Chapter Fifteen: Cracks In The Armor
540 Words
Chapter Fifteen: Cracks in the Armor
Katherine
By Wednesday morning, the office had settled into its usual rhythm — phones ringing, printers humming, the faint buzz of conversation spilling from meeting rooms.
But for me, every sound felt sharper, every glance heavier.
Andrew had barely spoken to me since Monday.
Our exchanges were brief, clipped, strictly business.
And yet, somehow, I felt him everywhere — in the scent of his cologne lingering near the elevator, in the quiet hum of his voice during meetings, in the way his gaze brushed mine for a second too long before looking away.
“Miss Sandra?”
I turned, startled. One of the assistant managers stood at my desk, holding a folder.
“Mr. Austin asked for you in the boardroom.”
Of course he did.
When I stepped inside, he was already at the head of the long glass table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a projector humming behind him.
“We have a new account,” he said, without preamble. “A luxury design firm in Milan wants a partnership proposal by Friday. I want you to lead the presentation draft.”
I blinked. “Me?”
He nodded. “You’ve got an eye for tone. And they’ll respond better to authenticity than corporate polish.”
It was the first compliment he’d given me in weeks — and somehow, it hurt.
I swallowed. “Understood, sir.”
He caught the hesitation in my voice, the weight of that sir, and something flickered across his expression. But then he straightened, emotion gone.
“Work with Patrick in marketing,” he said. “I’ll review your draft tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mr. Austin.”
Our eyes met.
For a second, the world shrank to just us — the hum of the projector, the soft glow of the city beyond the windows, the faint tension that neither of us could name aloud.
Then I turned and walked out, feeling his gaze follow me the whole way down the hall.
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Andrew
He’d done the right thing.
Delegation. Distance. Discipline.
And yet, watching her leave that room, he felt the familiar pull — the quiet ache that came every time she was near but out of reach.
He turned back to the table and forced himself to focus on the presentation notes.
It was supposed to be business.
Just business.
But when he looked at her draft later that evening, his resolve started to crumble.
The opening paragraph wasn’t just good — it was hers.
Honest, thoughtful, unpretentious. She’d written about “design as emotion — the luxury of being seen,” and somehow, every word felt like a mirror held up to him.
He read it three times before setting the paper down.
Maybe the cracks weren’t in her professionalism.
Maybe they were in his armor.
---
Katherine
I worked late that night, staring at the city lights outside my office window.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his expression — calm, unreadable, but somehow still full of things unsaid.
And even though I knew better, even though I told myself it was just work, my heart whispered the truth I didn’t want to hear.
You still care.
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(End of Chapter Fifteen)
- Writer
