chapter 2
2042 Words
Praize's POV:
The door shut behind her with a soft click, but it might as well have been a gunshot.
Praize stood frozen in the corridor outside Xavier Thorns’ office, staring at nothing, heart punching against her ribs like it wanted out. The conversation echoed in her mind in loops she couldn’t quiet.
”You weren’t a mistake.”
Why had he said that?
Why had he ’needed’ to?
Her heels carried her numbly back to her department, past bustling assistants and clusters of junior analysts who all smiled at her like she had it together—like she wasn’t crumbling inside from the sheer weight of what if‘.
She stepped into her office, shut the door, and finally exhaled.
Only then did she let her body fold forward, elbows on her desk, fingers digging into her temples.
One night. One stupid, wild, perfect night.
She’d let herself believe it would disappear with sunrise. That anonymity protected them both.
But now?
He was the CEO.
And she was… just one very inconvenient complication.
Her inbox pinged. She ignored it. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus on quarterly reports or data models when the memory of his voice was still brushing down her spine.
The way he looked at her in the boardroom—detached, poised, but with the tiniest flicker in his gaze, like he hadn’t just forgotten. Like he’d replayed that night, too.
She hated that her body remembered the same things.
The firmness of his grip on her waist. The way his lips had moved lower with reverence, not rush. The way he had studied her face while inside her, like every gasp she gave was proof of something unspoken between them.
God.
Praize sat back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. This couldn’t happen again. She *wouldn’t* let it. She was here to work. To prove herself. She wasn’t going to fall into the cliché of the woman who lost her mind over the boss.
Even if the boss had already had his hands on her like she was gravity and he was falling.
—
The week passed in a tightrope walk of avoidance.Praize buried herself in numbers, presentations, and back-to-back project meetings. If Xavier passed her in the hallway, she nodded—nothing more. If their eyes met across the table, hers didn’t linger. She made herself small, controlled, untouchable.
Until Friday.
Late afternoon. Most of the office had cleared out early for some charity gala Xavier was attending.
She stayed behind. Work was her escape now.
She was halfway through editing a marketing forecast when a soft knock interrupted her thoughts. She looked up, expecting her assistant.
It wasn’t.
Xavier stood in her doorway.
Black shirt. Sleeves rolled. Jacket off. Again.
She straightened immediately. “Mr. Thorns.”
He stepped inside, casually ignoring the title. “You didn’t attend the gala.”
“I had reports due.”
He tilted his head. “You don’t strike me as someone who hides from rooms.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t. I just don’t chase ones that come with flashbulbs and fake air kisses.”
He smirked faintly. “You always speak your mind?”
“When it matters.”
A pause stretched between them, thick and charged.
His gaze drifted over her, not in a predatory way—but with intent. With memory. And it infuriated her how much her body responded, even now.
“What do you want, Xavier?” she asked quietly, no strength left for games.
He stepped closer. Just once.
“I’ve respected your space all week,” he said. “I haven’t touched the subject, or you. But we need to be clear about something.”
Her heart stalled. “Which is?”
“That night,” he said, “wasn’t just physical.”
Praize blinked. “You don’t get to say that.”
“It wasn’t just for me.”
“You don’t know what it was for me,” she snapped.
“I know how you looked at me in the dark,” he said, voice low now, close. “I know how you stopped breathing when I kissed your shoulder. You weren’t pretending.”
Neither was he.
And that was the problem.
She backed away. Just one step. “This is a workplace.”
“I’m very aware.”
“We can’t blur this.”
“I’m not asking for anything inappropriate.”
“Then why are you here?” she demanded. “To remind me what I already can’t forget?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at her—studied her.
And in that silence, she realized something far more dangerous:
She wasn’t the only one panicking.
He was just better at hiding it.
The tension cracked first in her chest. Then in her voice.
“I need to keep this job, Xavier. I need you to not make this harder than it already is.”
“I’m not trying to,” he said softly. “But I won’t pretend nothing happened between us. And I won’t let you either.”
Praize crossed her arms. “So what? You want to what—sneak around? See where it goes? Hope HR never finds out?”
“I want to understand what it is before either of us shuts it down out of fear.”
Her laugh was dry. “Fear isn’t the problem. Reality is.”
Another silence.
Then, finally, he nodded. “All right. For now—professional. Clean lines. You’ll report to your director, not to me.”
Praize blinked. “You’d restructure for me?”
He shrugged. “For both of us.”
Her throat tightened. She wasn’t prepared for his restraint. His calm.
Or how badly she wanted to kiss him for it.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she nodded. “Thank you.”
He moved to leave. Hand on the door. Then paused.
“I meant what I said, you know,” he added without turning. “You weren’t a mistake. And I don’t regret a second.”
The door closed behind him before she could say anything.
Praize stared at it long after he was gone.
And this time… she wasn’t panicking.
She was just scared of how much she didn’t want to let it go.
She didn’t sleep that night.
Not because of guilt.
Because of want.
