LAST NIGHT MISTAKE

Too close

She was not supposed to be alone with him this long.

That was the thought running quietly underneath everything else as the Monday morning stretched into afternoon and the Mercer situation refused to resolve itself. Three calls. Two rescheduled. One client who kept changing his mind and a paper trail that needed untangling before the board meeting Wednesday morning.

Matthew had pulled a second chair to his side of the desk two hours in so she could see the documents he was working through. That was the moment things got complicated.

Not because anything happened. Nothing happened. He was completely focused on the Mercer file and she was completely focused on her notes and the whole thing was entirely professional.

But he was right there.

Close enough that she could see the faint crease between his brows when he was concentrating. Close enough that when he reached across her to flip to a page in the folder his arm almost brushed hers and she felt the almost like it had actually happened. Close enough that at one point he turned to say something and stopped, because she had turned at the same moment and there was suddenly very little space between them.

He looked at her for one second.

Then he looked back at the document.

"Page fourteen," he said, like nothing had occurred.

She found page fourteen.

By two o'clock she needed air and used the excuse of coffee to escape to the kitchen for four minutes. She stood at the counter while it brewed and pressed her fingertips against the cool edge of the countertop and reminded herself of every sensible thing she knew.

She had worked too hard to blow it on a feeling.

She went back in.

They finished the preliminary Mercer restructure at four fifteen. Matthew leaned back in his chair and rolled his sleeves up to the elbow and rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the ceiling for a moment like he was waiting for it to congratulate him. Sonia was closing folders and organizing the documents into the right order for Dana to file.

"You are fast," he said, still looking at the ceiling.

"You say that like it surprises you."

He lowered his head and looked at her. There it was again. That slip in the professional front. That thing behind his eyes that he was always pulling back but never quite fast enough.

"It does not surprise me," he said quietly.

The room felt smaller than it had all day.

Sonia set the last folder down and stood up straight. "I will get these to Dana."

"Sonia."

It was the first time he had used her name. Not Miss Reyes. Her actual name, the way he had said it that night at the bar before everything became what it was now. Low and careful, like he was aware of the weight of it.

She stopped but did not turn around immediately. Gave herself one breath.

Then she turned.

He was looking at her with his arms folded and his jaw tight, like whatever he was about to say had taken effort to decide on.

"I need you to know that what happened before you started here has no bearing on how you are treated in this office," he said. "Your position is based entirely on your qualifications. Nothing else."

She held his gaze. "I know that."

"I am telling you because I want it to be clear."

"It is clear, Mr. Caldwell."

He nodded once. But he did not look away. And neither did she, which was the problem, because the longer they held it the less it felt like a professional conversation and the more it felt like that night. Like the bar and the easy laughter and the cab and the hotel and the city glowing below them.

She was the one who looked away first.

"I will get these to Dana," she said again.

This time she left.

She made it to the bathroom at the end of the hall, locked the door, and stood over the sink with the cold tap running over her wrists. She looked at herself in the mirror. Same face. Same tired eyes that were suddenly not tired at all.

She was in trouble.

Not the kind she could work her way out of with a good filing system and strong coffee.

The real kind.