Matty blinked the thought away and opened the door.
"Hi, I've got a delivery for Sloan Slater."
Behind the desk sat a stunning woman—stern, composed, impossibly polished. Black-rimmed glasses framed eyes that were already studying her. Fingers paused on the keyboard.
"That's me. You can put it on the table," she said, then she turned back to her screen.
Matty hesitated, then set the bag down slowly, and almost too gently. A strange flutter stirred in her stomach—familiar, unwanted. She'd made mundane deliveries to offices plenty of times, but this…this wasn't mundane at all.
She hovered.
Sloan didn't look up again.
Matty cleared her throat. "Uh…Lawrence said there'd be a tip?"
A pause, then Sloan finally looked up again, just with her eyes, not raising her head.
"Did he?" The corner of her mouth faintly twitched. Amusement? Something else?
Matty nodded, suddenly feeling absurdly visible, and slightly ashamed she was so skint she'd needed to ask.
Sloan pushed her chair back, stood, and moved to a sideboard behind the desk. Without comment, she pulled a small leather wallet from a drawer and took out a note.
"Here," she said, crossing the room with the unhurried grace of someone who always moves on their own time. She held it out—not placed it on the table, not tossed it—but offered it directly, forcing Matty to step forward. "Thank you for being so…diligent."
Matty reached for it, their fingers just barely brushing. Her pulse kicked up a beat as she watched the woman retreat, moving back behind her desk and sitting down.
"Thanks," she said, too quickly, her voice sounding brighter than she’d intended. £10 was huge. She tucked the note into her pocket and backed towards the door.
"You're welcome," Sloan replied from her seat, eyes once more on her screen.
"Anytime."
Sloan looked up.
Just for a moment. Brown eyes, sharp behind her glasses, were assessing again. Her head tilted, just a fraction, then her attention returned to her screen.
Matty left, pulse still high, unsure why her palms were warm and her throat tight. She stepped into the lift and let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.
What the hell was that?
***
Art was still quiet in the early-evening lull, before the regulars filtered in and the music climbed towards something louder.
Matty stood behind the bar, still polishing the same glass she’d started with. She wasn’t really paying attention to what her hands were doing, her mind somewhere else entirely.
That woman.Sloan.
She hadn’t done anything special—hadn’t flirted, hadn’t even properly smiled—and yet, Matty felt...what? Turned on, obviously. But why? That was the part she couldn’t stop mulling over.
Maybe it was the stillness. Like nothing could rattle her. Like the world moved for her convenience. Maybe it was the way she spoke, or the way she looked at Matty, as though she saw straight through her.
Matty bit her lip, then set the glass down a little harder than necessary.
What the hell was wrong with her?She’d delivered coffee and a sandwich, not been propositioned. It wasn’t like her to get flustered over a woman in a suit—she’d met plenty. Served plenty. Even dated a few.
But Sloan had this...weight to her. Not physically—God, the way she carried herself—but in the way she took up space. Like she didn’t need to prove anything because the room had already decided she wasn’t to be ignored.
