"You should try mine," she offers, holding out her fork with a piece of fish.
I hesitate only briefly before leaning forward and accepting the bite. The gesture is strangely intimate, her feeding me across the table. The flavors explode on my tongue, but I'm more focused on the way she watches my mouth as I chew.
"Good?" she asks.
"Very," I reply.
Her cheeks flush slightly, and she takes a quick sip of her wine. The sun has nearly disappeared now, the sky deepening to purple. Staff members appear silently to light tiki torchesand candles around the terrace, casting everything in a warm, flickering glow. It's painfully romantic, and I wonder if Elena is thinking the same thing.
"So," she says finally, "what's on the agenda for tomorrow?"
"Agenda?" I raise an eyebrow. "I thought we were supposed to be relaxing. Isn't that what you keep reminding me?"
"Relaxing doesn't mean doing nothing," she counters. "We could go snorkeling, or hiking, or explore the local market. The villa manager mentioned there's a waterfall not far from here."
I take a sip of my wine, considering. "Snorkeling sounds good. I haven't done that since..." I try to remember the last time I did anything purely for enjoyment. "A long time."
"Snorkeling it is, then." She smiles. "Fair warning though, I've never done it before, so you might have to teach me."
The thought of guiding Elena through the water, her body close to mine as I show her how to use the equipment, is almost too much to bear.
"I'm sure you'll pick it up quickly," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "You always do."
She tilts her head. "What does that mean?"
"Just that you're a fast learner." I shrug. "It's one of the things I appreciate about you professionally."
"Professionally," she repeats, something unreadable crossing her face. "Right."
I've said something wrong, but I'm not sure what. We've established this pattern over months. Flirting at the edges of propriety but always pulling back with reminders of our professional relationship. It's a safety valve, a way to release the pressure without risking explosion.
But here, with no office around us, those boundaries feel increasingly arbitrary. Is she my employee on this trip, or something else? My doctor-mandated caretaker? My friend?
"Elena," I begin, not sure what I'm going to say next.
"Would you like dessert?" the chef interrupts, appearing at my elbow. "I've prepared a passion fruit mousse with local rum sauce."
Elena seems to smile at the interruption. "That sounds wonderful."
The dessert is incredible, but I barely taste it. My mind keeps replaying that tiny flicker of disappointment on Elena's face when I mentioned appreciating her professionally. Does she want more? Have I been misreading our interactions all these months?
More importantly, what do I want? The answer comes immediately.
I want her. Not just physically, though God knows I've had enough dreams about that to last a lifetime. I want her laughter, her sharp mind, her unflinching ability to stand up to me when everyone else cowers. I want the way she makes me feel less alone in a room full of people.
But I can't have her. She's my employee, I'm her boss, and the power imbalance makes anything between us ethically questionable at best. I've built my company on ruthless ambition and cutthroat strategy, but I do have some principles. Taking advantage of an employee crosses a line I've never been willing to cross.
Even if sometimes, in moments like this, with candlelight dancing across her face and the sound of waves crashing below us, it feels like the line was drawn in sand at low tide.
"Michael?" Her voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Are you okay? You look... intense."
I force a smile. "Just thinking about tomorrow."
"Snorkeling," she reminds me. "No work thoughts allowed."
"No work thoughts," I agree, raising my glass. "To a productive day of complete unproductivity."
She laughs, the sound carrying on the warm night air. "Only you could make relaxation sound like a business strategy."
