The atmosphere in Knight Enterprises was electric with tension. Phones rang without pause, printers whirred like overworked machines in a factory, and the buzz of conversation carried an edge of panic.
Lily Carter stood in the middle of it all, clutching a folder that might as well have been ticking like a bomb.
"This can't be happening," she whispered to herself.
But it was.
At precisely 5:47 p.m., Alexander Knight had strode out of his office, eyes sharp, voice even sharper.
"Investor report," he'd said curtly, dropping a stack of papers onto her desk. "Revised. Tonight."
"Tonight?!" she'd squeaked, staring at the intimidating pile of charts, projections, and enough numbers to make her cry. "As in… tonight tonight?"
His expression hadn't flickered. "Yes. The presentation is tomorrow morning at nine."
"But—it's almost six now! This is, like, an all-nighter's worth of work!"
"Then I suggest you don't waste time panicking," he'd replied smoothly, already walking back into his office.
And just like that, her Friday night had been sentenced to death by spreadsheets.
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By 8 p.m., the office had emptied out. Only the hum of the air conditioning and the occasional crack of thunder outside kept Lily company.
Her desk was a war zone of sticky notes, coffee cups, and papers. She stared at the spreadsheets until the numbers blurred, her brain threatening to short-circuit.
"This is impossible," she groaned.
"You're using the wrong figures," a voice said behind her.
She jumped, nearly knocking over her coffee. Alex stood there, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, looking unfairly calm for someone who'd just dropped a financial apocalypse on her desk.
"I—I wasn't wrong!" she protested, pointing to her highlighted notes. "These numbers came straight from accounting."
"Accounting's projections are outdated," he said, plucking the file from her hands. "Use the revised quarterlies. Page sixteen."
She scowled. "Do you enjoy watching me drown?"
His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but dangerously close. "Your flailing is… distracting."
Her jaw dropped. "Distracting?! I'll have you know, this is Grade-A effort happening right here. I'm flailing with purpose!"
He set the file down, leaning over her desk. His presence loomed, steady and unshakable. "Then prove it."
Her pulse spiked.
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They settled into the conference room, the table littered with papers, laptops glowing in the dim light.
Alex worked like a machine—precise, efficient, utterly focused. Lily… not so much.
She hummed under her breath as she scribbled notes. She tapped her pen against the table when she got stuck. She muttered entire arguments with herself before writing anything down.
After an hour, Alex finally set his pen down with a sigh. "Must you narrate every thought?"
"Yes," she shot back. "It's called brainstorming. You should try it sometime instead of, you know, plotting world domination in silence."
His gaze flicked to her, sharp but amused. "This is business, Miss Carter. Not a comic book."
"Please," she scoffed. "You are basically a comic book villain. All that's missing is a cat to stroke ominously during board meetings."
For the first time, a genuine smirk tugged at his lips. "You'd last five minutes in a board meeting."
"Wrong," she said confidently. "I'd last ten. Minimum."
Their eyes met, a spark flickering between them.
Neither looked away.
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By midnight, papers covered every inch of the table. Lily's hair had escaped her bun, curls spilling across her face as she leaned over the documents.
"Wait," she said suddenly, grabbing a marker. "This projection—it's wrong."
Alex glanced over, ready to dismiss her. "It's based on confirmed data."
"Yeah, but look at the trend," she said, circling a set of numbers. "If you carry over the growth from Q2, the trajectory shifts. The old projection is underestimating revenue."
He frowned, leaning closer.
She tapped the page again, excitement lighting her eyes. "See? It's not accounting for the market expansion you announced last month. If you add that, the figures jump."
He scanned the data, silent. Then, slowly, he nodded. "You're right."
Her jaw dropped. "Wait. Did you just say I'm right? Like—actually right?"
He smirked faintly. "Don't get used to it."
But his gaze lingered on her a second too long, and Lily felt warmth creep up her neck.
