Elara was determined.
She was going to be professional. She was going to keep her head down, answer emails, fetch coffee, schedule meetings, and absolutely not think about how Damien Kane's mouth had felt when it was anywhere but on words.
She repeated that mantra like a prayer as she walked into Kane Corp on Monday morning, her heels clicking sharp against the marble lobby floor.
Then the elevator doors opened, and there he was.
Damien Kane in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her yearly salary, tie loosened just enough to be suggestive, and that knowing smirk tugging at his mouth.
Her mantra died a violent death.
"Miss Hart," he greeted smoothly, eyes glinting.
"Mr. Kane," she replied, forcing her tone flat, neutral.
He stepped inside the elevator beside her, close enough that his cologne wrapped around her like a trap. "Did you get enough sleep?"
She gritted her teeth. "Plenty."
"Funny," he murmured, leaning just a fraction closer, "because I didn't."
Her cheeks burned. She stared straight ahead at the glowing numbers above the door, praying for the floor to arrive faster. "We agreed that never happened."
"You agreed," Damien corrected softly. "I never did."
The elevator chimed, doors sliding open, and she practically bolted out. But Damien wasn't done. He matched her stride down the hall, his long legs making it effortless.
"Elara," he said, voice low so only she could hear, "you can write all the rules you want. But tell me—do you really believe you'll stick to them the next time we're alone?"
She whirled on him, nearly colliding with his chest. "Yes."
His smile was slow, dangerous. "We'll see."
---
For the next week, it was war.
Every time she tried to be professional, Damien turned it into a game.
She delivered his schedule? He brushed her fingers deliberately as he took the folder, eyes holding hers a beat too long.
She passed him coffee? He leaned in to murmur, "Sweet. Just like you."
She stayed late to proof contracts? He dropped into the chair across from her, tie loosened, gaze heavy. "You work too hard, Elara. You should let me take care of you."
She nearly threw her stapler at him.
It was infuriating. It was exhilarating. And worst of all, it was working.
Because no matter how hard she tried to resist, she couldn't stop the way her pulse spiked when he was near. Couldn't stop the way her eyes lingered on his hands, his jaw, his mouth.
Late one evening, when the office was silent and the city glittered outside, Damien leaned against her desk, watching her type.
"You're killing yourself with these rules," he said softly.
She didn't look up. "I'm keeping my job."
"You're denying what's already happening." His voice lowered. "You're denying us."
Her fingers froze on the keyboard.
"Damien," she whispered, not trusting her voice, "if we keep going down this road, it'll destroy me."
His eyes softened, something unguarded breaking through his usual steel. "Then let it destroy me too."
Her breath hitched.
She shoved her chair back, standing abruptly, desperate for air. "I need to go."
And before he could stop her, she grabbed her bag and fled the office, leaving Damien Kane staring after her, his jaw tight, his control unraveling.