The office was buzzing with its usual hum of fluorescent lights and muted chatter, but for Ava Cole, the atmosphere felt charged—electric, tense, and utterly infuriating.
Her morning had started like any other: coffee in hand, meticulously organized desk, and a firm determination to avoid Adrian Black at all costs.
Fate, however, had other plans.
She was barely halfway through her meticulously brewed latte when she felt it: that unmistakable presence. He was behind her, leaning casually against the counter of the office kitchenette, dark gray eyes scanning her like he owned the room.
"Good morning," Adrian said, voice low and smooth, carrying just enough amusement to make her stomach twist.
"Morning," she muttered, hoping that keeping her gaze fixed on her coffee cup would somehow render her invisible.
He didn't move. He never did. He had a way of stepping into a room and claiming every inch of space, even without touching anything.
"Extra shot today?" he asked, gesturing toward her cup. "Trying to wake up from the nightmares of your past… or maybe just from me?"
Ava nearly spat out her latte. She set the cup down with exaggerated care, glaring at him. "I'm fully awake. And this… this isn't about you."
"Isn't it?" He stepped closer, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His cologne hit her like a velvet punch. "Because you're jittery. Heart racing. Hands fidgeting. I've seen this before, remember?"
Her cheeks flamed. He always remembered. Every detail, every reaction, every instinct she tried to bury deep inside herself.
"I'm not… nervous," she hissed, gripping the edge of the counter.
"Not nervous," he repeated, leaning on the counter so that the tips of their fingers almost brushed. "Just… alive. Your type of alive. Excited. Tense. And very aware of me."
Ava glared, willing her pulse to slow, willing herself to be professional. But every word, every smirk, every subtle movement of his body made it harder to think clearly. She had fought for years to bury the memories, the desire, the pull that Adrian Black had over her. And now, five years later, he was back—just as infuriating, impossibly attractive, and dangerously confident as ever.
"You're insufferable," she said, trying to shove past him.
"And yet… here you are," he replied smoothly, stepping in front of her path like a living, breathing wall. "Still resisting. Still defiant. Still irresistible."
She groaned inwardly. Of course. Everything he said had a way of wrapping around her brain and her body simultaneously. And the part of her that wanted to push him away and the part of her that wanted to press closer were in constant, excruciating conflict.
"Coffee," she said finally, holding her cup like a shield. "It's… just coffee."
"Sure, just coffee," he said, smirk widening. "Except for the way your hands tremble when you hold it. Except for the way your eyes keep flicking to me. Except for…" He trailed off, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper, "…everything that betrays you."
Ava's breath caught. "You're impossible," she whispered.
"And you," he replied, voice low and intimate, "are still mine. Whether you admit it or not."
Her chest heaved, her fingers tightening around the warm cup, desperate to find some semblance of control. "You're… insane," she muttered.
"Insane? Maybe. But I've always been right about one thing," he said, leaning closer so that their faces were only inches apart. "You can't stay away from me."
She tried to focus on her latte, on anything but the heat radiating from him, the low growl in his voice, the way his presence made her knees feel weak. But it was impossible. Every instinct, every memory, every pulse of desire was screaming in betrayal.
"People are going to notice," she said finally, exasperated, glancing toward the few coworkers who were casually glancing in their direction.
"I don't care," he said, tilting his head, smirk spreading slowly. "Let them notice. Let them see exactly what they're missing. Let them wonder why the most infuriating, amazing woman in the office is standing here… trembling."
Ava felt her resolve slipping. Her pulse was rapid, and every nerve ending felt hyper-aware of his proximity. She wanted to shove him away, scream, run—but a part of her… a dangerous, traitorous part… wanted to lean into him, to feel that magnetic pull that had drawn her in years ago.
"Adrian…" she began, voice trembling slightly.
"Yes?" His voice was velvet, dangerous, teasing, wrapping around her like a physical caress.
"I… I have work to do," she said finally, attempting to regain composure, clutching her cup like a lifeline.
He chuckled softly, leaning back, hands resting casually on the counter. "Work. Right. Deadlines, reports, spreadsheets… all that boring stuff. But you'll be back, won't you?"
Ava's heart lurched. She didn't answer. She couldn't. Deep down, she knew he was right. She would be back. She always was.
And Adrian Black… well, he had already won.