Borrowed Skin

Chapter 6:Goodnight

Chapter 6: Goodnight

“Sorry I’m late,” Rebecca said as she slipped into the conference room, her voice low but firm.

Every head turned. The seats were already filled, the air heavy with the murmur of numbers and projections. Kevin Lockwood, at the head of the table, paused mid-sentence. His eyes met hers, steady, unreadable.

Rebecca moved quickly, her black trousers brushing against the chair legs as she made her way to an empty seat near Clara. She felt the weight of the stares, Mark raised brow, Clara’s sideways glance, Jasmine’s barely concealed smirk. Rebecca didn’t flinch. She set her notepad down, clicked her pen, and joined the meeting as if she’d been there from the start.

From the head of the table, Kevin Lockwood lifted his gaze. His expression gave nothing away, though the faintest pause lingered before he spoke.

“Nice of you to join us, Miss Winters.”

The formality of it—Miss Winters—sent an unexpected shiver through her. Professional. Controlled. Like a door he had no intention of leaving open, yet she couldn’t help feeling the pull all the same.

A ripple moved through the room. Colleagues traded glances, some barely hiding smirks, others savoring the rare sight of Rebecca Winters, punctual and precise Rebecca, arriving less than flawless.

Rebecca lowered herself into her seat, evening out the crinkle of her trousers as though the small act could press away the moment. The ambiance, once an even hum of discussion, now seemed to buzz faintly around her, every rustle of paper and cough of breath magnified against her skin.

Only later, as her hand scribbled neat bullet points, did the memory replay in her mind. The car that wouldn’t start, the sputter of the engine refusing her pleas. By the time she slid into her car, the dashboard blinked a cruel red light. She turned the key once, twice, three times. The engine coughed, groaned, and died. “Not today,” she muttered, palms pressed hard against the steering wheel. The street was still damp from last night’s rain, the air heavy with the promise of more.

The frantic wait for a cab as minutes bled away.

Finally, she got a cab and arrived at the office nearly forty minutes late. The glass doors reflected her rushed silhouette back at her, breathless cheeks, the outline of a woman who prided herself on composure but was failing to hold it together. By the time she arrived, her blouse stuck slightly to her skin from the dash across the wet pavement, her carefully constructed morning routine undone in a single stroke.

“Let’s circle back to the client deliverables,” Kevin said, his voice resuming its calm authority. Rebecca straightened, forcing her body into poise, but her pulse hadn’t slowed.

The meeting itself stretched on, but Rebecca struggled to keep her attention from drifting. Kevin’s voice carried through the room, measured, calm, commanding without raising volume. He spoke about strategy, about timelines, about responsibilities, and still she found herself watching the curve of his hand when he gestured, the way his gaze swept the room with precision, always seeming to land on her half a second longer than on anyone else.

By the time it ended, she almost felt relief when colleagues began to shuffle their papers and rise. She stood too, eager to slip out unnoticed, but his voice cut across the quiet.

“Miss Winters, could you please, stay behind for a moment?”

Kevin stood there, close enough that his presence tightened the air between them.

The words sent her pulse skittering. A few eyebrows arched, a couple of sidelong glances flickered her way, but no one lingered. One by one they filed out, leaving only the two of them.

“You seemed… unsettled,” he said, watching her with a steadiness that pressed beneath her skin. “Rushed morning?”

Rebecca exhaled a faint laugh, not quite looking at him. “Something like that. My car refused to cooperate.”

His lips curved slightly, though not quite into a smile. “Machines pick the worst moments to betray us.”

She let out a small, genuine chuckle. “That’s one way to put it.”

A pause stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but charged. Then he spoke again, softer this time.

“Can I drive you home?”

The question lingered in the air, polite yet weighted. He hadn’t phrased it as a command, hadn’t assumed. He asked, as though her answer truly mattered.

Rebecca’s first instinct was to refuse—to draw the line, to keep the distance clear. He was her boss. She knew better. And yet, the thought of saying no left a surprising pang in her chest.

She hesitated, then nodded. To her surprise, her body wanted something else. “All right.”

The city glowed in fragments outside his car window, neon signs, streaks of headlights, the wet sheen of streets. Kevin’s car was immaculate, the faint scent of cedarwood and leather lingering.

The ride was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Streetlights slid past in gold streaks across the windshield. Rebecca pressed her palms against her knees, smoothing invisible folds.

Kevin broke the silence. “So, tell me, where did you study?”

Rebecca turned toward him, surprised by the question. “Boston University. Data Science and Statistics.”

He let out a low whistle. “Explains a lot.”

Her brow arched. “Explains what?”

