The morning at Carter & Blake started like any other. Leah walked into the department with a polite smile on her face, greeting everyone she passed.
"Good morning"
"Hi"
She smiled and nodded, not too loud, not too soft. Just the right amount of polite. Just enough to stay visible without being too seen.
She dropped her bag at her desk, settled into her chair, and opened her tablet.
Then she glanced across the room — Elijah's desk. Empty.
No blazer on the back of his chair. No half-open notebook. No Elijah.
She stared for a second longer than she meant to.
Then frowned to herself.
Why do I care?
She shook her head and refocused. There were reports to type and files to compile for the creative brief going out later.
She worked quietly, fingers tapping over the glass screen of her device, thoughts flickering between bullet points and schedule reminders. Then—about thirty minutes later—Elijah walked in.
Late.
No rush in his steps. No apology on his face.
He headed straight for his desk like it was nothing.
Leah glanced at their department manager, expecting a call-out. A stern glance. Something.
But Camille didn't say a word.
Not even a raised brow.
Leah's fingers paused over the screen.
Is he that important? she thought, blinking.
That he can walk in late and no one says a thing?
She shook it off, returning her focus to her screen.
Whatever.
She wasn't here for him.
---
Hours passed. It was almost noon when Leah stood, grabbing the manila folder she had printed earlier. She needed to get it to the planning office two floors down. She pressed the elevator button and waited.
The hallway was quiet. Cool. She adjusted her blouse and checked her reflection in the elevator's metal trim.
The doors slid open.
She stepped in.
Just as they were about to close, a hand slipped through the gap.
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened again.
Elijah.
He stepped in without a word, standing on the other side of the space. He had one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a black folder. His hair looked slightly damp — maybe from rushing or maybe the shower.
Leah glanced at him briefly.
Her lips parted.
Say something, she told herself.
Just say good morning.
Just once.
But no sound came.
She swallowed and looked straight ahead.
The elevator was silent except for the soft hum of its movement.
Then — suddenly — Elijah took a sharp breath beside her.
It sounded off.
Too loud.
She looked.
His posture was tense, chest rising and falling too fast, his hand now gripping the elevator railing tightly. His eyes were shut tight, jaw clenched.
"E-Elijah?" she said softly.
He didn't respond.
Instead, he staggered a bit to the side, pressing his back against the wall. His breathing turned shallow. His hand shook slightly.
"Elijah," she stepped toward him quickly, alarm rising in her chest, "look at me."
He did — but barely. His eyes were glassy. There was pain there. Discomfort. Shame.
"I'm— I'm fine," he said quickly, but his voice was cracked, unsteady. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing," she replied, firm but gentle. "Just breathe, okay? Breathe with me."
"I said I'm fine."
He looked away, but she stayed there. Ignoring his protest, she gently took the folder she was holding and placed it down. Then she touched his arm — softly.
"Follow my breathing. In… and out."
He tried. Failed.
"Again. In… and out."
His breathing trembled, but slowly… slowly, it began to level.
The elevator dinged.
Doors opened.
Leah slipped her arm beneath his, guiding him out.
"Come," she said. "Sit."
There was a bench against the hallway wall. She helped him sit, crouching slightly in front of him, watching as the storm in his chest began to calm.
Elijah ran a hand over his face.
He looked everywhere except at her.
She just sat beside him, close enough to feel present, but far enough to give him space.
He stared ahead.
He hated that she saw him like that.
---
The hallway was quiet, the air still holding the tension from just moments ago.
Elijah sat on the edge of the bench, eyes downcast, shoulders slightly hunched. Leah stood a short distance beside him, arms folded, unsure if she should stay or go. The awkwardness was settling in — heavy, silent, and very real.
Then came the sound of heels clicking from the far end of the corridor.
Leah looked up first.
And there she was.
Valeria, his girlfriend.
Perfect hair. Confident walk. Lipstick is flawless even in hallway lighting. She was holding her tablet in one hand and her phone in the other. But her gaze was laser-focused on just one thing:
Them.
She slowed slightly as she got closer, her eyes flicking between Elijah and Leah — taking in the closeness, the quietness, the fact that no one was speaking.
"Oh… so you two finally started talking?"
Her voice carried a smile, but her eyes didn't match it.
Elijah straightened a little, but said nothing. Leah offered a small, polite smile — uncertain how to respond.
