COFFEE, CLUSHES, AND CLOSE CALL
847 Words
Elara’s POV
If Jaxon Wolfe wanted a quiet little secretary who brought coffee and shut up, he should’ve picked someone else.
Elara placed his triple espresso on his desk at exactly 7:45 a.m., without knocking — just like he liked it. The aroma filled the room, but he didn’t look up from his laptop.
Typical.
“Your schedule’s color-coded, synced, and smart-linked to every device you own,” she said calmly, setting the updated itinerary beside the cup. “Unless, of course, you still prefer chaos as your personal assistant.”
He didn’t even blink. “You talk a lot for someone whose title ends in ‘secretary.’”
She gave him a tight smile. “And you assume a lot for someone whose charm has yet to make an appearance.”
This time, he looked up.
Their eyes locked. Cold thunder met simmering fire.
One of them had to blink first.
A beat passed. Two.
“You free tonight?” he asked suddenly.
Her heart paused. “Define free.”
“Marketing’s behind on the Tokyo rollout. I need someone competent at the office.”
Ah. There it was.
“Wow,” she said, folding her arms. “Was that an invitation or a threat?”
“Take it how you want.”
“I always do.”
---
By 8:17 p.m., the office was empty — except for the two of them.
Elara sat across from him in the war room, papers spread out like a battlefield. Her heels were off, curls slightly frizzy from the long day, blazer draped over the back of her chair.
Jaxon was pacing now, phone to his ear, sleeves rolled up, tie undone. The picture of controlled frustration.
“No, I don’t care if the ad agency’s in Milan,” he snapped into the phone. “We gave them the assets two weeks ago. Fix it.”
He hung up and raked a hand through his hair.
“You know,” Elara said, not even looking up from her notes, “your people would work faster if you didn’t scare the hell out of them.”
“They’re not paid to be comfortable. They’re paid to deliver.”
She smirked. “And you wonder why they leave faster than interns at a finance frat party.”
He looked at her like she’d spoken Greek. “Is that... an actual analogy?”
“Welcome to my world.”
---
Just as she reached for the last mock-up print, the lights flickered.
Then everything went black.
She froze.
“…Jaxon?”
“Backup generator will kick in—” he started, but the emergency lights didn’t flicker on.
“…Any time now,” she said, standing slowly. “Tell me this building doesn’t run on Wi-Fi and vibes.”
“Stay there,” he muttered.
But she took one step — and bumped directly into him.
His hands caught her arms instinctively.
They were close. Too close.
She could feel his breath. His heat. His hesitation.
“You okay?” he asked, voice surprisingly low.
“I don’t break,” she whispered.
He didn’t let go. Not immediately.
And for a moment… just a second…
It felt like neither of them wanted to.
Elara didn’t move.
Neither did he.
The soft hum of dead silence wrapped around them like static — the kind that lives in the air before lightning hits.
Her chest rose slowly, deliberately, brushing just barely against his. And Jaxon, for once, didn’t pull away.
He wasn’t touching her like a boss steadying his employee.
He was touching her like a man who forgot where the line was.
“Do you always stand this close to your staff during emergencies?” she asked, voice breathy but laced with challenge.
“Only when they’re reckless enough to walk in the dark.”
She tilted her head slightly, lips inches from his jaw. “Maybe I like danger.”
His fingers tightened slightly on her arms.
“Elara…”
The way he said her name made her stomach flip. Not a warning. Not a threat. Something else. Something dangerous.
“I’m not scared of you,” she whispered.
“You should be.”
Their breath mingled in the dark, hearts pounding in time with the tension crackling between them.
And for a second — one, long, suspended second — it felt like gravity had shifted. Like the universe was daring them to close the distance.
But Elara had played with fire before.
And she wasn’t about to be the first one to burn.
So she pulled back, just enough to break the spell.
“Good,” she murmured. “I prefer to play on hard mode anyway.”
The lights snapped back on.
Too bright. Too fast.
They blinked at each other, both too composed and too shaken to speak.
Jaxon stepped away first, hands in his pockets, face unreadable.
Elara turned and calmly slipped her heels back on like her knees weren’t still jelly.
No words. No apologies.
Just a shared secret — glowing like an ember under glass.
- Writer
