Borrowed Nights

Chapter 3: First Day Jitters

I stood in front of the towering glass building, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.

"Okay, you can do this," I whispered to myself, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder.

"Good morning," I greeted the receptionist, trying to sound confident.

She looked up and smiled. "Good morning. How can I help you?"

"I'm here for my first day. Assistant position."

"Name?"

"Sofia Alcaraz."

She typed something into her computer and nodded. "Welcome, Miss Alcaraz. Mr. Dela Vega is expecting you. Take the elevator to the 27th floor."

"Thank you."

Ding.

I took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in," his deep voice called out.

I entered, trying to keep my composure.

"Good morning," I greeted, forcing a smile.

"Morning, Miss Alcaraz. Ready for your first day?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Let's get started."

"This will be your workspace," he said, pointing to a desk near his office. "You'll be assisting me directly."

"Understood."

"Start by organizing these. I need summaries by noon."

"Yes, sir."

I sat down and began working, trying to focus on the task at hand. But my mind kept drifting back to that night. The way he touched me, the way he looked at me.

Focus, Sofia.

I approached his office and knocked.

"Come in."

"Summaries as requested."

He looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. "Efficient. I like that."

"Thank you."

"Tell me, Miss Alcaraz, do you always take on challenges so fearlessly?"

I hesitated. "I try to."

"Good. I appreciate initiative."

"Is there anything else, sir?"

He shook his head. "That will be all for now."

I nodded and left the office, my heart racing.

I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.

What have I gotten myself into?

The second day wasn’t easier.

If anything, it was worse.

Because now, every time I walked past his office, I could feel his eyes on me. Not in a creepy way—but in a way that made my skin burn. Like he knew things he shouldn’t. Like he remembered.

And the worst part? I remembered, too.

Every. Damn. Second.

The way his lips traced my skin, how his fingers gripped my hips like he needed something to hold on to. How we never said our names but it felt too real to be just a one-night thing.

Now he’s my boss.

I tried to stay focused, pretending this was just another job. That I didn’t spend an entire night tangled in the sheets with the man sitting behind that glass door.

“Miss Alcaraz,” his voice echoed in the quiet hallway.

I flinched. Not because he scared me, but because his voice did something to me. It crawled under my skin and stayed there.

I turned. “Yes, sir?”

His lips twitched slightly. “Coffee?”

“Coffee?” I blinked. “Like… you want me to get you coffee?”

“I want to see if you remember how I take it.”

My mouth parted slightly.

He smirked. “From the café downstairs. Two shots, no sugar. You brought it to me before, didn’t you?”

I blinked again, heat rushing to my cheeks. He did remember. That night at the gala—I brought him coffee by accident. It spilled on his suit.

I managed a tight nod. “On it.”

The elevator ride to the lobby felt like a trip to hell.

I gripped the paper cup tightly, trying not to let my hands shake. When I finally returned, I knocked lightly on his office door and entered.

He looked up from his laptop. “Thanks.”

I set the cup on his desk, our fingers brushing slightly.

He didn’t move. Neither did I.

Then he leaned back slowly in his chair, never breaking eye contact. “Tell me something, Miss Alcaraz.”

I swallowed. “Yes, sir?”

“Why did you leave without a word?”

There it was.

The question I’d been dreading.

I stood frozen, trying to think of a lie, an excuse—anything that would keep me from crumbling in front of him.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” I whispered.

His jaw ticked. “It mattered.”

I looked down, heart thudding.

“I didn’t know who you were,” I said honestly. “I didn’t even know your name. It was supposed to be one night.”

“It was,” he agreed. “But now we’re here.”

I met his gaze. “Do you want me to quit?”

He studied me. “Do you want to?”

“No.”

“Then don’t.”

I nodded slowly, turning to leave.

“Sofia.”

I stopped, my name sounding different in his voice.

He didn’t say anything else. Just let it hang there between us, thick and heavy.

—

The days that followed were harder. He stopped flirting, stopped teasing. But something simmered underneath.

Like we were playing a game of chicken—who would snap first.

Late nights at the office became routine. I’d stay behind, working on presentations or organizing his schedule. And every time the office got quiet, every time I was the last one there, I’d feel him watching me.

One night, around ten, I was still at my desk when he stepped out of his office.

“You should go home,” he said.

“I’m almost done.”

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re working too hard.”

I shrugged. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

He walked toward me slowly. Too slowly.

“You’re not going to mess anything up,” he said, voice low.

My breathing hitched.

“I saw your designs,” he continued. “You’re good. Really good.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, heart thudding in my chest.

He was so close now. Just a few inches away.

And then it happened.

His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was soft, almost hesitant.

“You should go home,” he said again, this time quieter.

I nodded, standing up.

But as I turned to leave, he spoke again.

“Sofia.”

I stopped.

He took a step closer, and for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. My whole body was tense, waiting.

But instead, he just looked at me. Eyes dark. Hungry.

“Goodnight,” he said finally.

I left, but that night, sleep didn’t come easy.

The next morning, I showed up with two hours of sleep, a caffeine headache, and zero emotional stability.

