— She tilted her head.
— “My dear, life is too short to let fear decide for you. And that man upstairs is absolutely in love. I see it in the way he says your name. In the way his face changes when you walk into the room. He’s suffering just as much as you are.” I didn’t answer.
I didn’t know how, because she was right. And admitting it out loud would make it too real, too terrifying. On Friday, Nick had a meeting. The meeting he’d been obsessed with for weeks. The one that could make or break a multi-million dollar contract, defining the future of an entire division of the company.
He was stressed beyond normal, which for Nick meant he was practically vibrating with suppressed tension. I found him in the study at six in the morning. He was already working. Hair messy from constantly running his hands through it. Shirt wrinkled, as if he’d slept in it. He probably had.
— “Good morning.” — I tried to sound normal. — “Coffee, please.” — He didn’t even look up from the papers spread across the desk. — “And if you can figure out how to add three hours to the day, that would be great too.” I went to the kitchen. I brewed the coffee exactly how he liked it.
Strong and black. And I did something impulsive. I took a sticky note, wrote a quick message, and stuck it to the cup before taking it back. I left the coffee on his desk and went back to my office without waiting for a reaction. But through the half-open door, I saw him pick up the cup, see the note, and freeze completely. His shoulders relaxed.
A small, genuine smile touched his lips. He touched the yellow paper gently, as if it were something precious. “You’ll do great. You always do.” That was all the note said. Simple, true, and apparently enough to completely disarm the most guarded man I knew.
The day passed in a fog of secondhand anxiety. I knew the meeting was at two, that it would last at least three hours, and that everything depended on how he presented the numbers. I tried to work, but I caught myself checking the clock every five minutes. At 5:30, I heard the front door open. Fast footsteps, an energy different from the usual.
I stood up automatically, my heart pounding. Nick appeared in the doorway of my office. His face said it all. Glowing eyes, a huge smile, that euphoric energy I rarely saw in him. — “We got the contract!” — His voice was loud, happy, completely unlike his usual restrained tone. — “We closed the deal.”
Every term we wanted, everything was perfect. I stood up without thinking, happy for him in a way that transcended the professional. — “Nick, that’s incredible! I knew you could do it.” And then, without a plan, without rational thought, we hugged. His arms were around me, strong and warm, pulling me against his chest.
My hands were on his neck, feeling the tense muscles under his shirt. The scent of his cologne, mixed with something that was uniquely him, was enveloping, familiar, and completely addictive. The hug should have lasted three seconds, maybe four. The socially acceptable time for a professional celebration.
But five, six, seven seconds passed, and neither of us pulled away. His chest rose and fell against mine, his breathing becoming deeper. I felt his fingers brush lightly against my back. An unconscious touch, just an automatic reaction. When we finally separated, it was slow, reluctant, but we didn’t move away completely.
His hands were still on my waist, mine on his shoulders. Too close, too dangerous. Our eyes met, and the world stopped. This wasn’t the first time we’d looked at each other, but it was the first time without barriers, without pretense, without the defense of professionalism. Just us, just the raw and terrifying truth of what we felt. — “Angela.”
— His voice came out raspy, full of emotion. My name sounded different on his lips, like a prayer and a question at the same time. Reality hit me like cold water. I stepped back, my hands falling from his shoulders. — “No, Nick, we can’t.” — “Why not?” — He took a step forward, closing the distance I was trying to create.
— “Give me one real reason.” — “You’re my boss,” the words came out desperately. — “I depend on this job. I can’t risk it.” — “And if I weren’t your boss?” — His eyes were piercing, seeing through all my excuses. — “What if we changed that?”
— “But you are.” — I crossed my arms, trying to build some kind of barrier between us. — “That’s the reality.” — “Then fire me.” — The words came out impulsively, almost desperately. — “Angela, fire me right now. You’re fired.”
I laughed, but the sound was humorless, almost hysterical. — “Nick, I’m serious.” He ran his hands through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. — “I can’t pretend this is just professional anymore. I think about you constantly.”
When I’m traveling, I count the hours until I get back. When you’re in the same room as me, I can’t focus on anything else. Only you. Always you. My heart was thumping so hard it was painful. — “You’re a tech mogul.”
I’m a broke student who fell asleep in your car. It doesn’t make sense. It wouldn’t work. — “It makes perfect sense.” — He approached again. Slowly, as if approaching something wild that might run away.
— “You’re the only person who sees me. Really sees me. Not my money, not my status, not the CEO, but just me, the man. And I see you. The strong, smart, sarcastic woman who climbed into my car and changed everything.” — “Nick, please.”
— My voice came out broken. — “Don’t make it harder.” — “It is hard.” — He was too close now. So close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. — “Hard is being near you and pretending I don’t want to touch you.”
Hard is hearing your voice and not getting lost in it. Hard is seeing you every day and not being able to be with you. And then, before I could breathe, think, or protest, his lips were on mine. The kiss was everything I’d imagined and nothing I’d expected. It wasn’t gentle or hesitant. It was deep and desperate.
Months of tension breaking all at once. His hands were on my face, holding me as if I might disappear. His fingers were in my hair, ruining the updo I’d put together that morning. My hands were on his neck, pulling him closer. It was impossible not to respond with the same intensity. His taste—coffee and something sweet—was completely addictive.
The low sound he made when I deepened the kiss was guttural and hungry. We moved together until my back hit the bookshelf behind me. The books rattled…
