I prepare the materials. I print the draft documents. I straighten the chairs.
And then I stop.
I look at the chair next to mine.
Too far.
I pull it closer. Not scandalously close. Just enough.
I’m not touching her today.
But she’ll feel me.
I send the meeting invitation.
I sit back.
I wait.
And when she walks through that door… I’m going to know exactly where we stand.
RUBY
I stand outside Conference Room 12B, clutching my notes so tightly they’re crumpling.
I take a breath.
Then another.
Then a third that does absolutely NOTHING.
I’m about to walk into a room alone with the man who makes my knees behave like Bambi on ice.
I open the door.
And he’s there.
Standing at the head of the table. Suit perfect. Tie loosened just enough. Sleeves rolled like he’s allergic to my emotional stability.
He looks up.
Slowly.
And the look he gives me…
My back hits the doorframe.
“Ruby,” he says softly. “Come in.”
I do. Against my better judgment. Against God. Against every HR regulation in existence.
The door closes behind me with a soft click.
I jump.
His lips twitch. Smug bastard.
“Sit,” he says gently, gesturing beside him.
