The rest of the day, I knew I wasn't myself. Everything just felt… heavy. Loud.
The memory of the elevator incident earlier that day kept looping in my head like a broken record — the darkness, my screams, the way my fingers gripped his trousers like a lifeline, and worst of all… the calmness in his voice.
I couldn't get his face out of my mind.
The way he looked down at me like I wasn't just a secretary losing it in a stuck elevator — like I was something else entirely.
I tried to distract myself by working.
Big mistake.
I kept thinking to myself — did he do that out of pity? Or does he have another thing in mind for me? Or could he be laughing at my situation silently?
The moment I opened my system to start typing, what I saw wasn't any document — it was that elevator. That moment. His eyes. His voice. My face buried in his chest. My soul basically embarrassing me in HD.
God. Why am I like this?
It felt like I was doing ten times my normal workload, yet nothing was moving.
Time? Not crawling — frozen. The clock hands were mocking me.
And I… I kept avoiding his office like it was a lion's den. No, worse — a pandemic. Something I could catch again if I so much as looked that way.
The worst part?
My body wasn't helping. I kept sweating.
My stomach felt like it was flipping and flopping like it was training for the Olympics.
I was deep in self-shame and typing the same paragraph for the fourth time when I heard footsteps.
Familiar ones.
Cassian Ward.
Because of course, the universe loves testing my sanity.
He stopped right beside my desk.
I didn't even want to look up. Not because I was scared — but because my dignity had already moved to a new address.
"Miss Quinn," his voice came low but clear, firm as always.
"You're coming with me to a site today."
Site?
I blinked and looked up sharply as I jumped out of my seat.
"I—Sir?" I said, stammering. Even I myself don't know how I became a stammerer.
"Yes, you. My personal assistant called in sick. I need someone to follow me to site and take notes, manage calls, and inspect the site together with me. And since you're available right now, then get ready to follow me."
My heart beat once, loudly.
My soul left me and went on another errand leaving me to face my problem myself
My little remaining dignity stood in one corner and laughed at me.
"But… I…"
He raised a brow and said nothing.
Of course.
What excuse could I possibly give?
Should I say, Sorry sir, I'm still recovering from the trauma of being pressed against your abs yesterday and I'm trying not to pass out from the way your cologne triggers butterflies in my lungs?
Or Sir, are you laughing about the situation in the elevator? Do you find it embarrassing or do you have another thing in mind?
Poor me had no excuses to give other than to follow him.
I reluctantly cleared my throat and stood.
"Okay. I'll get my tablet."
He nodded once and turned away.
I followed him.
Reluctantly. Quietly. Awkwardly.
We arrived at the construction site an hour later.
It was nothing like the soft carpet and silence of the office.
Here, the air was thick with dust, noise, metal clanking, voices shouting over engines, and sun beating down with no mercy.
I tried to keep up with his pace — which, for someone with long legs and zero emotional drama, was too fast for my post-elevator-traumatized self.
My heart was already overworking when it happened.
My heel — my stupid, sleek, black pointed heel — got stuck in a gap between two floorboards.
I froze.
Then panicked.
As I wobbled, trying to balance myself, my hand flailed mid-air, my bag slipped down my arm, and I tilted dangerously forward.
I was going to fall.
But then — I didn't.
Because his hand — his hand — grabbed my little waist.
Not gently.
Firmly.
Possessively.
I sucked in a breath as his other hand moved to my back, steadying me.
My entire body froze, and I found myself looking up — directly into his eyes.
And he… was already looking down at me.
God.
Those eyes.
Dark. Quiet. But they weren't cold this time.
This time I got a clearer look, and damn — this shit is too good-looking.
There was something there. Something unreadable, unspoken — but it wasn't professional.
His eyes flickered for a second, like he was trying to stop himself from doing something stupid.
His lips parted slightly, and I could've sworn a blush crept up the edge of his cheekbones.
Or maybe it was the sun.
Maybe it was my delusion.
But it was something.
I couldn't move.
Neither did he.
We stood like that for what felt like a full minute — his hand on my waist, my breath against his chest.
My heart was dancing salsa.
My stomach was writing love songs.
My brain? Offline.
It already left me on that spot and flew away.
Then—
"Ahem."
A loud, deep throat-clearing echoed behind us.
Cassian blinked and stepped back.
I immediately found balance and adjusted my dress like my life depended on it.
One of the site workers was standing there, pretending not to be curious, but failing.
"Sorry sir… ma'am," he said, a teasing smirk creeping on his face.
"Didn't mean to interrupt… whatever that was."
Cassian's face went unreadable. Completely shut off.
The worker walked off slowly, and I didn't miss the way he turned back to look at me — then at Cassian — then smirked again.
The implication hung in the air like smoke.
They think I'm his woman.
Jesus.
Kill me now.
Cassian didn't say anything.
He just walked ahead.
But I saw it — the twitch in his jaw.
The way he adjusted his cuff for no reason.
Something was off.
I followed, keeping my face neutral, but my mind was doing cartwheels.
My legs? Not balanced again.
It felt like I forgot how to walk.
He kept moving from section to section, checking the progress of work, directing what needed to be corrected, as I walked behind him and took notes.
Back in the car, silence ruled the ride.
I sat stiffly, still holding the notes like my life depended on it.
I just needed something to hold on to, and only that note was available at that moment, so I held onto it firmly.
He didn't speak.
I couldn't speak either.
My thoughts kept running wild in my head.
But in his eyes, it felt like he was avoiding my eyes.
Could he be blushing?
He said nothing.
Not until we reached the office.
"Send the meeting summary to my email before the close of day."
"Yes, sir."
He paused before stepping out. And then…
"I didn't know you were that clumsy, Miss Quinn," he said gently.
I blinked. "I—It was the heel, sir."
He nodded slightly.
"Then wear flats next time. I need you steady."
Steady?
What the hell did that mean?
He stepped out before I could ask.
I felt like dragging this man back and asking him what he means by he needs me steady, so I can save myself from another day of excessive thinking.
I ducked into the restroom before heading to my desk.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
Flushed cheeks. Wild eyes. Lips still parted.
Pathetic.
I kept replaying that moment — his hand on my waist, our eyes locked, the blush, the heat, the site worker's smirk.
Was I overthinking everything?
Was it just a coincidence?
Or…
Was Cassian Ward actually… falling?
No.
No way.
This is the same man who never cracks.
Never shows emotion.
Never lets anyone close.
But today?
Today, something cracked.
Even if it was just a flicker. A twitch.
Even if it was just me imagining it — I felt it.
The same way I felt my heart not acting normal.
My thoughts not acting normal.
My stupid, traitorous body reacting to every second he spends near me.
This can't be happening.
I'm not falling.
I'm not.
I swear, I'm not.
And even if I was…
What if he is too?
And if he is…
what happens next will either save me — or break me.