“The way you work. You strike me as the kind person that likes order. Patterns. Structure. Turning chaos into neat little answers.” He flicked his eyes toward her briefly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, that certain way he always smirked “You probably alphabetize your spice rack.”

Rebecca gave a soft laugh. “It’s called efficiency.”

“And it suits you, Rebecca”

The proceeds to say the thing that made her insides weak.

“I like that about you”

Heat crept into her cheeks, though she turned her gaze back to the blur of passing streetlights. “What about you?” she pressed. “What were you like in college?

He drummed the steering wheel, resigned. “Freshman year. First basketball game of the season. Place was packed, students, professors, alumni. The gym was buzzing.”

Rebecca leaned in slightly, waiting on his every word, eager to see where this story leads, at the same time she was delighted that he could share such thing with her but while he went on she wondered about her college life, who she was then , the life she lived, why she so intensely needed this order in her life, it wasn’t that she didn’t love spontaneity but they were chaos, problems she didn’t care to deal with.

“We’re warming up, right? I think I’m hot stuff, so I go for this show-off dunk. I take off running, leap, and….” He made a swooping motion with his hand. “The ball slips. My head smacks the rim. I crash flat onto my back.”

Rebecca gasped, covering her mouth. “No!”

“Oh, yes. And to make it worse”, he chuckled, “on the way down my shorts snagged on the rim. By the time I hit the floor, half the gym got an eyeful of my boxers.”

Rebecca burst into helpless laughter, clutching her stomach. “Kevin! That’s—oh my God—that’s terrible!”

“Terrible for me,” he muttered, pleased with himself for making her laugh, almost like it was a quest.

“The whole team called me ‘Half-Mast’ for two years. Even the coach joined in.”

Rebecca leaned back, laughter slipping out more freely now. The night sky stretched overhead, black velvet pricked with city glow. The air through the cracked window carried the scent of rain-soaked asphalt, fresh and metallic, like the world had been washed clean.

Her laughter softened, filling the car like a melody, and for a moment their eyes met across the dark interior.

The phone buzzed, lighting up between them.

Naomi. The name pulsed like a warning.

Kevin’s jaw tightened. He silenced it once, but the reprieve was brief. Seconds later, the phone buzzed again, louder somehow in the confined space of the car.

Rebecca shifted in her seat. The laughter from a moment ago felt suddenly distant. She tried not to stare, but her eyes betrayed her, flicking to the phone with every vibration.

Finally, Kevin reached forward, opened the glove compartment, and slid the phone inside. The sound dulled, but the presence of it, Naomi, calling and calling still clung to the air.

“Better,” he muttered, shutting the compartment with finality.

Rebecca forced a small nod, though unease coiled in her stomach, wondering if that was a statement or should it have been a question. She doesn’t know . She thought of the unanswered calls, the persistence, the way his hand had moved just a little too fast to hide the device away.

Soon enough, they reached her building, the night had settled in, the street washed in pools of golden light from the lamps above.

Rebecca glanced out the window. “This is me,” she said softly.

Kevin killed the engine, unbuckled, and stepped out before she could reach for the handle.

To her surprise, he walked around the car, his gaze locked on her. He opened her door. The gesture wasn’t showy, wasn’t calculated, it was boyish, shy, almost awkward in its earnestness. Yet it made her flush all the same.

She rose, thoughts racing, brushing past him lightly, her back against the cool surface of the car. For a breathless moment, their eyes held. Kevin stood in front of her, shoulders broad enough to block the light. His nearness was a wall of heat, the faint scent of soap and musk curling around her.

His gaze lingered on her as though memorizing, hers quivering over the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth.

The world felt suspended, her pulse loud in her ears, his breath close enough to warm her cheek.

She tilted her chin up. His eyes, dark, flecked with gray, locked on hers. It was the kind of gaze that stripped excuses away.

Her breath stilled. She could hear his, warm and steady, brushing the space between them. The night was hushed, only the drip of water from the eaves and the pulse thundering in her ears.

His gaze flicked once to her lips. Hers parted, instinctively. The pull between them was magnetic, inevitable, every nerve alive with anticipation.

He leaned closer, his frame sheltering her, his hand braced against the car near her shoulder. She felt surrounded, caught, the world shrinking to just his eyes and his breath and the silent question between them.

Her fingers curled against the car, nails grazing metal. Heat shot up her spine. She swore she could hear the blood rushing in her veins. She feared that this thing between them was clear but she knew what had to be done.

And then, she pulled back, breaking the thread.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, softer than she intended.

Kevin’s expression shifted, unreadable again, but he inclined his head. “Goodnight, Rebecca”.

She stepped away, her key already trembling in her hand, the echo of what almost happened pressing against her like a secret.