HER ONLY EXCEPTION

Chapter 16- WE'RE GOING TO PARIS

It had been a week since the incident in Henry's study room where Andrea had teased Henry, leaving him speechless.

And in that week, everything had changed, Henry was never home.

Andrea would wake up to find his coffee mug already washed and sitting in the dish rack. She'd always come downstairs to an empty penthouse just the faint scent of his cologne that showed he'd been there at all.

At night, she'd try to stay awake, telling herself she just wanted to grab some water or check her emails. But really, she was waiting to hear the elevator doors open or hear his footsteps in the hallway, but she always fell asleep before he came home.

At work, it was worse. Henry barely looked at her. And when he did speak to her, his tone was clipped, professional and distant. Like she was some new assistant he barely knew instead of the woman who'd been living in his penthouse for over a week.

"I need the quarterly reports by noon," he'd say, his eyes on his computer screen.

"The investor meeting is at three. Don't be late."

"Reschedule my dinner with the Andersons. I don't have time."

No eye contact, just cold, efficient commands.

Andrea told herself it didn't bother her, but it did. Because she knew why he was acting this way.

Maybe she'd pushed too far with the teasing or probably crossed a line she shouldn't have crossed and now he was pulling back.

Making it clear that whatever had been building between them was over before it even started.

Andrea sat at her desk, staring blankly at her computer screen, her chest tight.

“Should I just apologize?”

“Maybe I should walk into his office and tell him that I'm sorry for…”

“For what exactly? she questioned herself touching him? Or making him want her?”

Andrea shook her head rigorously

“No.”

She wasn't going to apologize.

If Henry wanted to pretend nothing had happened, fine. She could play that game too.

Two could play at this.

Across the glass wall, Henry stared at numbers that refused to stay in focus.

He had orchestrated this week with ruthless precision: 5 a.m. departures, 1 a.m. returns, conversations stripped to commands. Not because he was punishing her.

Because one more second of her perfume in his office, one more glimpse of her crossing her legs under that navy skirt, and he would forget every reason he was supposed to keep his hands to himself.

On the other side of the wall, Henry stared at the financial projections on his laptop screen without actually seeing them.

His mind was somewhere else entirely, on Andrea.

He'd been avoiding her deliberately early mornings, late nights made sure interactions were kept surgical and brief. Not because he was angry. He was never angry at Andrea but because one more second of her perfume in his office, one more glimpse of her crossing her legs under that navy skirt, and he would forget every reason he was supposed to keep his hands to himself.

That morning in the study had nearly undone him, from the way she'd looked up at him, her hand drifting lower, eyes daring him to stop her. He'd wanted to pull her against him, devour her lips desperately and f*ck her so hard that she forgets every other man she'd ever looked at and say his name like it meant something.

But he hadn't touched her, because it was obvious Andrea Collins didn't want to be taken. She wanted to choose and she hadn't chosen him yet.

Henry closed his laptop, leaned back and stared at the ceiling of his office, jaw tight.

He knew what he needed. Distance. Something to reset the dynamic before he did something she wasn't ready for and he already knew exactly what that something was.

It was late afternoon when Henry's door opened.

"Andrea," Henry said. "my office."

His tone was very businesslike.

Andrea stood and followed him inside, closing the door behind her. Henry walked around his desk but didn't sit. He just stood there with a straight face and hands in his pockets

"I have a conference meeting in Paris next week," he said. "We'll be gone for a week."

Andrea blinked. "Paris?"

"Yes."

She kept her expression neutral even as something lit up quietly in her chest. "Okay. When do I need to prepare?”

"Friday. 6 AM flight." Henry's eyes finally met hers, "Pack for business meetings and at least two formal dinners, the hotel details will be sent to you by the end of the day."

Andrea's mind was spinning.

PARIS!

She'd always dreamed of going to Paris-saved pictures on her phone of the Eiffel Tower, the cafés, the Seine. It was one of those places she'd always planned to visit someday when she had enough money.

And now she was going there with Henry.

For a week.

“Andrea…”

She hadn't realized she'd gone quiet “Sorry, yes Friday. I'll start packing”

Henry watched her for a moment, something unreadable moving behind his eyes. "Are you alright with this?”

She straightened. "Of course, It's work right?"

"Right." Henry repeated "Work."

For a moment, neither of them moved, then Henry turned back to his desk, "That's all. You can go."

Andrea hesitated, her hand on the door handle. “I should say something, probably ask him why he'd been so distant, apologize for the study or demand to know what was…”

But Henry’s voice interrupted her thoughts "...and Andrea."

She turned.

Henry was looking at her, really looking now the way he did when he forgot to keep his expression controlled. It only lasted a second but it was enough to make her breath catch.

"Pack something nice," he said quietly. "Paris is beautiful. You should see it properly."

Andrea held his gaze for one moment too long. "Okay," she said.

Then she left before she would do something stupid, like ask him whether he was talking about the city or about her.

Andrea lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling.

She was really going to Paris for a week.

Just her and Henry. Away from everything. She wasn't nervous or worried about what it meant, how she was supposed to act. This was how people who worked for Henry Moore lived. It was nothing personal

But as Andrea finally drifted off to sleep, all she felt was a flutter of excitement in her chest.

Henry came home just after midnight.

The penthouse was dark except for the city light bleeding through the windows.

He set his briefcase down quietly and loosened his tie, exhaustion pulling at him.

But instead of going straight to his room, Henry found himself walking down the hallway.

Until he stopped in front of Andrea's door, a sliver of light showed underneath, she'd fallen asleep with the lamp on again.

Henry stood there for a long moment, his hand hovering over the door handle.

“Should I knock, wake her up so we could finally have the conversation we've been avoiding the whole week”

He could tell her the truth, that he wasn't angry with her. That he'd been avoiding her because he was terrified of what he wanted to do.

Henry's hand dropped to his side.

Not yet. Paris might be different.

He turned and walked to his room, his mind already on the week ahead.

On what might happen when they were alone together, far from Chicago and far from work.