Chapter 31
848 Words
The first time, she thought it was a fluke.
Damian showing up at the tiny café down the street just as she walked out with her coffee? Fine. Maybe they shared taste in espresso and bad timing.
But the second time, on the rooftop of the office, when she’d gone up there just to be alone—he said he needed air too. He said it like a joke. But he didn’t laugh. He looked at her like she was the reason the sky existed.
Now it was getting ridiculous.
She was in the conference room late again. Just her, the soft hum of the overhead lights, and the quiet scratch of her pen across a final report.
Then she felt it. That… pull.
She didn’t have to look up to know.
He was watching her from the other side of the glass.
She kept writing, jaw tight. The door opened without a knock.
“You’re still here,” he said, voice lower than usual.
“I could say the same.”
“I left hours ago,” he said, stepping in. “Then I changed my mind.”
She finally looked up. No suit jacket. Sleeves rolled. Top button undone.
Why did he have to look like that?
“You really should get a hobby,” she said, placing the pen down.
“I’m considering one,” he said. “Something that keeps my attention.”
He moved closer. She backed into the table behind her. He didn’t touch her, but he didn’t stop walking either. His presence wrapped around her like smoke—warm, slow, intoxicating.
“Is this supposed to intimidate me?” she asked, even though her voice came out quieter than she wanted.
“No,” he said. “I think it’s supposed to excite you.”
Her laugh was soft, almost disbelieving.
“You’re impossible.”
He leaned in slightly. Just enough that his hand brushed the table beside her. His breath kissed her cheek before he spoke.
“I don’t like games I can’t win.”
“Then stop playing,” she said.
He tilted his head, eyes locked on her mouth for a second too long. Then he straightened, like he’d caught himself right before doing something stupid. Or something unforgettable.
“Goodnight, Miss Blackwell.”
His voice wrapped around her like velvet. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Not until he was gone.
Only then did she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
And only then did she admit, silently, that she might be in trouble.
---
The trouble only deepened the next day.
He started showing up everywhere. Elevators. Hallways. Meetings he previously didn’t bother attending.
She caught him staring during a budget review. Not casually. Not politely. It was the kind of stare that made heat crawl up her neck and settle in her stomach.
At first, she ignored it. Then she started playing along. A glance here. A raised brow there. Nothing obvious. Nothing anyone could call flirting.
But they both knew what it was.
By Friday, she needed space. Air. Sanity.
So she skipped the executive lounge and took her lunch to the back terrace. A quiet corner behind the building most people forgot existed.
But of course, he found her.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked over and sat beside her like it was normal. Like they did this every Friday.
She didn’t move away.
“Is this your secret hiding spot?” he asked, setting his coffee on the stone bench.
“It was.”
He smiled, unapologetic.
They sat in silence for a while. Long enough that the sounds of the city softened around them. Long enough that she forgot to be on guard.
“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” he said quietly.
She glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.
“That’s not a compliment,” she said. “It’s an observation.”
“It’s both.”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, watching her the way someone watches a spark catch fire.
“You pretend you don’t care, but I think you care too much.”
“And I think you should mind your own business.”
He laughed softly. “You’re starting to sound like you want me to stop.”
Rhea stood up then, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.
“If you’re going to follow me everywhere, at least learn to be useful.”
“I can be very useful,” he said, standing too. “You just haven’t asked yet.”
She gave him a look, part challenge, part warning. “Careful, Mr. Cole. You keep playing with fire, you’re going to get burned.”
He stepped in, close enough to feel.
“Maybe I want to.”
She stared at him, at the heat in his eyes, at the quiet tension building between them like a storm about to break.
Then she walked away.
And this time, he let her go.
But neither of them pretended it was over.
- Writer