I didn’t even want to look decent—I wanted to blend in, go unnoticed. But of course, the second I walked through the doors, I ran into him.

Literally.

He turned the corner just as I did, and I smacked right into his chest.

Firm. Warm. Unfair.

His hands caught my arms gently to steady me.

“You okay?” he asked, brows lifting slightly.

I nodded, even though my knees were weak and my dignity was leaking out of my pores. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Careful,” he said, and his hand brushed the side of my waist as he let go. “It’s too early to be crashing into people.”

“Agreed,” I mumbled, already backing away.

I escaped to my desk, pretending to be busy for the rest of the morning.

Until the meeting.

The big one.

It was a conference call with a top-tier client—a resort developer who was considering our firm for their next luxury build in Palawan. All hands on deck. Everyone from marketing to design had to show up.

I wasn’t even supposed to talk. Just observe.

So naturally, I ended up seated next to him.

The chair was small. His shoulder brushed mine.

Focus, Sofia.

I tried to listen. Tried to take notes. But every now and then, I’d feel his knee bump mine. Or his hand resting on the armrest just close enough to touch.

I could barely breathe.

And then, mid-discussion, his voice dropped low beside me.

“You look good in that color.”

I froze.

He didn’t even glance at me. Just kept typing something on his laptop, like he hadn’t just whispered something completely inappropriate during a professional meeting.

I wanted to scream. Or melt.

When the meeting finally ended, I practically ran back to my desk.

---

It only got worse.

Because the next day, we were assigned to the same project.

He walked into the meeting room, looked at me, and smiled like it was fate messing with both of us.

“We’ll be working closely,” he said as he slid into the chair beside me.

I avoided his gaze. “Lucky me.”

He chuckled. “Is that sarcasm?”

I looked at him. “What do you think?”

His eyes gleamed. “I think I make you nervous.”

I stared at him, daring myself to say something bold. But nothing came out. My brain was mush.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I focused on work.

We spent the whole afternoon brainstorming layout options for a beach resort concept. I showed him my initial sketches. He nodded thoughtfully.

“You’ve got an eye,” he said. “It’s raw, but there’s something there.”

“Thanks,” I said, surprised by the compliment.

His fingers tapped the table as he looked at my sketch again. “You ever think about going solo?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Starting your own design studio. With your creativity… you could pull it off.”

I scoffed. “Not without money. Or confidence.”

He looked at me. “Confidence can be learned. Money… well, that’s where partners come in.”

My stomach flipped. “Partners?”

“In business,” he said smoothly.

“Right,” I said, ignoring how my thoughts had taken a dangerous turn.

---

The day ended late again.

I was packing my things when I realized I left my phone in the conference room. I rushed back, only to find him there, still flipping through some blueprints.

He looked up. “Looking for this?” he asked, holding up my phone.

I walked over, reaching for it.

He didn’t hand it to me.

Instead, he held it for a second longer, studying my face. “You’re not like most people here.”

I tilted my head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stood, now inches from me again. “You don’t pretend. You don’t suck up. You’re just… you.”

“Should I be pretending?” I asked quietly.

“No,” he said, his voice lower now. “Don’t change anything.”

My heart pounded.

He handed me my phone, fingers grazing mine again.

I took it, stepping back. “Goodnight, sir.”

“Julian,” he corrected.

I hesitated.

“You already know my name,” he said softly. “Stop pretending you don’t.”

---

I barely slept that night again.

How could I?

Julian—or sir I had s*x with and now work for—was slowly becoming the reason my chest ached every time I entered the building.

But I couldn’t leave. I needed this job.

And part of me didn’t want to leave… because of him.

The tension kept building. Meetings felt like foreplay. Every accidental brush of his hand, every stolen glance, every time his voice dropped an octave—it all added up.

Until Friday night.

We were the last two people in the office again. Working on a final presentation due Monday.

“I can’t get the proportions right,” I muttered, frustrated with the render I was editing.

Julian stood behind me, leaning down slightly to look at the screen. “Move the villa a little closer to the shoreline.”

I adjusted it.

“Perfect,” he said, hand resting on the back of my chair.

His presence behind me felt too warm, too intense.

I turned my head slightly. “You’re hovering.”

He smiled. “Sorry. Just wanted to see you work.”

“Well, I’m working,” I said, heart racing.

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s distracting.”

My breath hitched.

He stepped closer, and suddenly he was right behind me. His hand brushed my shoulder. I didn’t move.

“Sofia,” he said, like my name was a question.

I stood up.

We were chest to chest now. Too close.

“I should go,” I said, even though my body screamed the opposite.

“Should you?” he asked, voice rougher now.

I looked up at him. “We can’t do this.”

“Can’t?” His hand reached up, brushing hair from my face.

“Shouldn’t,” I corrected.

He didn’t speak.

Instead, he leaned in slowly—giving me every chance to pull away.

I didn’t.

Our lips met in a soft, testing kiss. And then a deeper one. One that made me forget where we were, who we were.

When we finally broke apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against mine.

“This won’t be easy,” he said.

“I know.”

“But I want you.”

And I wanted him, too.

God help me—I did.