And then I noticed what did not belong.
The faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.The tension etched deep around his eyes.The stillness he held too carefully, as if one wrong movement might fracture something he was barely containing.
He looked tired.
As if sensing my attention, he lifted his head.Our eyes met for a single second.Something passed between us, fast, unguarded, and dangerous.I felt it like a hitch in my breath, a moment where he almost stepped forward.
Then I looked away.
When I glanced back, he was already focused on someone else.
The rest of the day crawled.I packed up slowly and deliberately, hoping to avoid him and hating myself for it.Seeing him hurt.Not seeing him hurt even more.
Mavis and Dixie brushed past me, buzzing about HHC’s new member initiation plans.I managed a smile that never reached my eyes.Relinquishing my place in the club stung me more than I had expected.Another quiet consequence.Another door closing.
By the time I reached the main floor, my chest felt hollow, scraped clean by restraint I hadn’t chosen.I angled toward the small dry cleaner in the lobby to retrieve my black suit, but my steps slowed when I saw Creed standing near the entrance.
His phone was pressed to his ear.
He wasn’t speaking.He was listening.
Motionless.Contained.His posture held a tension so precise it bordered on violent.His grip tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening, as if every word on the other end demanded a decision he refused to make.
Restraint, not rage.
That had always been his discipline.
Then his eyes lifted.And they locked on mine.The space between us collapsed into something sharp and breathless.For a single suspended moment, desire flickered across his face—quick, unguarded, dangerous.I felt it like a pull in my gut, a silent question hanging between us.Would he cross the distance?Would he choose me over the rules that governed him?
I held my breath.
Creed didn’t move.
I watched the choice happen in real time.The tightening of his jaw.The subtle withdrawal behind his eyes.Desire acknowledged and immediately suppressed.Discipline reclaimed.
He turned away.
No hesitation.No backward glance.He ended the call, straightened his jacket, and stepped through the revolving doors with the same controlled precision he used to close negotiations and end wars.
The glass swallowed him whole.
He vanished into the evening, not because he didn’t want me, but because he did.
Because wanting me meant risk.Because proximity meant exposure.Because discipline demanded distance, even when desire burned hot enough to scorch the air between us.
I stood there long after he was gone, finally understanding the truth he hadn’t said aloud.Creed wasn’t retreating to punish me.He was retreating to survive himself.
* * *
MID-NOVEMBER ARRIVEDwith sharpened air and shorter days, the kind of cold that crept in quietly and stayed.By the time I reached the conference room, my coffee had gone lukewarm in my hand, forgotten while my mind ran three steps ahead of the agenda.
“Okay,” I said, setting my tablet on the table and tapping the screen.“Let’s lock the February issue today.I don’t want revisions bleeding into the holidays.”
A few heads nodded around the table.Laptops opened.Styluses clicked.My team leaned in—not deferential, but focused.That mattered more than they probably realized.
“What about the cover?”Jenna asked.“We’re still split between minimalist and editorial-heavy.”
“Minimalist,” I said without hesitation.“Negative space.Let the headline breathe.February doesn’t need noise.”
