Wish

I’m the only one he lets past 6PM. Not his PA. Not his assistant. Me. Ava Lane. 24. Senior Executive Secretary to Damien Cole. CEO. Billionaire. Man who hasn’t smiled in 3 years. 6:03PM. His office. 52nd floor. “These contracts,” he said, without looking up. “Redline them. Tonight.” “Yes, Mr. Cole.” Everyone else left at 5. I stayed. Always. Not because he asked. Because he wouldn’t. Damien finally looked up. Gray eyes. Tired. “You don’t have to stay late, Ava.” “I know,” I said. “I want to.” Lie. I wanted to go home. Sleep. Forget the way his voice did things to my chest. But I stayed. Because when the building got quiet… he talked. To me. Only me. “Your coffee,” he said, sliding a cup across the desk. Black. No sugar. “You remember.” “I remember who stays,” he said. My heart did something stupid. I took the files. Sat at the side table. Where I always sat. Close enough to see his jaw tick when he was stressed. Far enough not to cross a line. 10:47PM. “Go home, Ava.” “In a minute,” I said. “You haven’t eaten.” I set a sandwich on his desk. Turkey. No mayo. I noticed. He stared at it. Then at me. “Why do you do that?” he asked. “Do what?” “Trust me,” he said. “Everyone else wants something. You just… stay.” I should’ve said _because I’m paid to_. Instead I said, “Because you’re the only boss who asks if I’m tired.” He didn’t answer. For 4 seconds, we just looked at each other. Not boss and secretary. Just… two people in an empty office at 10:47PM. Then his phone buzzed. He broke first. “Finish the redlines. Leave them on my desk.” “Yes, Mr. Cole.” I left at 11:02PM. At the elevator, I checked my phone. *Note to Self: Don’t fall in love with the man who only trusts you.* Too late.