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At 1 a.m., exhaustion weighed heavy, but they were almost done. Alex reached for a file at the same time Lily did.
Their hands brushed.
It was nothing. Barely a second. Skin against skin, brief, accidental.
But the air shifted instantly.
Lily froze, her breath catching. His hand was warm, steady, his fingers brushing against hers just enough to make her pulse trip.
She glanced up.
Alex's eyes met hers.
For a heartbeat, the world went silent—the rain outside, the hum of the lights, everything.
It was just them.
Close. Too close.
Then he pulled back, expression unreadable. "Careful," he murmured, his voice lower than usual.
She swallowed hard, snatching her hand back. "Y-yeah. Totally. Careful. Got it."
Her heart pounded like it was trying to escape her chest.
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They finished the report by 2 a.m., both exhausted but satisfied. Alex gathered the files with his usual composure, as if nothing had happened.
"Good work," he said simply.
Lily blinked. "Did you just—was that a compliment?!"
"Don't ruin it, Miss Carter."
She grinned despite herself, tucking the moment away like a secret.
But as she walked out into the stormy night, her fingers still tingled where they'd brushed his.
And in his office, Alex lingered a moment longer than necessary, staring at the table where her laughter still seemed to echo.
For the first time in years, the silence felt… different.
Not empty.
Charged.
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By the time Lily stumbled into her apartment, it was nearly 3 a.m. She dropped her bag on the floor, kicked off her shoes (one landing on the couch, the other disappearing somewhere under the table), and collapsed into bed still half-dressed in her pencil skirt and blouse.
Her brain, however, refused to shut down.
She buried her face in her pillow and groaned. "Oh. My. God."
Images replayed on loop: Alex leaning over her shoulder, his voice low, his eyes close enough to notice the tiny flecks of silver in his irises. The way he'd actually admitted she was right. The brush of his hand against hers—brief, electric, enough to make her heart do cartwheels it had no business doing.
Lily flipped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. This is not happening. I am not getting flustered because of Mr. Ice-Cube-CEO himself."
She sat up, pointing accusingly at the ceiling like it had answers. "He's terrifying. He's rude. He treats meetings like gladiator battles. And okay, fine, maybe his jawline could cut glass, and maybe his hands are really, really nice, and maybe his voice could make a GPS sound sexy—but still!"
Her neighbor banged on the wall. "Some of us are trying to sleep!"
"Sorry!" Lily yelled back, then flopped down again, whispering to herself. "Get it together, Carter. You cannot crush on your boss. That's a one-way ticket to unemployment and heartbreak."
She pulled her blanket over her head. But even as sleep finally tugged her under, her hand still tingled faintly where it had brushed his.
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Across the city, Alexander Knight sat in his penthouse office, the lights of Los Angeles glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His jacket was draped carelessly over the back of a chair, his sleeves still rolled up.
The investor report sat completed on his desk, flawless. Efficient. Exactly as it should be.
And yet his mind wasn't on the numbers.
It was on her.
Lily Carter.
Reckless. Chaotic. Infuriating.
And… insightful.
He hadn't expected her to notice the projection error. He hadn't expected her to challenge him. He especially hadn't expected to feel that flicker of pride when she'd been right.
Or that jolt—sharp, disarming—when her hand had brushed his.
Alex poured himself a glass of scotch, staring out at the skyline. He hated distractions. He thrived on control, discipline, silence. Lily was none of those things. She was noise, color, unpredictability.
She didn't belong in his world.
And yet, somehow, she was finding cracks in the armor he'd spent years building.
His grip tightened on the glass. That couldn't happen. Not again.
He forced his thoughts back to the report, to Sebastian Brooks, to the looming investor battle. To anything but the way her laugh had lingered in the conference room long after she left.
But as the storm outside rumbled and rain streaked the glass, he couldn't shake the memory of her eyes meeting his across the table—bright, defiant, unafraid.
And for the first time in years, the silence of his penthouse didn't feel like peace.
It felt like a battlefield he was losing.