Evening bleeds through the office windows, painting everything gold and shadow.
I sit beside Adison, staring at market analysis spreadsheets that might as well be written in ancient Greek. Numbers swim across the screen in formations that mean absolutely nothing to me, but I nod at appropriate intervals like I'm following along.
My actual role is simpler: Adison needs someone to help her focus, to catch the details pregnancy brain sometimes lets slip. I'm happy to be useful, even if I understand barely half of what I'm looking at.
But my mind keeps circling back to the corridor.
To Zachary's hand wrapped around my wrist. To the heat in his voice before he walked away. To the way his palm landed sharp against my body, sending electricity through every nerve ending I possess.
Make your work, Violet.
I shift in my chair, trying to ignore the warmth pooling low in my stomach. The memory replays on loop—his breath ghosting across my lips, the warning wrapped in hunger, the way he looked at me like I was something he wanted but shouldn't touch.
"So." I force casualness into my voice, keeping my eyes on the incomprehensible spreadsheet. "Does Zachary have any personal life at all?"
The question lands with more interest than I intended.
Adison closes her laptop immediately, giving me her full attention with an expression that suggests I've just said something far more revealing than I meant to. "Why do you ask?"
"Just curious." I shrug, attempting nonchalance that feels increasingly unconvincing. "We work together constantly. He never mentions anything beyond these walls. No friends. No hobbies. Nothing."
"Zachary is essentially married to his work." Adison leans back in her chair, one hand settling against her belly with that protective gesture she probably doesn't realize she makes constantly. "As his friend, it saddens me. As his CEO, I'm grateful for such unwavering dedication."
She tilts her head, studying me with uncomfortable precision. "But that doesn't answer why you're asking."
"Pure professional curiosity." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. "That's all."
Adison's gaze sharpens into something that sees straight through my carefully constructed deflection. "Violet. Do you find Zachary attractive?"
"Of course not." The denial escapes automatic and immediate, defensive instinct rising before I can think.
But Adison has known me too long. Seen through too many of my masks. Her smile turns knowing and warm and absolutely devastating to my composure.
"He seems equally interested in you." She says it like she's commenting on the weather rather than detonating a bomb in my lap. "I've been enjoying watching the tension build between you two. It's quite entertaining, actually."
Heat floods my face. "That's—he's significantly older than me, Adison. It's inappropriate."
Her laugh fills the office, genuine and surprised. She gestures at her pregnant belly with exaggerated emphasis. "Violet. I'm about to marry a man old enough to be my father. You really want to lecture me about age gaps?"
"That's different." I insist, even though I'm not entirely sure how.
"It's not different." Adison's voice gentles, turning serious beneath the amusement. "It's simply an attraction between two compelling people who might grow it into something meaningful. And there's nothing wrong with that."
She leans forward, her expression shifting into something almost maternal. "You should consider the possibility. Zachary is—he's a good man, Violet. Complicated and stubborn and married to his work, yes. But good. The kind of man who might actually see you clearly."
The words settle into my chest like stones. Heavy. Warm. Terrifying.
I retreat to the spreadsheets, staring at numbers I still don't understand. "Can we please focus on quarterly projections instead of dissecting my non-existent personal life?"
"Of course." Adison reopens her laptop, but I catch the smile tugging at her mouth.
I've made a terrible mistake opening this door. Now she's going to watch us like we're her personal entertainment, and I'll never hear the end of—
My phone vibrates against the desk.
The screen glows with Zachary's name. A message beneath it.
Ten minutes. Parking lot. We need to talk about what's going on between us.
The blood drains from my head and pools somewhere lower, pulsing in warm, insistent waves. My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I'm certain Adison can hear it.
"Everything okay?" She glances up, concern flickering across her features.
"Fine." I force steadiness into my voice that I absolutely don't feel. "Actually—I just remembered. Old school friends. We were supposed to meet up, and I completely forgot."
The lie flows smoothly and practiced. Years of deflecting Victoria's interrogations have trained me well.
"Can I leave early?" I'm already standing, already reaching for my bag. "I'm so sorry. I know we're in the middle of—"
"Go." Adison waves me away with genuine warmth. "I've got this. Have fun with your friends."
I'm out the door before guilt can catch up with the deception.
The elevator descent feels endless. I study my reflection in the polished doors—hair slightly mussed from running my hands through it, lipstick faded from nervous lip-biting. I dig through my bag for my makeup, applying color with fingers that won't quite steady.
My heart won't slow down. Won't stop racing like I'm running toward something dangerous and inevitable.
I have no idea what Zachary plans to say. Only that I'm terrified and desperate to find out.
The elevator chimes. The doors slide open.
The parking level spreads before me—concrete and shadow, mostly empty this late in the evening. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everything in harsh relief.
Then I spot it.
Zachary's Audi, sleek and dark and unmistakable. The headlights wink at me once, twice—invitation wrapped in command.
My legs carry me forward before my brain catches up. Each step echoes against concrete, counting down to whatever comes next.
I reach for the passenger door handle.
My hand is shaking.
I pull it open anyway.