9- Too Close
1094 Words
By the fourth night, Parker stopped pretending this was still just a case.
It wasn’t.
Not anymore.
It had become something else entirely.
Something that required too many late nights.
Too many shared documents.
Too many moments where Maxton was simply… there.
Always there.
Across the conference table.
Leaning against her office doorframe.
Reading over her shoulder without asking.
Breathing in the same space like it belonged to him.
Like it used to.
Parker told herself she was overreacting.
Then he reached for her coffee without thinking and took a sip.
And she almost forgot how to breathe.
“Still too sweet,” Maxton said, sliding it back.
Parker blinked at him.
“You didn’t have to drink it.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
His gaze lingered on her for a fraction too long.
“Force of habit.”
That did it.
That word.
Habit.
Because habits meant repetition.
And repetition meant time.
And time meant they hadn’t really stopped being part of each other’s lives the way they were pretending.
Parker looked away first.
A mistake.
Because the silence between them immediately became louder.
⸻
Midnight came too quickly.
The office was nearly empty now.
Just the two of them.
The city lights outside painting soft reflections across glass walls.
Papers were spread across Parker’s desk.
Evidence.
Contracts.
Notes.
Strategy outlines.
Maxton stood behind her chair, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the desk as he leaned over to read.
Too close.
Always too close.
Parker could feel his presence more than she could hear it.
“You’re overthinking the liability clause,” he said quietly.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m analyzing it.”
“You’re overthinking it.”
She turned her head slightly.
Bad decision.
Because suddenly he was closer than before.
Too close to be professional.
Too close to be safe.
His eyes flicked to hers.
Held.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
The air between them tightened.
Something unspoken pressing against both of them.
Parker’s pulse betrayed her immediately.
Of course it did.
Maxton noticed.
Of course he did.
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth.
Just for a second.
But she saw it.
And that was the problem.
Because once you see something like that—
You can’t unsee it.
“Maxton,” she said softly.
A warning.
Or maybe a plea.
Even she wasn’t sure.
He didn’t step back.
Instead, he straightened slowly.
Breaking the moment.
Barely.
“Take a break,” he said.
“I don’t need one.”
“You haven’t blinked in ten minutes.”
“I have blinked.”
“Once.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“It’s not.”
Parker sighed.
Then finally leaned back in her chair.
“Fine.”
Maxton studied her for a moment longer.
Then without a word, he left the office.
Parker exhaled.
Too late.
Her heart still hadn’t slowed down.
⸻
When he came back, he was holding two coffees.
One for her.
Of course.
“You left?” she asked.
“I went downstairs.”
“At one in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“You were about to throw your laptop out the window.”
“I was not.”
“You were.”
She reluctantly accepted the coffee.
Their fingers brushed.
Just barely.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
It did.
Parker looked down at the cup.
“You remember how I like it,” she said quietly.
Maxton didn’t answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was lower.
“I remember everything.”
The words settled between them.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Parker’s chest tightened.
She forced herself to look back at the documents.
“Let’s finish this.”
⸻
They didn’t stop working until nearly three in the morning.
At some point, the case stopped being words on paper and started becoming something instinctive between them.
Like muscle memory.
Like breathing.
Parker would think something—
Maxton would say it.
Maxton would pause—
Parker would finish his thought.
It was seamless.
Effortless.
Dangerous.
At one point, Parker muttered, “We shouldn’t still work this well together.”
Maxton didn’t look up.
“We always did.”
That sentence stayed with her longer than it should have.
⸻
By the time the city outside began to soften into early morning haze, Parker’s movements slowed.
She tried to hide it.
She really did.
But exhaustion doesn’t negotiate.
It wins.
Her head dipped slightly.
She caught it.
Straightened.
Kept going.
A few minutes later—
It dipped again.
This time she didn’t catch it.
Her eyes closed.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for her body to decide it was done asking permission.
Parker fell asleep right there at her desk.
Quiet.
Unintentional.
Completely unaware.
Maxton noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
He stopped moving.
Stopped speaking.
Just watched her for a moment.
Still.
Silent.
Something unreadable crossed his expression.
Softened.
Then he carefully reached across the desk and slid the documents away from her hands.
Slow.
Gentle.
Like she might disappear if he moved too fast.
“Parker,” he said quietly.
No response.
Her breathing was steady.
Asleep.
Maxton exhaled slowly.
Then stood.
For a long moment, he simply looked at her.
At the way her hair had fallen slightly across her face.
At the way her hand still rested near the case file like she refused to let go of it even unconscious.
Then, without hesitation, he slipped one arm under her shoulders.
The other beneath her knees.
And lifted her.
She stirred slightly.
“Mmm…”
“It’s okay,” he murmured.
And somehow—
That was enough.
Her head tilted against his chest.
And she went still again.
Maxton paused for half a second.
Just holding her.
Breathing her in like something he’d forgotten how to survive without.
Then he carried her out of the office.
⸻
The hallway was empty.
Quiet.
The city outside still asleep.
He walked carefully, adjusting her weight slightly as she settled more comfortably against him.
She was lighter than he remembered.
Or maybe he was just stronger now.
Either way—
It felt wrong.
And right.
At the same time.
When he reached the elevator, he didn’t put her down.
Didn’t even consider it.
Because for the first time in six years—
Parker wasn’t running.
She was in his arms.
And Maxton Sutton wasn’t sure what terrified him more.
That she had come back…
Or that he didn’t want to let her go again.
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