Chapter 7
1582 Words
Lucas stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in his office, the skyline glinting like a battlefield of steel and ambition. The city never slept, but tonight, it felt louder. Restless. Uneasy.
Just like him. He tapped the edge of his phone against his palm before finally dialing.
“Yeah?” came Jaden’s voice, casual but sharp.
“She’s being watched,” Lucas said without preamble.
A pause. “Maya?”
“I don’t have proof yet. But something’s off. She’s jumpy. Guarded. She got a message in the elevator this morning and tried to hide it, but I saw her face. Whatever it said, it rattled her.”
Jaden’s tone changed instantly. “Do you want me to talk to her?”
“No.” Lucas turned from the window. “Just keep an eye on her. Quietly. No alarms, no drama. And look into Sophia.”
There was a low whistle on the other end. “You think she’s behind this?”
“I don’t think,” Lucas said darkly. “I know how she operates. And this has her scent all over it. Manipulation. Threats masked as offers. She cornered Maya in her apartment over the weekend.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you going to do?” Jaden asked.
Lucas’s jaw tightened. “What I have to.”
Later that night, The office was a ghost town.
Maya sat at her desk, surrounded by the dull hum of fluorescent lights and the soft tapping of her keyboard. The silence was thick, but comforting in a strange way no whispers, no judgmental stares, no looming threats.
Just numbers. Tasks. Focus.
She had spent the last three hours cleaning up a chaotic department report, a last-minute assignment that would’ve taken most people two days. But something inside her refused to leave it unfinished. She needed the distraction. Needed the control.
The final document printed. She gathered the pages, slipped them into a sleek folder, and stood.
Lucas’s office door was cracked open, light still glowing from within.
She knocked once, then pushed the door gently.She stepped in, a little nervous, her hands gripping the file.
Lucas looked up from his desk, his jacket off, sleeves rolled, eyes sharp but not unkind.
“I just finished the Q2 reconciliation,” she said. “Cleaned up the errors and flagged a few inconsistencies in Logistics.”
He extended his hand and she stepped forward, placing the file in his grasp.
His eyes scanned the first page, then the second.
Silence.
Then—“You did this tonight?”
She nodded, a little hesitant. “Yes, sir.”
He looked up at her. And this time, something was different.
“Impressive work,” he said quietly. “Clean, concise. Efficient.”
Maya blinked. “Thank you.”
“I don’t give compliments unless I mean them.”
“I noticed,” she said before she could stop herself.
A breath of amusement passed through him. Almost like a laugh.
“Get some rest,” he said, closing the folder. “You’ve earned it.”
She nodded, unsure what had just happened but she turned and left, pulse quickened not by fear this time, but something unfamiliar.
By the time Maya stepped out of the building, the city had turned to glass.
Rain pelted the pavement, unforgiving and endless. She stared at the downpour from under the building’s overhang, one heel stepping backward as if that could somehow make the storm pause.
She had no umbrella. No car. Just a drenched sidewalk and two soaked buses already behind schedule.
She was about to give in and run for it when a sleek, black car pulled up in front of the building.
The back window rolled down.
Lucas.
“Get in,” he said.
Maya hesitated.
“I’m not asking,” he added. “You’ll catch pneumonia.”
She slid in.
Warm leather. Soft lighting. Classical music low in the background. She tucked her arms close to her chest, suddenly aware of how damp her blazer had already become.
“Where to?” he asked.
She gave her address.
They drove in silence for a while. The rain thundered above them like a warning.
The car was warm, but Maya shivered beside him. Her blouse was soaked from just the short dash to the car, and her fingers trembled slightly as she rubbed her arms.
Without a word, Lucas shrugged off his blazer and handed it to her.
“Here.”
She blinked. “You don’t have to—”
“Maya,” he said firmly. “Put it on.”
She obeyed, slipping into the jacket. It drowned her petite frame, the scent of his cologne enveloping her.
