Leah stayed behind long after Adrian left the boardroom.The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, her reflection faint against the glass wall. She gathered her notes slowly, not because there was much to pack, but because leaving meant facing her thoughts — and right now, they were too loud.
Her pulse still hadn't fully settled. His words echoed in her mind:You don't need to prove yourself to anyone. Least of all me.
She wanted to believe that. But something in his tone — quiet, conflicted — made her think he was trying to convince himself, too.
When she finally returned to her desk, the office had thinned out. Most of the team had gone for lunch. The light from the tall windows had softened, washing the floor in muted silver. She sat down, forced herself to type, but the letters blurred into meaningless rows.
"Focus," she muttered under her breath.
But focus was the one thing she couldn't find.
The boardroom moment kept replaying in fragments — the brush of his hand, the way his gaze lingered just long enough to feel personal, the tone he used when he said her name. There was nothing inappropriate about it. Nothing that crossed a clear boundary.And yet… something had crossed. Just not out loud.
Across the floor, Adrian's office door was half open.
He wasn't working either.
His eyes stayed fixed on a report he'd read three times without absorbing a word. Every so often, he caught a glimpse of her through the frosted glass — the faint outline of her figure, the tilt of her head, her hair falling over one shoulder.He shouldn't have noticed. But he did.
He'd built his life on discipline — every decision measured, every boundary defined. But lately, that control felt like it was cracking at the edges. And Leah Bennett, with her quiet strength and steady eyes, had become the single distraction he couldn't fully explain away.
He told himself it was professionalism. Admiration for her work ethic. Respect for her composure under pressure.But respect didn't make his pulse shift when she entered a room.Respect didn't make him replay the look in her eyes when he said her name.
He exhaled, leaning back, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose.This was getting out of hand.
A soft knock broke the silence. He looked up.Leah stood in the doorway, holding a folder to her chest.
"Do you have a minute?" she asked.
He nodded, wordless. "Come in."
She stepped closer, the faint click of her heels the only sound between them. When she placed the folder on his desk, their eyes met — the same charged stillness from the boardroom returning like a tide neither could stop.
"I double-checked the audit summary," she said. "You were right about the discrepancies in section C."
He glanced at the file, then at her. "You stayed late to fix this?"
"I wanted to make sure it was done before the client meeting tomorrow."
Adrian nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. "You didn't have to."
"I know," she said softly, almost a whisper. "But I wanted to."
It was an innocent statement, but it landed differently — a quiet confession dressed as diligence.
The silence stretched.
Leah looked away first, scanning the reports on his desk. "Do you ever stop working?" she asked, half-smiling, trying to ease the tension.
He allowed a faint smirk. "Not really. Occupational hazard."
For a moment, they almost looked like two normal people — not boss and employee, not two professionals trying too hard to be unaffected — just two people standing too close, both pretending not to notice.
Her gaze flickered to the window, where the city lights began to pierce the early dusk. "It's beautiful at this hour," she said, her tone low, thoughtful.
He followed her eyes. "It is."
Their reflections glimmered faintly against the glass — two blurred figures side by side, close enough for their shoulders to almost touch.
Something unspoken passed between them again — something that neither could quite name but both could feel. It wasn't about desire. It was about awareness — the kind that lingered, careful and dangerous.
Adrian finally looked away, forcing a quiet breath. "You should head home. It's late."
Leah hesitated, then nodded. "Right."
She turned to leave but paused at the door. "About earlier… in the meeting," she said, her voice almost trembling. "Thank you."
He frowned slightly. "For what?"
"For believing I could handle it."
He held her gaze for a moment too long, then said softly, "You didn't need me to."
She smiled — small, genuine. "Maybe not. But it helped."
Then she was gone, the sound of the door closing far gentler than it should've been.
Adrian stayed still, staring at the empty space she'd left behind.For a man who prided himself on control, he'd never felt less in command.
And somewhere down the hallway, Leah leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.It wasn't supposed to feel like this — this mix of admiration, fear, and something unnamed that made her heart ache in the quiet.
Lines hadn't been crossed yet. But she could feel them.Thin. Fragile. Waiting.
And every day, they were both stepping closer.