off under the desk since hour ten. Hair loose from whatever she'd pinned it into that morning. A pen tucked behind her ear she didn't know was there.
She looked exhausted.
She also looked like something I had absolutely no business thinking about.
I heard her gather her things. The soft sound of heels sliding back on. Then silence.
I looked up.
She stood in the doorway. The city glittered behind the glass walls and the low office light caught the angles of her face in a way that made something in my jaw tighten.
"You should go home too." she said softly. "Even devils need sleep."
She was gone before I could respond.
I stared at the empty doorway for a long moment.
Even devils need sleep.
For the first time in years the words on my screen blurred and I couldn't concentrate on a single one.
- Writer
