Valerio's Secretary

Chapter 8: The Late Hour

Zara's POV



“I should get back to my desk,” I say, trying to step around him.

His hands come out, not grabbing my arm but brushing lightly against my waist as I move past. The touch is accidental, barely a touch, but it burns through my blouse like fire. I freeze for a second, and he does too.

“Sorry,” he mutters, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

I make it back to my desk on shaky legs, but Valerio stays in his office, and I leave the door wide open, following his instructions. For the next few hours, I feel his eyes on me constantly. Every time I look up, he’s watching.

At 9:40 p.m., my email pings.

From: Valerio Cruz

Subject: Deadline Change

The Harrington proposal needs to be completely reworked. New version on my desk by 7 a.m. tomorrow. Include updated market analysis and risk assessment for the European division. Don’t leave until it’s done.

I stare at the screen and feel like screaming my head off.

This is impossible. The original file is already thick, and reworking it from scratch will take hours. He knows that.

I look up, and he’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, watching me through the glass with a dark, unreadable expression.

He’s testing me. Again.

I don’t reply to the email. I just open the file and get to work.

The office grows quieter as the last employees trickle out. By eleven, it’s only us. The last cleaning crew came, and they’re already gone. The city lights sparkle outside the windows like distant stars, and my eyes burn from staring at spreadsheets, but I keep going.

At 11;30, Valerio walks out of his office carrying two cups of coffee and sets one beside my keyboard without a word.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he pulls up a chair beside my desk and sits down, close enough that our knees nearly touch. He loosens his tie further and rolls up his sleeves, revealing those strong forearms I used to trace with my fingertips.

“Show me where you are,” he says.

I turn the screen toward him, and our shoulders brush slightly as he leans in, and neither of us pulls away. He flinches, just slightly. A tiny recoil, there and gone so fast that if I wasn’t sitting this close to him, I would’ve missed it. Then he leans in again, closer this time.

The contact sends warmth spreading through my body, heat pooling low in my stomach. I try to focus on the numbers, but all I can think about is the heat of him, and the way his breathing has changed.

“Here,” I point at the screen, my voice steadier than I feel. “The risk assessment for the European division is weak. If we push the merger through without renegotiating the supplier contracts, we can lose a twelve percent margin.”

He nods slowly, but his eyes are not on the screen. They are on my face, my mouth, and then on the way my fingers tremble slightly on the mouse.

“You’re exhausted,” he says.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” His hands move before I can stop it, brushing a loose curl behind my ear. He flinches slightly and closes his eyes, then his fingers linger against my neck for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and then when he opens his eyes, it’s filled with so much longing that it breaks my heart, and my skin tingles where he touches.

I pull back slightly. “Valerio…”

“I know,” he says, voice rough. “The f*****g rule.”

He stays right there anyway but keeps a small distance, and for the next hour, we work side by side. Heavy eye contact, accidental brushes of his arm against mine, and his thigh pressing against my leg under the desk when he shifts, every touch feels deliberate. And every silence stretches too long.

At 1:30 a.m., he finally stands up and stretches, making his shirt ride up slightly, revealing a silver of toned skin. I look away fast, but not fast enough, and he notices.

“Take a break,” he says. “I’ll be in my office.”

I watch him walk away, while trying to calm my racing pulse. This is torture. Being so close to him, remembering everything, hiding our son, while pretending I am just another employee…is pure torture.

I stand up and go to the break room to splash cold water on my face. When I come back, Valerio is standing at my desk, reading through the updated proposal on my screen.

He looks up when I approach.

“This is better than what the last three assistants combined could do in a week,” he says. There is suspicion in his tone again, mixed with something like reluctant admiration. “How?”

“I pay attention,” I say simply.

He sets the tablet down and turns to face me fully. The office is dead silent, except for the low hum of the air conditioning. We are completely alone.

He steps closer, then closer, until my back is against the edge of my desk, and he’s right there, in my personal space, without touching me.

“Why do I keep doing this?” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”

My breath catches. His hand comes up, bracing on the desk beside me, caging me in. His other hand hovers near my waist without touching.

“Tell me you don’t feel it too,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Tell me why I’m losing my mind, Zara.”

I can’t lie. Not completely. “I feel it,” I whisper.

His eyes darken, and for a second, I think he might kiss me. I want him to. God, I want him to so badly it scares me.

Instead, he leans in until his forehead almost rests against mine, and our breaths mingle. His hand finally settles on my hip, gripping lightly.

“This can’t happen,” he says, even as his thumb strokes slowly over my hip bone through my skirt.

“I know,” I breathe.

But neither of us moves away.

The tension is unbearable. My body remembers every time he used to lift me onto this desk, every time he used to kiss me like the world was ending, and my n*****s tighten painfully against my blouse. I know he can see it.

His grip tightens, and his head dips lower, lips inches from mine.

Then my phone vibrates loudly on the desk beside us.

And just like that, the tension is broken.

I glance at the screen. Mrs. Rivera.

Mrs. Rivera: Liam woke up crying again. Calling for you. He’s really upset tonight.

Guilt crashes over me like cold water. I pulled away from his hold, grabbing the phone with shaking hands.

“I have to take this,” I say, voice hoarse. “It’s my son.”

Valerio steps back, running a hand through his hair. Frustration and something deeper cross his face. He nods once, jaw clenching tight.

I call Mrs. Rivera and walk a few steps away, speaking softly. “I’m coming home soon, baby. Tell him Mommy’s on her way.”

When I turn back, Valerios is watching me with an unreadable expression. The moment between us has shattered, but the heat still lingers in the air.

“Go home,” he says quietly. “Finish the rest in the morning.”

I gather my things quickly, avoiding his eyes. As I head toward the elevator, his voice stops me.

“Zara.”

I look back.

He stands by my desk, hands in his pockets, looking every bit the powerful, tormented man he is.

“This pull between us?” he says. “It’s only getting stronger. And I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend it doesn’t exist.”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

I step into the elevator, heart pounding, and let the doors close between us.

But as it descends, one terrifying thought keeps circling in my mind.

Valerio isn’t just testing my work anymore.

He is testing me.

And I’m not sure how much longer I can keep all my secrets from cracking wide open.