Chapter 14
1563 Words
Liora
Bob arrived with the first-aid kit as promised, setting it on the coffee table with a soft, “Young Master will take care of it.” The way he said it made my cheeks burn. Ezra didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened as he knelt down in front of me again.
Kneeling. In front of me.
I still wasn’t used to the sight. I wasn’t sure I ever would be.
“I can do it myself,” I murmured.
He didn’t even look up. “You can. But you won’t.”
And with that, the matter was settled.
His touch was surprisingly gentle as he cleaned the broken skin along the back of my heel. Every time he brushed too close to a tender spot, my breath caught, and I hated that he noticed each reaction. Hated even more that he slowed down because of it.
“You need lower heels,” he said quietly.
“I’m supposed to look professional.”
He snapped the lid of the ointment shut. “You can look professional without letting your shoes maim you.”
“I wasn’t maimed,” I said, but even I didn’t buy it.
He finally lifted his gaze, and my stomach did that embarrassing swooping thing again.
“You walked the entire day without saying a word,” he said. “That is not something to be proud of, Liora.”
“I didn’t want to complain.”
“You should have.”
His voice was so controlled, so restrained, that for a moment I thought he was angry. But then he let out a breath and sat back on his heels.
“It is my job to pay attention,” he said quietly. “And today, I did not.”
My heart thudded heavily, painfully. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. I wanted to tell him he had a thousand things on his plate, a million responsibilities far more important than my feet.
But the words wouldn’t come. Something about the way he said it the sincerity, the softness wrapped around me like a warm blanket. It weakened me.
Bob cleared his throat politely. “Dinner is almost ready, Young Master.”
Ezra stood, but his eyes remained on me for a moment longer, unreadable and intense. Then he nodded toward the hallway.
“Come. Lisa will want to fuss.”
He wasn’t wrong.
The moment we stepped into the dining area, Lisa practically flew toward me, hands already gesturing dramatically.
“My dear child, what happened?” she gasped, looking from my bare feet to my flushed face. “You poor thing! Why did none of us notice? Ezra, honestly!”
I tried to protest, “It’s nothing, really—”
But she shushed me immediately. “Nonsense. Come sit, put your feet up on this cushion.”
“I really don’t—”
“No arguing,” she said firmly, already guiding me to a chair like a mother hen.
Ezra had the audacity to look amused.
Lisa turned her glare to him. “You should have been more attentive. She is new, overwhelmed, probably trying not to get fired on her first week, and you let her walk herself into misery.”
Ezra, the man who made senior partners tremble, actually lowered his eyes. “You are right.”
I nearly choked on my own breath.
Lisa’s hands landed on her hips. “Right? That is all? You better show it, young man.”
Ezra’s voice softened in surrender. “I will.”
I blinked. Once. Twice.
Was I in an alternate universe? Because Ezra being lectured like a schoolboy was something I never expected to witness.
Lisa turned back to me, grabbing a pair of house slippers from a shelf. “Here. Wear these after your meal. They’re soft, warm, and won’t torture your feet like those ridiculous shoes.”
“They’re not ridiculous,” I said halfheartedly.
“They are,” Lisa insisted. “Only someone with no empathy would buy them.”
Ezra raised a brow. “I did not buy her shoes.”
“Then only someone with no empathy would let her wear them for ten hours.”
Ezra actually laughed, low and warm.
I stared down at the table, praying the floor would open up and swallow me. Everything felt too intimate, too warm, too domestic. I shouldn’t have been here, sitting in his home, being fed and fussed over like I belonged.
Dinner arrived, fragrant and steaming, and before Lisa could scold him further, Ezra rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Lisa called.
“To cook.”
Lisa threw me a victorious look. “See? He knows he messed up.”
“I didn’t expect him to cook,” I whispered.
Lisa grinned. “He only cooks for people he feels responsible for. Or people he cares about.”
My brain short-circuited. “Responsible for,” I corrected quickly. “That must be what you meant.”
“Mm-hmm,” Lisa replied in a tone that very much suggested otherwise.
Thankfully, Ezra returned with bowls before I could combust.
We ended up eating together at the long dining table Ezra at the head, me on his right, Lisa on his left. It should have felt awkward, but somehow it didn’t. Lisa chatted happily, telling outrageous stories about Ezra when he was younger, and I laughed more times than I could count.
Even Ezra seemed more relaxed than usual, his shoulders loose, his expressions softer. Every so often, his gaze would flick to me, checking if I was comfortable, if my feet still hurt, if I was eating enough.
If I was okay.
I tried not to read into it, but my heart well, my heart had its own ideas.
When the meal ended, Lisa offered dessert, but Ezra refused on my behalf.
“She needs to rest, not fall into a sugar coma,” he said.
“Ezra,” Lisa scolded. “She is a grown woman.”
“Yes,” he said, unbothered, “but she is exhausted.”
My cheeks flamed again. “I’m fine. Really.”
“You are limping.”
“No, I’m—”
He gave me a look so pointed that my words dried up.
Fine. Maybe I was limping a little.
Lisa pressed the slippers into my hands. “Take these with you. And throw those awful shoes away.”
“I can’t just throw away my shoes.”
“Yes, you can,” she declared. “And you should.”
Ezra helped me up, slow and careful, as if he feared I might topple over like a newborn deer. I hated that it felt nice. I hated that I didn’t want him to let go.
But eventually, he did.
He walked me out of the apartment, Lisa waving dramatically from the background as if seeing a daughter off to college.
The moment the elevator doors closed, the silence shifted. It wasn’t tense. Just different. A softer kind of quiet.
He glanced at me. “How are your feet now?”
“Sore,” I admitted. “But better.”
“Good.”
We stepped outside the building where his car waited, sleek and intimidating under the streetlights. He opened the door for me.
“You don’t need to drive me,” I said. “Gina will kill me if I keep arriving home in your car.”
“That is a risk I am willing to take.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Then it was not a joke.”
I glared at him, but it only made him smile faintly.
During the drive, he asked about my day really asked. He wanted to know what meetings overwhelmed me, which directors were intimidating, which legal cases confused me, which tasks might be too much for one person.
He listened. Fully. Not distracted. Not detached.
Just Ezra, unguarded.
And it made something dangerous bloom in my chest.
“I am sorry again,” he said quietly. “I should have paid more attention.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I’m your assistant. I handle things.”
“Not if it injures you.”
I swallowed hard. “I’ll get used to it. I can handle challenges. I always have.”
His lips twitched. “I know. But you do not have to handle them alone.”
I had no answer to that.
When we reached Gina’s place, I unbuckled quickly before I could do something stupid like fall for him completely.
“Thank you,” I said. “For dinner. For everything.”
“Of course.”
“And I should probably stop riding in your car so often,” I added, forcing a laugh. “We are, you know, boss and assistant. Boundaries and all.”
His expression changed just slightly. A flicker of something unreadable. Something heavy.
“Yes,” he said finally. “Boundaries.”
I stepped out before I could take it back.
“Goodnight, Liora.”
“Goodnight.”
I closed the door and walked toward the building without looking back.
Only when I was inside and the car finally drove away did I let myself exhale, really exhale.
My feet throbbed.
But my heart, oh, my heart was in far worse shape.
- Writer
