The call came on a Thursday.
Nora was in the sunroom, staring at a blank canvas and trying to convince herself she wasn't waiting for her phone to ring, when it finally did.
Unknown number.
Her heart kicked into her throat.
"Hello?"
"Nora Hayes?" Professional. Female. Familiar.
"Yes?"
"This is Rebecca Hartley. From the gallery. Do you have a moment?"
Nora sat down before her legs could give out. "Of course."
"I'll cut to the chase. We'd like to offer you the junior curator position. Part-time to start—twenty hours a week—with potential to go full-time after three months depending on performance. The pay isn't spectacular, but you'd get benefits and a discount on any pieces you want to purchase for your personal collection."
The words took a second to penetrate.
Then: "I—yes. Yes. I'd love to. Thank you. Thank you so much."
Rebecca laughed. "Don't thank me yet. You haven't experienced a opening night crisis. But welcome to the Hartley, Nora. We're excited to have you."
They discussed logistics—start date (Monday), paperwork, what to expect the first week. Nora took notes with shaking hands, barely processing half of it.
When she hung up, she just sat there. Staring at her phone. At the blank canvas. At the sunlight streaming through windows.
She had a job.
A real job. In her field. At a gallery she respected.
She wanted to scream. To cry. To call someone and share this moment with another human being who'd understand what it meant.
Her fingers hovered over Zara's contact. Then Victor's.
But the person she really wanted to tell was down the hall in Victor's office, probably on a conference call, definitely off-limits.
She went to find him anyway.
Adrian's door was closed. She could hear his voice through it—clipped, authoritative, speaking what sounded like Japanese.
Nora knocked anyway.
The conversation paused. "Come in."
She opened the door. He was at Victor's massive desk, laptop open, phone to his ear, looking every inch the billionaire businessman. His eyes widened fractionally when he saw her.
He said something quick into the phone—apologetic tone, wrapping up—and ended the call.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"They offered me the job."
For a heartbeat, he just stared at her.
Then he smiled. Really smiled. The kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and transformed his entire face.
"Nora. That's—congratulations." He stood, came around the desk. Stopped just short of touching her. "I knew they would. You're brilliant."
"I'm terrified."
"That means you care."
"What if I'm terrible at it?"
"You won't be."
"You don't know that."
"Yes," Adrian said quietly, "I do."
The certainty in his voice steadied something in her chest.
They stood there. Too close. Not close enough. The kiss from three nights ago hanging between them like unfinished business.
They hadn't talked about it. The morning after, Adrian had left before dawn with a note: Had early meeting. Congratulations on making me lose my mind. Won't happen again. –A
It hadn't happened again.
But the wanting hadn't stopped.
"We should celebrate," Adrian said suddenly.
Nora blinked. "What?"
"Dinner. Tonight. My treat. You got your first real job—that deserves acknowledgment."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. Victor would want someone to take you out, make you feel special. Since he can't be here, I will."
The rationalization was thin. They both knew it.
"Okay," Nora said. "Dinner sounds nice."
Something flickered across his face. "I'll make a reservation. Somewhere good. Dress nice."
"How nice?"
His eyes traced over her—quick, heated—before he caught himself. "However you want. You'd look beautiful in anything."
The words landed between them. Too honest. Too much.
Adrian cleared his throat. "Seven o'clock. I'll drive."
"Okay."
She should leave. Let him get back to work.
She didn't move.
"Nora?"
"Thank you. For—" She gestured vaguely. "Everything. The ride to the interview. The advice on my painting. Believing in me when I wasn't sure I believed in myself."
His jaw worked. "You don't need to thank me."
"I wanted to."
She left before the moment could stretch into something they'd have to address.
The restaurant was a mistake.
Adrian realized it the moment they walked in—intimate tables, candlelight, soft piano music, the kind of atmosphere designed for romance not friendly celebration.
But the reservation was made. Nora looked stunning in a deep blue dress that made her eyes luminous. And he was already here, already committed to this terrible idea.
The host led them to a corner table. Secluded. Private.
Of course.
Adrian pulled out Nora's chair, caught a hint of her perfume—something light and floral—and had to physically remind himself this was just dinner. Just celebrating her job. Nothing more.