Five minutes in, the car slowed. Water pooled in the streets, traffic lights blinked in the downpour like dying stars.
Lucas checked his watch, then glanced out the window. “This area’s flooded.”
“What?”
“We’re not getting through. Not tonight.”
She looked at him, startled. “Then…?”
“My penthouse is a few blocks from here. We’ll wait the storm out.”
“I—I can call someone,” she said quickly. “I’ll be fine.”
“In this storm?” He turned to face her. “I’m not letting you wait on the street for a miracle.”
“But—”
“I have a guest room,” he added, sensing her panic. “With a lock. And a separate floor, if that makes you feel better.”
Her mouth opened, then closed.
The storm outside roared louder.
She leaned back against the seat and exhaled. “Okay.”
….
They got to the Penthouse, Maya followed him through the elevator, the space far too quiet, too clean, too… him.
The penthouse opened into a sleek, glass-wrapped living room with dark floors and minimalist decor. No mess. No warmth. Just control in the form of furniture.
He handed her a towel. “There’s a dryer in the laundry room. You can toss your jacket in if you’d like.”
Maya stared around, still shocked. She shouldn’t be here.
When he returned, he handed her a crisp white shirt.
“It’s all I’ve got in your size.”
She smiled faintly. “Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, she stepped out of the bathroom, his oversized shirt hanging just above her knees, damp curls falling over her shoulder. Lucas looked up from his phone and froze.
Something stirred in him. Heat. Surprise. Desire.
He didn’t speak. His gaze swept her slowly before he blinked and looked away.
Maya cleared her throat. “Sorry, I didn’t have anything else to wear—”
“You’re fine,” Lucas cut in quickly. “Come. Let’s eat.”
Dinner was quiet at first. He’d ordered in pasta and grilled chicken. She was grateful.
Lucas finally broke the silence. “You’ve been on edge lately.”
She tensed. “No, I’m just tired.”
“You flinch every time someone walks behind you. You triple-check locked doors. That’s not just tired.”
Maya looked down at her plate.
“If someone’s bothering you, you need to tell me.”
“No one is,” she said softly. “I promise.”
Lucas leaned forward, elbows on the table, studying her.
“You’re lying.”
Maya shook her head. “I just… don’t want to be a problem.”
“You’re not a problem, Maya.”
His voice so steady and calm, unsettled her more than his coldness ever had.
“Why are you being nice to me?” she asked quietly.
Lucas paused.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because you don’t pretend to be someone else. Maybe because you’re not afraid to challenge me.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re scary, though.”
He smirked. “I know.”
Their eyes met.
It started out simple just a look. But something unspoken grew heavier in the space between them. Neither of them looked away.
Seconds passed. Then more. Their eye contact deepened, lips parting slightly, hearts pounding without warning. The world outside faded, the only thing real was the air thickening between them.
Lucas leaned forward slowly, uncertain but unable to stop himself. His eyes flicked down to her lips, then back to her eyes.
Maya’s breath hitched. She didn’t move. In fact, she leaned in too just a little. Just enough.
The tension curled tighter, like a thread about to snap.His hand brushed her cheek.
And then he kissed her.
It was soft. Warm. Hesitant.
But it happened.
Until Maya pulled back like she’d touched fire.
Her eyes widened. "I—I should go." avoiding his gaze. “Good night.”
She turned and bolted up the stairs, disappearing into the guest room and slamming the door shut behind her.
Lucas stood alone in the quiet penthouse. Running his hands through his head
“Stupid,” he muttered. “What the hell was that, Lucas?”
He ran a hand over his face in frustration. “She’s your employee. And you kiss her?”
He stood up, pacing the floor. “She trusted you enough to come here, and that’s what you do?”
His heart was still racing. The memory of her eyes, her closeness, her soft breath, the kiss, everything still burned on his skin.
But he knew he had crossed a line. He poured the whiskey into the glass and drank it.
- Writer