It simmered beneath her skin, crawling through her bones like heat she couldn’t sweat out. She replayed his words over and over—”You weren’t a mistake”—and cursed the part of her that wanted to believe it meant something more than temporary restraint.
Because Xavier Thorns had been clear: he would wait. But he wouldn’t forget.
And neither would she.
Praize stood in front of her bathroom mirror at 2:13 a.m., toothbrush forgotten in hand, staring at her reflection like it held answers. It didn’t. It just looked back at her—same brown eyes, same sharp cheekbones, same woman who thought she could control everything.
She snorted bitterly.
She wasn’t in control now. Not of the way he occupied her thoughts. Not of the way her body remembered his hands. And definitely not of the part of her that ached whenever he looked at her like he already knew what she tasted like beneath every layer of her clothes.
When she finally climbed into bed, she didn’t pull the covers all the way up.
She didn’t deserve comfort when her entire body was humming for something it couldn’t have.
---
Monday came too fast.
Praize arrived early, hoping the silence would keep her focused.
It didn’t.
She caught glimpses of Xavier in the hallway. In passing meetings. Always composed. Always aware. He never said anything out of place. Never lingered longer than he should. But his eyes said enough.
There was a storm behind them. Leashed. Controlled. Barely.
By Wednesday, the air between them was thin every time they crossed paths.
By Thursday, she’d started holding her breath around him.
And on Friday afternoon, it snapped.
It wasn’t a grand moment. No private office. No accidental touch.
Just a shared elevator ride.
The doors slid closed, sealing them inside alone. Her pulse reacted before her mind could catch up.
“Ms. Williams,” he greeted calmly, hands clasped behind his back.
“Mr. Thorns,” she replied, eyes forward.
The elevator descended one floor. Two.
Then he spoke.
“I haven’t said anything because I promised not to.”
“I appreciate that,” she replied stiffly.
Three floors.
“But I think you should know something.”
She turned her head. Just slightly. Just enough to meet his eyes.
“What?”
His voice was low. Steady. Intentional.
“I’ve thought about that night every d*mn day.”
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened.
He walked out.
She didn’t move for a full five seconds.
Because her knees had forgotten how to work.
Praize didn’t move.
Not when the elevator doors stood wide open. Not when two interns walked past without a second glance. Not even when her floor number blinked patiently, waiting.
She couldn’t move.
His voice lingered in the air like static—low, raw, maddeningly calm.
“I’ve thought about that night every d*mn day.”
Five words. Spoken like fact. Nothing rushed, nothing desperate.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Because she had too.
Not in a romanticized, reckless way—but in flashes. Heat. Friction. The way he’d cupped her jaw like she might break apart if he let go. The way he’d made her forget her rules and love her name on his tongue.
It had been one night.
But now it lived in every corner of her restraint.
The elevator doors finally began to close again. She caught them just in time, stepped out like her knees hadn’t gone weak thirty seconds ago, and walked toward the glass hallway that overlooked the city skyline.
She found herself in the break room. Empty. Quiet. Too quiet.
She leaned against the counter, gripping the edge.
This couldn’t keep happening.
Xavier wasn’t doing anything wrong—not by protocol. But he was unraveling her. Slowly. Deliberately. And the worst part was—he didn’t have to do more. All it took was a sentence. A look. The way his voice dropped when no one else was around.
She didn’t want him to stop.
She just wanted herself to stop *wanting*.
She was still standing there, eyes unfocused, when a voice interrupted the silence.
“Coffee machine’s broken again.”
Praize jumped. Too hard.
It was Jasmine from Legal, holding a travel mug and a raised brow.
“You good?” she asked.
Praize managed a tight smile. “Yeah. Just… zoning out.”
“Mmm,” Jasmine said, clearly not convinced. “Well, heads up. Xavier’s on his way back up. You might want to beat the hall traffic. He’s magnetic in motion.”
Praize’s breath hitched. Jasmine didn’t not notice. She left with a wink and a sip.
Magnetic in motion.
That was the problem, wasn’t it?
He pulled her in without touching her.
She straightened her blouse. Steadied her breath. Walked back to her office like her bones weren’t buzzing with the echo of a man she couldn’t let herself want.
—
It was late when her phone buzzed again.
10:42 PM.
From: Xavier Thorns
“Just signed off the marco proposal. You did excellent work.”
She stared at the message.
Short. Professional. Compliment-heavy. Perfectly safe.
She shouldn’t respond.
But she did.
10:43 PM
“Thank you. I was unsure about the positioning slide. Glad it landed.”
He replied immediately.
10:44 PM
”It did more than land. It hit. So did your composure this week.”
Her fingers hovered. Heart pounding.
She knew what he meant. ‘Your composure’. Not ’your numbers’. Not ‘your charts’.
’You didn’t break. Not once.’
And neither had he.
She didn’t reply after that. Not because she didn’t have words.
Because she had too many.
She placed her phone face down, shut her laptop, and crawled into bed with the silent, burning knowledge that boundaries were already bending.
And Praize wasn’t sure if she was bracing for it…
…or ’waiting’.
- Writer