"This place is beautiful," Nora said, looking around with wide eyes. "How did you get a reservation on such short notice?"
"I know the owner."
"Of course you do."
He smiled despite himself. "The benefits of being in business too long. You accumulate favors."
"Is that what you call it? Favors?"
"What would you call it?"
"Power. Influence. The ability to make things happen with a phone call."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's not bad. Just—different. From my world."
Their waiter appeared. Took drink orders—wine for her, whiskey for him. Left them with menus and knowing smiles.
Adrian tried not to think about what this looked like. Him and Nora. Candlelight. A corner table designed for lovers.
"So," Nora said, studying her menu. "What's good here?"
"Everything. But the duck is exceptional."
"Not a vegetarian, then."
"Tried it once. Lasted about three days before I caved and ate a steak."
She laughed. The sound made something warm bloom in his chest.
They ordered. The conversation flowed easier than it should have—her excitement about the gallery, his story about a disastrous business dinner in Tokyo where nothing had gone according to plan, her questions about how he'd built his company.
"Victor helped," Adrian said, swirling his whiskey. "I had ideas. Ambition. But no connections, no capital, no credibility. He gave me all three."
"How did you two meet?"
It was a question he'd avoided for years. The real answer was too dark, too revealing.
But something about the candlelight and Nora's genuine interest made him want to tell the truth.
"I was twenty-one. Homeless. Working construction jobs when I could get them." He watched her face, waiting for judgment. Saw only attention. "Victor was overseeing a development project. Caught me sleeping in one of the unfinished units. Should've called the cops. Instead, he bought me breakfast."
"And offered you a job?"
"Not immediately. First, he asked what I was running from."
"What did you tell him?"
"The truth. That I'd killed my father and couldn't go home."
Nora's breath caught. But she didn't pull back. Didn't look horrified. Just asked, "Self-defense?"
"How did you know?"
"Because you're not a murderer. And because the way you said it—" She reached across the table. Her fingers brushed his. "You carry it like guilt, not pride."
Adrian stared at their almost-touching hands. "He was drunk. Beating my brother. I intervened. He came at me with a bottle. I defended myself. He fell. Hit his head." The words came mechanical. Practiced. "The courts ruled it justified. I was seventeen. They let me go."
"But you've never forgiven yourself."
"He was still my father."
"Who beat his children."
"That doesn't make it—"
"It makes it survival." Her hand covered his fully now. Warm. Grounding. "You were a child protecting another child. That's not murder, Adrian. That's courage."
His throat burned. "Victor said something similar. After I told him the whole story over that breakfast, he offered me a job in his mailroom. Minimum wage. But it came with a stipulation."
"What stipulation?"
"That I finish my degree. Night school. Business. He'd pay for it, but I had to commit to building something better than what I'd come from."
"And you did."
"I tried. Some days I'm still trying."
The waiter brought their food. They ate. Talked about lighter things—her college adventures, his terrible cooking skills, the time Victor had tried to teach him golf and it had ended with a broken window and a lifelong ban from the country club.
But underneath the lightness was weight. Truth. The kind of conversation that stripped away pretense and left only honesty.
"Can I ask you something?" Nora said over dessert—chocolate mousse they were sharing.
"Depends on the question."
"Why haven't you gotten married? Had a family?"
Adrian's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "That's—direct."
"You don't have to answer."
But he wanted to. God help him, he wanted her to understand.
"I never thought I deserved it," he said finally. "A family. The white picket fence. Normal." He set down his spoon. "My childhood was—violence and chaos. My father drinking, my mother leaving, my brother choosing crime over everything else. I spent years convinced I'd end up like them. That I carried the same poison."
"But you didn't."
"Didn't I? I'm thirty-four, Nora. Alone. Married to my work. No real relationships beyond Victor and a handful of business associates I'd barely call friends. I've built an empire and filled it with nothing."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
"You have people who care about you. Victor. Mrs. Chen. The employees who've been with you for years." She paused. "Me."
The word hung between them.
"You barely know me," Adrian said quietly.
"I know enough. I know you're kind when you don't have to be. That you remember how people take their coffee. That you carry guilt for things that weren't your fault. That you're so busy protecting everyone else, you forget to protect yourself."
