“I know this is a big step,” he says quietly. “But you’re ready. You’ve overseen every project I’ve done for the last four years.You know how I like things done better than anyone. I trust you to deliver — and I don’t give trust easily.”
His green eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I see the man behind the title — not the sharp, distant boss who makes half the office quake, but someone tired, human. Someone who might actuallybelieve in me.
A warmth spreads through my chest, pride and something else entirely. “Thank you, Henry. That really means a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, a faint smile ghosting over his lips. “Now, don’t keep Mrs Wright waiting. I’m here if you need anything. We’ve still got our meeting tomorrow at five, right?”
“Yes. Five p.m.”
I stand — and of course, in the process, drop my pen. It bounces once, rolls right to his feet.
We both bend down at the same time. Our heads nearly collide. My fingers brush his — and suddenly, time seems to stop.
He’s holding my pen in his hand, our fingers overlapping, and when I glance up, our faces are inches apart. His scent — clean, warm, with that trace of sandalwood — fills my lungs. My pulse stutters.
“Yoda,” he murmurs.
My breath catches. “W-what?”
His gaze flicks to the little Baby Yoda perched on top of my pen. “Your pen,” he says softly, almost amused. “Cute.”
But the lightness fades as quickly as it came. His expression hardens, eyes fixed on mine.
“He’s not good enough for you.”
The words hang between us. My brain takes a second to catch up. “Who?”
“That guy in the break room.” His voice is low, controlled — but barely.
“Thomas?”
“If that’s his name.” Henry straightens, crowding me back into the chair. He plants his palms on the arms, caging me in. My breath stutters again. His eyes burn with something I can’t name. “I know guys like him. He’s not right for you.”
His jaw flexes, and for some reason, it doesn’t scare me. It’s… intoxicating. There’s something protective — possessive even — in his tone, and it sparks heat low in my stomach.
“Then who is?” I hear myself whisper.
His gaze sharpens, and for a moment, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. His breath brushes my lips — close enough that I taste the faintest hint of coffee and whiskey. Electricity dances through my veins.
And then — just like before — he pulls away. Abruptly. The air rushes back in between us, cold and jarring.
Within seconds, he’s back behind his desk, face shuttered, voice distant. “That’s all for now.”
I nod, too quickly, and all but flee his office.
He calls my name, but I ignore it, heart pounding so hard I can barely think.
I duck into the supply cupboard, shut the door, and lean back into the darkness, breathing hard.
What the hell just happened?
He must have sensed I was about to… what? Kiss him?
God. I was. I was about to kiss my boss. In his office.
He’d just offered me my dream project and I almost repaid him by throwing myself at him. What is wrong with me? My head’s spinning. He was the one leaning in, talking about other men not being right for me, looking at me like that — but why? Why now?
He’s spent four years pretending I don’t exist outside of my inbox. So why the sudden shift?
