The office was hushed, its usual hum of ringing phones and clicking keyboards replaced by the low drone of the air conditioner. Rows of cubicles stood in eerie stillness under the fluorescent lights. Rebecca Winters sat at her desk, the glow from her monitor illuminating the soft sheen of her copper jumpsuit. The tailored fabric hugged her curves with a quiet elegance, the wide belt cinching at her waist, accentuating her figure. She absentmindedly twisted one of her gold hoop earrings, a nervous habit she had picked up when her thoughts wandered too far.
On her wrist, delicate bangles chimed together whenever she typed, and a subtle fragrance of sandalwood and jasmine, her signature scent hung around her like a secret. She checked her reflection in a compact mirror, smoothing a curl from her bouncy hair back into place and touching up the nude gloss on her lips. It wasn't vanity. It was armor. Even when no one was watching, Rebecca made sure to present herself like a woman in control.
Except tonight, she didn't feel in control.
Not really.
She couldn't stop thinking about him. Kevin Lockwood. Her new boss. Her new distraction.
She shook her head as if to scatter the thought. Don't go there, Rebecca. He's your boss. You've worked too hard to let emotions undo you.
Across the glass wall of his office, Kevin sat with his jacket slung over his chair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The top button of his white shirt was undone, exposing just enough to hint at a broad chest. He leaned over a spread of papers, brow furrowed in concentration, but every few minutes his gaze flicked toward her desk. If she noticed, she pretended not to. If he noticed her pretending, he didn't call her out.
Instead, he let the silence do its work.
The project was a heavy one: a client's entire dataset was being migrated into a new analytics platform, and the numbers weren't balancing. Duplicate records, mismatched IDs, lost transactions. Rebecca had been wrangling it all week. And now, with a deadline looming, the work had spilled into after hours.
She heard his footsteps before she saw him. The sound of polished shoes against the carpet.
"Burning the midnight oil?" Kevin's voice was low, smooth, with just enough amusement to make her pulse skip.
Rebecca looked up, feigning indifference. "Some of us don't mind putting in the extra hours. Keeps the wheels turning."
He leaned a hand on the edge of her desk, his tie brushing forward slightly as he tilted his head. "Or maybe some of us just can't resist showing off."
Her lips curved. "Well, someone has to carry the weight."
His laugh was soft, but it lingered. "Touché."
He pulled a chair beside her, close enough that his sleeve brushed against hers as he leaned in to study the spreadsheet on her screen. His cologne, woodsy, clean, distinctly him, drifted across, and she hated how easily it unsettled her.
"See this?" she said quickly, pointing at a column of mismatched entries. "The migration tool dropped half the customer IDs. That's why the reconciliation keeps failing."
Kevin nodded, his jaw tightening slightly as he scanned the data. "Good catch. Most people would've missed that."
"Most people aren't me." Her tone was playful, laced with pride.
He turned his head, eyes locking on hers, and she felt a flicker of heat crawl up her neck. He didn't look away immediately. Instead, he studied her like she was a puzzle he was intent on solving.
She cleared her throat, tapping a key to break the moment. "Anyway, if we remap the IDs and run a script to merge the duplicates, it should fix the inconsistency."
"You always think ten steps ahead," he murmured. "It's… refreshing."
Rebecca hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. She had spent years carrying the label of too much, too ambitious, too independent, too competitive. Yet here he was, looking at her like all those "too muches" were exactly enough.
Without meaning to, she whispered, "I'm used to doing things alone. It's strange… but nice, having someone to bounce ideas off."
His voice dropped lower. "Maybe you don't always have to do it alone."
The air tightened between them. For a second, she forgot about data and deadlines. Her eyes betrayed her, flicking to the strong line of his jaw, then to his lips before she snapped herself back.
"So," she said briskly, fingers clattering against the keyboard, "let's remap those IDs."
They worked in tandem, shoulders brushing occasionally, each accidental touch setting off sparks she tried desperately to ignore. Every so often, he'd make a comment that left her flustered.
"You always type that fast?"
"Efficiency," she replied.
"Or maybe impatience."
She shot him a look. "Don't test me, Mr. Lockwood."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, smiling in a way that told her he absolutely would.
Hours slipped by until the last of the errors cleared. Rebecca stretched, the bangles on her wrist chiming softly. Kevin leaned back in his chair, watching her with an unreadable expression.
"Tomorrow night," he said suddenly, his voice firm, not a question but a statement.
Rebecca blinked. "Tomorrow night?"
He nodded, gaze steady on hers. "Yes. Extra hours. This project deserves precision, and I trust you more than anyone to get it right."
Her emotions twisted in knots. Disappointment, because part of her had thought he might be asking her out. Relief, because at least this kept things professional. Excitement, because any excuse to be near him stirred butterflies she couldn't deny.
She forced a smile. "Of course. Tomorrow night it is."
For a moment, neither moved. He was still watching her, his eyes scanning her face as though he was waiting for something, her hesitation, her protest, anything. But she held her ground.
Finally, he rose, reaching for his jacket. "It's late. I'll walk you to your car."
"I can handle myself."
"Humor me."
She relented. The two of them walked side by side through the dim corridors, their footsteps echoing in sync. Outside, the night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain. When they reached her car, he opened the door for her without a word.
"Goodnight, Rebecca," he said, his voice low enough to linger.
"Goodnight, Mr. Lockwood."
She slid into the driver's seat, hands gripping the wheel as he stepped back, his figure cast in the streetlight. Driving away, her chest ached with an odd blend of restraint and exhilaration. She knew she was standing at the edge of something dangerous, uncharted waters she wasn't sure she could resist diving into.