Valeria came to a stop in front of them, still holding her tablet but now looking more amused than anything else.
"Wow. Didn't expect to see this combo. You guys are becoming friends or something?"
Her tone was teasing. Not harsh. Not confrontational. But there was something underneath it — a light flicker of suspicion masked in charm.
Leah shook her head. "No, I was just—"
Elijah cut in, voice steady. "She helped me with something. That's all."
Valeria raised an eyebrow, then let out a soft chuckle. "Mmm-hmm. Okay, mister serious. I'm just surprised, that's all. Thought you didn't talk to anyone before 10 a.m."
She nudged his shoulder lightly, then looked back at Leah.
"Anyway, I'll see you both upstairs. Don't talk too much without me."
She winked and walked off like it was nothing — but her smile lingered a little too long. Her steps slowed just slightly before picking up again, like her mind was still trying to figure out what she'd just walked into.
---
When she's gone, Elijah sighs quietly.
Leah looks at him, unsure whether to ask anything — but decides against it.
Neither of them speaks about what just happened.
But both of them know…
Something small just shifted.
As Vanessa disappeared down the hallway, Leah let out a quiet breath.
Everything suddenly felt too warm. Too weird. She realized how stiff her arms had become, still folded across her chest like she was bracing herself for something.
She glanced over at Elijah. He hadn't moved. Still sitting on the bench like his mind was far away.
She cleared her throat gently.
"Um… I actually need to submit something. I should get going."
Elijah gave a small nod, not looking at her.
Without another word, she turned and walked off quickly, heels tapping down the corridor. Her fingers tightened slightly around the folder she had nearly forgotten in the middle of everything.
Great, Leah. You got caught in a hallway scene with someone's boyfriend, she thought, rolling her eyes at herself.
She reached the planning department and politely knocked before stepping in.
"Sorry I'm late," she said softly, handing over the folder to the administrator at the front desk. "There was a bit of… delay."
The woman nodded distractedly. "Next time, try to submit before midday."
"Yes, ma'am. I understand," Leah said politely.
With that, she turned around and made her way back toward her department.
As Leah stepped inside the office, still adjusting her blouse from rushing back, the atmosphere felt different.
Focused.
Weighty.
Amelia, the department manager, stood by her desk, holding two folders — and beside her, Elijah, already back from the hallway moment, stood silent with a calm, unreadable expression.
"Leah," Amelia called. "Come here."
She stepped forward quietly, trying to hide how nervous she felt. After all, it was only her second day.
Amelia placed a folder in her hands.
"You and Elijah are being assigned the Newport branding proposal. It's a high-priority project that just came down from the executive team."
Leah blinked. "Me?"
Amelia nodded firmly. "Yes. This will be your first major task here — and I believe you're ready for it."
Her heart beat faster.
She looked down at the folder in her hands.
First project. Real work. Real expectations.
Amelia continued, "Elijah will handle the analytical and market insights. You'll take the lead on the concept flow, structure, and client presentation model. I expect a draft in five days"
Elijah didn't say a word, but Leah could feel the tension just standing beside him.
"Understood," she said softly.
Amelia gave her a nod of approval. "You're not here to just sit behind a desk, Leah. Let's see what you can do"
__________________________________
The day had stretched long.
After Amelia handed over the Newport branding assignment, Leah spent the next few hours at her desk, going through the folder line by line. She'd never handled anything like this before. Concepts, structure, pitch style — it was exciting, but also intimidating.
Still, she worked quietly, taking notes, organizing her thoughts, trying not to look too much in Elijah's direction as he sat several desks away, focused on his laptop, earbuds in, expression unreadable.
Now, the office was nearly empty. The walls glowed softly under the evening light streaming through the glass. Some staff had already clocked out; others whispered quick goodbyes before vanishing into the hallway.
Leah pushed her chair back with a sigh and began to gather her things.
Just then, a shadow moved beside her desk.
She looked up — and there he was.
Elijah.
He stood beside her chair, one hand on his laptop bag, the other stuffed in his pocket.
"You're leaving?"
She nodded, trying to keep her voice calm. "Yeah. I think I've gone through enough for tonight."
"Thanks for earlier, he said slowly
There was a brief silence.
Then — softly:
"Before you go… do you mind sharing your number?"
Leah blinked.
"For the project," he added quickly. "It'll make coordination easier if something comes up overnight."
