"So you wanted to intervene."
"Watching someone systematically threaten you while I documented from across the restaurant was the hardest professional constraint I've maintained in my career." Theadmission comes out more honest than I intended. "But intervening would have given Ezra ammunition—proof that you need protection, that you're unstable enough to require security presence at lunch meetings. So I followed the rules."
"And afterward? Coming to my apartment—was that following rules or breaking them?"
The question is direct enough that deflection would be obvious. "Elias thinks it was breaking them. That spending over an hour in your apartment after you'd been psychologically attacked goes beyond professional check-in into personal territory."
"And what do you think?"
"I think I wanted to make sure you were okay. That the distinction between professional and personal stopped mattering somewhere around the third time you texted me at midnight." I hold her gaze. "I think I'm not good at pretending this is just a security assignment anymore."
The words hang between us, more honest than tactical, the kind of admission that changes the architecture of whatever we've been building.
Lana doesn't look away. "Elias is right that you coming over yesterday was personal. But he's wrong that it was breaking rules. You asked permission. Gave me the option to say no. Left when you needed to leave for work even though I could tell you wanted to stay longer." She unfolds completely now, feet on the floor, posture open. "That's different from Gabriel. He would have come over without asking. Stayed until he decided to leave. Made it about his needs rather than mine."
"The difference matters."
"The difference is everything." She leans forward, mirroring my posture, reducing the space between us to maybethree feet. "I know this isn't just security anymore. I've known since you installed those cameras and gave me admin access instead of keeping control for yourself. Since you fastened that necklace and I felt your hands shake slightly like you were as aware of the proximity as I was."
My pulse kicks up. "I didn't think you noticed."
"I notice everything. Five years with Gabriel taught me to catalog micro-expressions, tension in hands, the difference between touch that controls and touch that asks permission." Her eyes are darker in the morning light, more focused. "Your hands were asking permission even though you'd already been given it. That's when I knew you were different."
The conversation has shifted into territory I wasn't prepared to navigate. Elias told me to admit attraction; to give her information so she could make informed choices. He didn't prepare me for her already knowing, already processing, already making her own assessments about what this is becoming.
"Elias said I should tell you directly that I'm attracted to you. That it complicates our professional relationship. That you deserve to know so you can decide whether you want protection from someone with personal investment." The words come out less rehearsed than they sounded in my head. "So I'm telling you. I'm attracted to you. Have been since you looked straight into Camera 12 three weeks ago and saw me watching. And every professional boundary I've tried to maintain keeps dissolving because proximity to you feels more necessary than distance."
Lana absorbs this with an expression I can't quite read. Then: "I'm attracted to you too. Have been since you showed me Lucien's panic room and told me you could see how much the performance of recovery cost. Since you gave me control over surveillance instead of using it to control me." She leans forward another inch, and now we're close enough that if either of usmoved we'd be crossing the final distance. "So what do we do with that? With mutual attraction that complicates everything we've carefully negotiated?"
"Elias would say we acknowledge it and maintain boundaries anyway. That attraction doesn't mean we have to act on it." I'm leaning forward too without conscious decision, drawn toward her like gravity. "That mixing protection with personal involvement creates dynamics where consent gets complicated and power imbalances become unmanageable."
"That sounds like good advice."
"It is good advice."
"Are we going to follow it?"
The question is direct enough that lying would be pointless. "I don't know."
We're both leaning forward now, the space between us reduced to maybe eighteen inches, close enough that I can see her pulse jumping at her throat, close enough to notice she's not pulling away even though we both know we should.
"I should maintain professional distance," I hear myself say even as I'm leaning closer. "Should keep this contained to security protocols and legal strategy."
"You should." She's leaning in too, meeting me halfway. "I should maintain boundaries. Should remember that getting involved with someone who's been watching me is probably terrible judgment."
"Probably catastrophic judgment."
"The worst decision I could make."
"Absolutely the worst."
And then somehow we're kissing.
I don't know who closed the final distance—whether I leaned in or she did, or we both moved simultaneously. What I know is that her lips are against mine and the contact is electric in ways that short-circuit every rational thought about professional boundaries and appropriate distance.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, both of us aware this is the line we've been dancing around for weeks. Then something shifts and it deepens, becomes more urgent, her hand coming up to my jaw and mine finding the back of her neck and—
We both pull back at exactly the same moment.
