His lips twitch. “There’s nothing guilty about it. It’s the same formula every time—a couple pours their life savings into a ruin, ignores the architect’s warnings about the plumbing or the foundation, and then looks genuinely shocked when the budget triples.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “So your idea of a relaxing evening is watching people go into debt and have their dreams crushed?”
“No,” he says, his voice losing its sharp, professional edge. He shifts his grip on the wheel, looking uncharacteristically reflective. “It’s about the predictability. Some people enjoy Hallmark movies and Austen period dramas. For me, it’s the same thing. Only home design. Being an architect was something I considered once.”
I stay quiet for a beat. I wonder if anyone else back at the office knows that the boss has the heart of an artist. Because it feels like I’ve just been handed a key to a room he keeps double-locked, and the weight of that trust makes my pulse skip. I’m catching a rare glimpse of Theo Riverton that no one else sees. And I’m enjoying it.
When we arrive backat the empty office, we commandeer Conference Room B. Theo retrieves a thick stack of papers from his desk and arranges them into careful piles. He lines up his pen, squares his laptop, then starts typing at a speed that could seriously challenge the office’s admin assistants.
I fallinto rhythm beside him, tapping notes into my tablet while he dictates what needs to be amended, clarified, and rewritten. We work through weld schedules and safety audits, cross-check incident logs, and attach photo after photo until the documents start to blur together.
It’s not until my stomach growls that I glance at the wall clock. “It’s five-thirty?”
No wonder my wrists ache and my eyes burn. We’ve rewritten the same explanation of the same three bolts at least a hundred times, all so someone important doesn’t ask us for it to be worded differently later.
Theo checks his watch. “Actually, it’s closer to five forty-five.”
I slump back in my chair. “Do you mind if I take a quick break? I’m starving. I just want to grab a protein bar or something from the vending machine.”
He grimaces. “No.”
I blink, certain I misheard him. “No?”
“No,” he repeats flatly.
“Theo, I’ve been here all day. I need to eat something and use the restroom. I promise I won’t be too long.”
He lifts a hand, stopping me mid-rise. “Minami. What I was going to say is that you’re not a uni student anymore.” He shuts his laptop with a decisive click. “We’re taking a proper meal break. HR would have my head if they knew we’d worked straight through the last several hours.”
“So we’re stopping for the day?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Yes,” he says. “We’ll pick this up on Tuesday.”
“Not Monday?”
He finally looks at me, expression unreadable. “No. You worked today. I expect you to take Monday off.” Theo pushes back his chair, stands, and stretches. “Let’s grab dinner.” He gathers his files, sliding them into his briefcase with practiced precision. “You earned it today.”
My pulse stutters, a hopeful little skip I can’t quite control. “Dinner?” I echo. “With you?”
“Yes. Think of it as a finder’s fee for that joint you caught today,” he says, clicking his briefcase shut. “The company owes you significantly more than a dinner for the headache you just saved us.”
The flutter in my chest dies a quick, unceremonious death.Dumb-dumb.Of course it’s a company dinner.
His brow quirks. “Unless you’d rather make a meal out of the vending machine.”
I snap my mouth shut and stuff my tablet and notebook into my backpack before I can overthink it.
Theo slings his work bag over his shoulder. “Come on, Minami.” He reaches into the front pocket and tosses me something. “I can’t have you fainting on the way to the parking lot. This should buy us a few minutes.”
I catch it instinctively and turn it over. It’s not a cheap candy bar from the lobby; it’s a square of high-end European chocolate, the kind with sea salt and a gold-foil lining. I tear the wrapper and take a greedy bite, the thick, dark caramel melting across my tongue. “I’m surprised this isn’t one of your Rocky Road bars.”
His step falters. “No,” he says carefully. “I’m saving those. This one came from Amsterdam.” He looks me in the eye. “So I have you to thank,” he says softly. “You’re the mysterious chocolate fairy.”
My pulse gives an embarrassing little jump. My eyes stay focused on the wrapper in my hand. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Nice try, Minami, but the game is up.” A faint glimmer of amusement lights up his eyes. “There’s only oneother person in this city who knows I have a weakness for those specific chocolate and marshmallow bars, and I know for a fact he wouldn’t take the trouble to leave a steaming cup of coffee to go with it.”
“No, you’re right. Knowing Leon, it’d be an empty cup.” I chuckle, finally relaxing my shoulders. “He would’ve drunk all the coffee on the way to your desk and just left you the bill.”
