Seducing My Nerdy Boss

Chapter 4. The Family Influence

She reached out, without thinking, and placed her hand lightly on his shoulder—just a soft, reassuring touch meant to convey care.

The moment her skin made contact with the fabric of his shirt, Cleon froze.

It was instant and dramatic. His entire body went rigid as stone. His fingers stopped moving on the keyboard. His breath hitched in his throat. His heart rate, which Elara could almost feel through his shoulder, suddenly spiked, beating fast and hard against his ribs.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just sat there, frozen while eyes wide behind his glasses and staring straight ahead at the screen but seeing absolutely nothing. His face that usually so pale and composed slowly turned a deep shade of red, creeping up his neck, over his ears, and onto his cheeks.

Elara, realizing what she had done, crossing the physical boundary, quickly pulled her hand back, worried she had offended him.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir! I didn’t mean to overstep. I just… I was worried about you.”

Cleon moved abruptly, almost jerking away from her as if her touch had burned him. He stood up so fast that his chair rolled backward and hit the wall with a loud thud. He turned his back to her immediately while adjusting his glasses frantically and his hands shaking slightly.

“I-I am fine!” he stammered.

He stammered.

For the first time in a month, the calm, composed and robotic Cleon Morris had lost his composure. His voice was shaky, breathless, and high-pitched with panic.

“I-I do not need… I am capable… please… maintain distance, Ms. Fajardo! It's … it's inappropriate. I am your boss. Y-you are… you are an employee. P-Professionalism. Always professionalism.”

He spoke fast, stumbling over his words, unable to form coherent sentences, sounding exactly like a nervous teenage boy caught doing something wrong.

Elara stood there, stunned but secretly delighted. She looked at his back, broad, stiff, tense, and clearly flustered.

"Gotcha," she thought while there's a small and triumphant smile touching her lips.

He wasn’t indifferent. He wasn’t immune. He was just suppressing it so hard that it was painful. Her touch had shattered his control completely.

“I understand, Sir,” Elara said softly, keeping her voice calm and innocent. “I apologize. It won’t happen again. I’ll leave you to work.”

She walked out of the office, and closing the door gently. She leaned against the wall outside while smiling widely.

--

Inside the office, Cleon stood by the window for a long time, his hand pressed against his chest where his heart was still hammering wildly, out of control. He looked at his reflection in the glass. He saw a red-faced, glasses crooked and looking completely flustered and confused man.

"What is wrong with me?" he thought frantically. "Why did I react like that? She just touched my shoulder! It was nothing! It meant nothing! I am her boss! I am the CEO! I am supposed to be in control!"

But deep down he knew exactly why. He knew it was because it was her.

If it had been anyone else, Mr. Gomez, a department head, a stranger, he would have remained calm. But with Elara… every small thing she did, every time she spoke softly, every time she looked at him with those sincere, caring eyes… it messed up his mind completely. It made him nervous. It made him flustered. It made him want things he had sworn never to want again.

He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

She is dangerous, he told himself firmly. She is kind. She is beautiful. She cares about things no one else cares about… like whether I eat or sleep or if my neck hurts. She is everything I told myself to avoid. I must be stricter. I must be colder. I must push her further away before I lose myself completely.

But as he sat back down at his desk and saw the warm milk and the warm towel she had left for him, he found himself unable to throw them away. Instead, he reached out, touched the soft, warm fabric, and for just a second… he let himself feel the comfort she had sent his way.

The war had officially begun. Cleon Morris was fighting a battle between his mind and his heart… and unbeknownst to him, his heart was already losing.

In the days following that incident—the moment Elara’s hand had accidentally rested on his shoulder, Cleon Morris became stricter. He made a conscious, deliberate effort to put even more distance between them. If before he was cold and indifferent, now he was actively guarded. He gave her instructions from behind his desk, never stepping out. He kept his eyes strictly on documents or screens, never letting them wander toward her face or figure. He spoke in shorter sentences, sharper tones, and made a point to remind her constantly about professional boundaries.

“Ms. Fajardo, stand further away when explaining reports.”

“Ms. Fajardo, place the items on the edge of the desk. Do not lean forward.”

“Ms. Fajardo, remember that personal comfort is not a priority here. Efficiency is.”

To anyone watching, it looked as if Cleon was simply being his usual strict self, perhaps even more demanding than before. But Elara noticed the truth behind this change. She saw how his fingers tightened around his pen whenever she entered the room. She saw how his jaw clenched slightly when she spoke softly. She saw how he rushed his words just to end the conversation quickly, as if staying near her for even a few seconds longer was torture.

And most telling of all, he blushed much easier now.

Before that touch, Cleon’s face was always pale, composed, colorless. Now, whenever she got too close, or when she said something kind, or even when she just called his name in that soft, sweet voice of hers, a faint pink color would creep up his neck and onto his ears. He would adjust his glasses nervously, run a hand through his already messy hair, and look anywhere but at her.

He was fighting a war inside himself, and Elara was the only one who could see the battlefield.

It was Tuesday afternoon, around 3:00 PM. The weather outside was gray and gloomy, heavy clouds hanging low over the city, threatening rain. Inside the office, the air was cool and quiet. Elara was organizing the upcoming schedule on her computer, her eyes occasionally drifting toward the glass office.

Inside, Cleon was in a meeting with Mr. Rafael, one of their biggest investors and a man known for being loud, demanding, and very forward. Rafael was in his late forties, wealthy, divorced, and notorious for flirting with every attractive woman he met.

Elara had met him twice before, and she already disliked him. He had a way of looking at women that made them feel like objects rather than people.

The office door was slightly ajar, as it always was during meetings so Elara could be available if needed. She tried to focus on her work, but Rafael’s booming voice carried clearly through the gap.

“Cleon, my boy, you really are a miracle worker,” Rafael said with a loud, arrogant laugh. “The numbers are excellent. Excellent! I knew investing in you years ago was the best decision I ever made. You have the Midas touch, truly.”

Cleon’s calm, steady voice replied. “Thank you, Sir. The team works hard. We project a twenty percent growth by the end of the fiscal year if market trends hold.”