BEHIND THE DESK

CHAPTER 7 "The dinner invitation"

Ava wasn’t expecting the call. She was halfway through drafting an email when her phone buzzed with Dominic’s name lighting the screen.

“Ms. Reynolds,” his voice was calm as ever, “are you free this evening?”

She blinked. “I—yes, I suppose.”

“Good. I need you at a dinner. Seven o’clock. The Meridian Hotel. Dress appropriately.”

The line went dead before she could ask what appropriately meant.

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By seven sharp, Ava stepped through the glass doors of the hotel lobby, nerves tight in her stomach. Her black dress was simple but elegant, paired with a jacket that made her feel professional, not exposed. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling she didn’t belong here.

Dominic was already waiting by the restaurant entrance. No tie tonight, his charcoal suit unbuttoned at the collar. He looked less like her boss and more like the man from the elevator—the one who almost kissed her.

“Ms. Reynolds,” he greeted, offering a brief nod. His eyes swept over her dress, lingering just long enough to make her flush. “You’ll do.”

She bit back a retort, following him inside.

The dinner was with investors—three suited men and one sharp-eyed woman, all older, all watching Dominic like he held the keys to their fortunes. Ava sat beside him, her notepad ready, slipping into her role as silent support.

She was good at this—anticipating his needs before he voiced them, catching details, smoothing edges with quiet precision. But tonight, Dominic wasn’t his usual iron self. He was… softer. He laughed once—actually laughed—at something one of the men said. When he leaned close to explain a figure to Ava, his shoulder brushed hers, and he didn’t move away.

The investors noticed. So did she.

When the dinner finally ended, Dominic offered his arm as they stepped into the cool night. “Thank you. You were flawless.”

She smiled despite the knot in her stomach. “You didn’t really give me a choice.”

His mouth curved faintly. “True.”

They stopped under the hotel’s glowing awning. The city stretched beyond, alive with lights and rain-slick streets. Dominic turned toward her, his expression unreadable, his gaze heavy.

“You handled yourself well,” he said again, softer this time.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

For a heartbeat, the world shrank to just them. The sounds of traffic blurred, the air thickened. His eyes dropped to her lips. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

And then, before she could think better of it, his hand lifted—hesitant, almost questioning—and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

Ava froze. Heat spread from where his fingers lingered near her cheek.

“Dominic,” she breathed, breaking protocol for the first time.

Something cracked in his composure. The mask slipped, and the man underneath—the one who had been pacing in the storm, the one who almost kissed her in the elevator—looked back at her.

The distance between them closed in an instant. His lips pressed to hers, tentative at first, then firm, decisive, as though he’d been holding back for far too long.

Ava’s notepad slipped from her grasp, forgotten. Her hand found his lapel, anchoring herself against the tidal wave of sensation. His mouth was warm, commanding, and yet there was gentleness too, a question in the way he kissed her—as if he was asking if she’d let him go further.

She answered without words, leaning into him, her pulse roaring in her ears.

When they finally broke apart, the night air rushed between them, sharp and real.

“This is a mistake,” Dominic said hoarsely, his forehead resting briefly against hers. “But I don’t care.”

Ava’s chest rose and fell, her voice barely steady. “Neither do I.”

They stood there, suspended in a moment they both knew couldn’t last, the weight of rules and consequences hovering just out of sight.

But for now, none of that mattered.

Because behind the mask, behind the desk, Dominic Hale had finally kissed her.