“I said I’m not sure how much longer I can keep managing the matchmakers on top of my own team.” He looked exhausted, the kind of bone-deep tired that came from doing two jobs at once. “It’s too much, especially with the volume increasing and ten more matchmakers coming on board next month. They need their own department. Their own leadership. Someone who understands what they do and can advocate for them. Their own budget and resources.”
He was right. I’d known it for months but had been putting off the decision because it meant more restructuring, more logistics, more complications. I needed to find them dedicated office space. Hire a department head. Redraw organizational charts. Adjust budget allocations. It wasn’t like I could just snap my fingers and make a new department appear fully formed.
But the matchmakers were the heart of Cupid’s Arrow. They were what made us different. They deserved better than being an afterthought tucked into IT’s organizational chart.
“You’re right,” I said, making the decision in real time. “We’ll create a new department. I’ll figure out the logistics next week. Office space, leadership structure, the whole thing. In the meantime, move forward with the update, but modify it. Give the matchmakers more control over the final decisions. Makethe industry matching a suggestion, not a mandate. Something they can override if their instincts tell them it’s wrong. Can you do that?”
“It’ll take some time to reconfigure,” Henry said, but I could see the relief in his expression. “But yeah. We can do that.”
“Good.” I looked at Jessica, who’d been watching our exchange with cautious optimism. “Better?”
She nodded slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Much better. Thank you for listening.”
“Thank you for telling me when something isn’t working,” I said, and meant it. “That’s exactly what I need from this team.”
I left the matchmaking area feeling off-balance. The joke about bosses and secretaries kept echoing in my head, mixing with the guilt I’d been trying to ignore all week.
What was I doing?
I’d spent my entire adult life being careful about power dynamics. Hyperaware of them, actually. I had never used my position to take advantage of anyone. I understood what it was like to be on the receiving end of that imbalance, to be taken advantage of by someone who held all the cards. At my core, I was still that kid who’d been walked all over, dismissed, underestimated. I would never do that to anyone else.
And yet here I was, sleeping with my assistant. Sneaking around. Pretending everything was fine when the whole situation was an ethics violation waiting to explode spectacularly. She knew it. She’d brought it up several times already, voiced her concerns about how it looked. And I was the one who dismissed her worries every single time, acting like she was being paranoid about something that didn’t matter.
I walked back to my office with that realization sitting heavy in my chest, making it hard to breathe properly.
“Ina,” I called out as I passed her desk, my voice coming out gruffer than I’d intended—the same tone I’d use with anyone, professional and distant.
She looked up from her computer, her fingers stilling on the keyboard. There was a flicker of surprise in her expression, probably at the tone. “Yes?”
“My office. Please.”
She stood and followed me, her heels clicking softly against the floor. I could feel her presence behind me, was aware of her in a way I’d never been aware of any other employee. That awareness was part of the problem.
She closed the door behind us with a soft click.
The second that lock engaged, some of the tension in my shoulders eased. In here, with the door closed and the blinds adjusted for privacy, we could be something other than boss and assistant. We could be Dane and Ina.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, her voice laced with concern. “You look stressed.”
“Long afternoon,” I said, moving to stand by the windows. I needed to not look at her for a moment. Looking at her made me want to pull her close and forget about professional boundaries entirely. Looking at her standing by that door brought up vivid images of what we’d done against it just hours ago, and those images were going to lead me to pinning her against it again.
I couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t do that.
I felt like such an asshole for rutting with her like some wild animal earlier. I hadn’t even asked her if she was truly okay with the situation. I just assumed and let my desire override my better judgment.
A small smile tugged at my lips despite everything. She’ddefinitelybeen okay with it in the moment. More than okay.
But I wouldn’t do it again. Not like that. Not in the office, where anyone could have heard. She deserved better than to be someone’s dirty secret, someone’s quick fuck between meetings.
I took a breath, steeling myself. “I need to ask you something.”
“Okay?” She sounded cautious now, picking up on my shift in mood.
I turned to face her. “I’d like to take you to dinner tonight.”
She studied my face. I watched her process the suggestion, saw the wheels turning behind those sharp eyes. “Is this another fake date?” she asked carefully. “Do I need to call Lucas for wardrobe coordination?”
“No.” I crossed the space between us, unable to stay away. It was like gravity, the pull between us. “I want a real one. For once. No cameras. Just us. Dinner. Maybe a movie after if you’re up for it. Normal couple things.”