She hesitated for only a second, then pulled her phone from her bag.
"Sure."
He handed her his phone instead, and she entered her number, saving it under her name. When she passed it back to him, their fingers brushed lightly — a small, almost invisible moment.
He gave her a faint nod — almost like a thank you- and then stepped aside to let her pass.
Leah made her way down the hallway, the sound of her heels the only thing echoing in the quiet space. She reached the front of the building, stepped outside into the cool evening air, and pulled her blazer tighter over her arms.
She was halfway down the sidewalk when she paused at the corner to glance back toward the office building.
That's when she saw them.
Elijah.
And Valeria.
His girlfriend.
She stood at the entrance, her arms crossed playfully, smiling at something Elijah had just said. He leaned toward her, voice low, and Valeria gave a soft laugh before nudging him in the arm.
Leah watched for half a second longer.
Then turned her head away.
Of course. His girlfriend.
She started walking again, faster this time, eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead.
It's not like I care, she told herself.
It's just work.
--
The warm glow from Valeria's porch light bathed the quiet neighborhood in soft amber hues. Elijah stood with his hands in his pockets, watching as she unlocked the door.
The walk from work had been quiet. Comfortable. But not without weight. Something hung in the air — questions, feelings neither of them had been brave enough to voice before.
As she pushed open the door and stepped inside, she glanced over her shoulder.
"Come in."
He did, closing the door gently behind him.
Her apartment was cozy — muted colors, warm lights, a hint of vanilla-scented candles in the air. Elijah stood near the doorway while Valeria set her purse down, took off her heels, and poured two glasses of water from the kitchen.
She handed him one without asking.
"You look tired."
"I am," he admitted quietly.
They stood facing each other in the living room, the only sound between them the hum of the nearby fridge.
"Can I ask you something?" Elijah asked, his voice low.
Valeria's brows lifted slightly. "Of course."
He stared at the glass in his hand.
"Do I ever feel like… a burden to you?"
Her face softened.
"What?"
He shrugged, eyes still fixed downward.
"I mean… my uncle might own the company. But I don't have money. I'm still in school. I'm living in his house. You've seen it — the way his wife treats me. And you've never… asked for anything. You've been patient. But I can't help wondering…"
She stepped closer to him.
"Elijah," she said softly. "You're not a burden."
He finally looked up at her.
"Are you sure?"
She reached up, her hand resting lightly on his chest. "Yes. I want you. Not your uncle's money. Not the last name. Just you."
A silence passed between them — quiet but full.
Then he asked something he hadn't said aloud before.
"Does it ever bother you? That I'm younger?"
Valeria blinked, then exhaled gently. "I don't know."
He nodded slowly, backing away a little.
"I get it."
But she caught his hand before he could turn.
"I'm trying, Elijah," she said honestly. "I won't lie and say I've never thought about it. But when I'm with you…" Her voice lowered. "It doesn't feel like age. It just feels… right."
His eyes met hers. There was something soft in them. Vulnerable.
"Then keep trying," he whispered.
They stood there for a while, the air charged with words they'd never said before. Emotions they'd danced around for weeks.
Then she playfully tilted her head.
"So… why were you late today?"
He chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Traffic."
She narrowed her eyes. "Traffic?"
He shrugged with a sheepish smile.
She didn't push, just shook her head, grinning. "Try not to be late again. I… I like seeing your face when I come in. It makes my day."
Elijah raised a brow, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "You like my face?"
"You're ridiculously handsome," she said, boldly now. "And you know it."
He laughed quietly.
But then her voice dropped a little, serious again.
"Also… about that new girl. Leah. You took her number today."
Elijah's expression shifted. Not guilty. Just unreadable.
"It's for the project," he said.
"I know," she replied, stepping closer.
"But… please just keep it work-related, okay?"
He nodded. "Okay."
Valeria leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He returned it, slower this time. Not rushed.
Their kiss deepened gradually — her arms sliding around his neck, his hands finding her waist. The walls they'd tiptoed around all evening started to fall. Bit by bit.
The glass in his hand was set down. Her fingers moved into his shirt. Every touch, every sigh, was familiar — comforting — laced with quiet longing.
They moved toward her bedroom slowly, still speaking in soft whispers and half-finished sentences. Neither rushed.
Not just because of passion.
But it was the only way they knew how to hold onto something that made sense.