Before she could talk herself out of it, her fingers brushed his wrist. Killian turned towards her instantly. For a heartbeat, his eyes softened; not calculating, not CEO-steeled, just a man waiting for her.
April rose onto her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
Killian went utterly still.
April pulled back first, her hand falling away as easily as it had landed. "Thank you."
He closed the distance, dipping his head until their foreheads touched.
His mouth quirked, brief, but unmistakable. Then he straightened, nodded once like he'd just accepted a solemn contract, and turned towards the elevators.
Killian
THE ELEVATOR DOORS CLOSED and Killian exhaled.
He could still feel it. The press of her mouth against his cheek, soft and deliberate and absolutely not part of the plan.
Thirty minutes ago, he'd been standing outside a supply closet with his hand raised.
He'd lowered it. Raised it again. There were protocols for this. Scripts.Are you all right? Do you need to step out? Let's get HR.But none of it applied to what he'd seen—April frozen in the doorway, Chad's voice bright and performative and unembarrassed behind her.
The crying had hitched through the door and his stomach had turned in a way he didn't enjoy analyzing.
I'm her boss. And I'm standing here like it's mine to fix.
He'd let his hand fall and stayed where he was. Not knocking, not leaving.
And the cupcake. The way she'd tested something, discovered it wasn't what she needed, and moved on without ceremony. Something about that sequence had lodged in his chest and refused to leave.
The ring had surfaced later, uninvited. Not the box or the history—just the image of it on her hand, clear and inconvenient. He’d offered it to her and known his grandmother would have approved.
The elevator hummed between floors. His reflection stared back at him from brushed steel—tie straight, posture intact, every external signal readingnormal.
Her lips on his cheek. The way she'd saidthank you. His forehead against hers.
The doors opened. Killian straightened his cuffs.
Whatever this started as, he was already past pretense.
THREE
Kale for the Clown
April
Killian had barely vanished into the elevator when Arthur shifted, positioning himself squarely between April and where Chad was attempting a losing game of Where’s Waldo behind a potted palm.
April huffed a laugh and finally answered her phone. Forty-three unread messages. Most from coworkers. Five from Laura.
Laura:Okay. New attempt.
Laura:What happened: (one sentence)
Laura:Where are you: (building/floor)
Laura:What do you need: (ride / food / alibi / murder)
Laura:(not murder)
