Then he turns and walks away.
RUBY
The elevator ride to his penthouse feels like a confession.
Every floor is a heartbeat.
When the doors open, he’s standing there waiting.
And the way he looks at me?
Oh god.
Like he’s been waiting all night. All day. All week.
His breath catches.
“Ruby,” he says quietly.
And in that moment, his voice, his eyes, his softness, every leftover fear melts right out of me.
I step off the elevator.
He steps toward me.
And the energy between us snaps tight.
Warm. Certain. Inevitable.
He reaches out a hand.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
And this time?
I don’t hesitate.
I’ve never been morenervous in my entire life.
Not on the first night. Not in the conference room. Not the morning after.
This is different.
This time… it’s not lust. Not panic. Not impulse.
This time, it feels like falling.
He steps toward me slowly, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
His eyes sweep down my dress, then back up, dark and warm and unbearably gentle.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.
I swallow. “So do you.”
His mouth twitches, almost a smile, before his expression softens again.
“Come here,” he says quietly.
