Distraction
628 Words
The coffee spill happened fast.
An intern, pale with fear, collided with Adrian’s assistant tray.
Coffee splashed across the CEO’s crisp white shirt.
The entire floor froze.
The intern stammered, “I—sir—I’m so sorry—”
Adrian Vale didn’t raise his voice.
Didn’t even look angry.
He removed his suit jacket with slow precision.
“Miss Santori,” he said calmly, “top drawer. Spare shirt.”
Velvet moved toward the built-in cabinet behind his desk.
Of course he kept spare clothes here.
Men like him prepared for disasters.
She turned back—
and he was already unbuttoning his shirt.
Not seductive.
Not dramatic.
Just practical.
But Velvet’s body didn’t care about practicality.
The sight struck like heat:
Broad shoulders. Defined lines. Controlled strength.
He wasn’t bulky. He was precise—like a weapon dressed in skin.
Velvet kept her gaze on the folded shirt in her hands. Professional. Controlled.
She stepped closer.
Their fingers brushed.
A spark snapped up her arm.
Adrian’s eyes lifted to hers instantly.
His voice dropped slightly. “Is something wrong, Miss Santori?”
“No.”
Too fast.
Adrian’s gaze held hers in a way that felt like pressure.
Not vulgar.
Not kind.
Aware.
Velvet swallowed.
He took the shirt slowly, fingertips grazing her knuckles.
Then—briefly—his hand steadied her wrist.
Not a grip. Not force.
Just enough contact to stop her motion.
Velvet’s pulse jumped under his fingers like it had a mind of its own.
Adrian’s eyes flicked to her wrist.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
A moment passed where neither of them moved.
Then Adrian released her and turned away to button the clean shirt.
Calm. Controlled.
As if he hadn’t just set her nerves on fire.
Velvet looked away, furious at herself.
Because she could admit it privately:
He looked… unfair.
And worst of all?
He knew it.
A knock came at the door.
A man stepped in—tall, polished, smiling like trouble in an expensive suit.
“Vale,” he said, amused. “Changing mid-day? How dramatic.”
Adrian’s expression didn’t soften. “Thomas.”
Velvet turned slightly.
Thomas Kincaid—the billionaire best friend, the kind of man who looked like he belonged in glossy magazines and private clubs.
Thomas’s gaze slid to Velvet. Friendly. Sharp. Curious.
“And who is this?” he asked lightly.
“Assistant,” Adrian said.
Thomas’s smile widened. “New assistant. Brave woman.”
Velvet met his gaze calmly. “Intelligent woman.”
Thomas laughed. “Oh, I like her.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed slightly—so subtle Velvet almost missed it.
Not anger.
Possession.
Thomas leaned closer to Velvet with easy charm. “Kincaid. Pleasure.”
Velvet shook his hand once. “Santori.”
Thomas’s gaze flicked over her—appraising, not lewd. “You don’t look like someone who stays in other people’s shadows.”
Velvet didn’t answer.
Adrian did.
“She doesn’t.”
The quiet certainty in his voice made Velvet’s stomach tighten.
Thomas noticed too, grin sharpening like he’d just discovered entertainment.
“Right,” Thomas said smoothly. “Well, I’ll leave you both. Vale—Crowe’s having drinks Friday. Fashion crowd. Investors. The usual circus.”
Adrian’s eyes remained on Velvet as he replied, “Not interested.”
Thomas chuckled. “You will be.”
He left.
And the air in the office shifted again.
Velvet exhaled slowly.
Adrian buttoned the final button of his clean shirt, then looked at her like she was still a problem he couldn’t solve.
“You’ll stay late tonight,” he said, voice calm.
Velvet lifted her chin. “For work.”
“Of course,” Adrian replied.
But his eyes said something else:
And because I want you here.
- Writer