"Nora—"
"I know," she continued, "that you look at me like I'm something precious. Like you're afraid if you touch me, I'll break. But I'm not fragile, Adrian. I'm stronger than you think."
"I know you are. That's not—" He stopped. Struggled for words. "It's not about you being fragile. It's about me being—damaged. Wrong for you in every way that matters."
"Let me decide what's wrong for me."
"You're twenty-two."
"So?"
"So you should be with someone your own age. Someone uncomplicated. Someone who doesn't have a body count and nightmares and enough emotional baggage to sink a ship."
"What if I don't want uncomplicated?"
"Everyone wants uncomplicated."
"Not me." She leaned forward. Candlelight caught in her eyes. "I want real. I want someone who understands that life isn't perfect, that people are messy, that wanting something doesn't make it simple. I want—"
She stopped. Bit her lip.
"What do you want?" Adrian asked. His voice came out rougher than intended.
"You. I want you."
The confession landed like a grenade.
Adrian sat back. Closed his eyes. "Nora."
"I know all the reasons we shouldn't. I've heard them. I understand them. But I'm tired of pretending I don't feel this. That every time you're near me, I don't—" She made a frustrated sound. "I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm just asking you to stop running from something that might actually be good."
When he opened his eyes, she was watching him with such naked honesty it hurt.
"If we do this," he said slowly, "if we cross this line—there's no going back. And when Victor finds out—"
"We'll handle it together."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Then show me."
God, she was brave. Braver than he'd ever been.
Adrian signaled for the check. Paid quickly. Led her out of the restaurant and into the cool San Francisco night.
They didn't talk on the drive home. The silence was too full—of possibility, of fear, of the space between what you want and what you should do.
He pulled into the estate's circular driveway. Killed the engine.
Neither moved.
"Thank you for dinner," Nora said finally. "It was perfect."
"You're welcome."
"Adrian?"
He looked at her. Mistake. She was so close. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in her eyes. The way her lips parted slightly. The pulse fluttering in her throat.
"I meant what I said. In the restaurant. I want—"
"I know." His hand found hers in the darkness. Threaded their fingers together. "I want it too. That's the problem."
"Why is wanting me a problem?"
"Because I'm supposed to protect you. Not—"
"Not what?"
"Not want you the way I do. Not think about you constantly. Not lie awake at night imagining what it would feel like to kiss you again. Really kiss you. Not in some moment of weakness but because I've stopped fighting it."
Her breath hitched. "So stop fighting it."
"Nora—"
"One night. Just—one night where we're honest about this. Where we stop pretending. And then tomorrow, if you want to go back to boundaries and distance and noble suffering, fine. But tonight—" She turned to face him fully. "Tonight, be honest with me."
He should say no. Should walk her to the door like a gentleman and retreat to his room and spend the next four hours in a cold shower.
Instead, he leaned across the console and kissed her.
Soft. Tentative. Giving her space to pull back.
She didn't pull back.
She kissed him harder. Desperate. Like she'd been starving for this and finally, finally, she could taste what she needed.
Adrian groaned into her mouth. His hand came up to cup her face. His thumb stroked her cheekbone—the same spot he'd wiped paint from days ago.
This was insane. They were in a car. In Victor's driveway. Anyone could see.
He didn't care.
He kissed her like he'd been dying for it. Poured four days of restraint and want and years of not letting himself have anything good into the press of his lips against hers.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, he pressed his forehead to hers.
"This is a terrible idea," he whispered.
"I know."
"We shouldn't."
"I know."
"But God help me, I can't stop."
She smiled against his mouth. "Then don't."
They kissed again. And again. Until the windows fogged and time became meaningless and the only thing that mattered was this—her taste, her hands in his hair, the small sounds she made when he kissed along her jaw.
Eventually, they had to breathe.
Adrian pulled back. Looked at her—lips swollen, eyes dark, hair mussed from his hands.
Beautiful. Dangerous. His.
No. Not his. Never his.
But tonight? Tonight, maybe he could pretend.
"Come inside," Nora whispered.
It wasn't a question.
It was a choice.
And for the first time in his life, Adrian chose what he wanted instead of what he should do.
He took her hand and led her into the house.