By Friday evening, Maya had convinced herself that the happy hour incident meant nothing. A brush of his hand, a kiss on the cheek—it was all part of the act. Nothing more.
At least, that's what she told herself until she found Daniel waiting by her desk after most of the office had emptied.
"Presentation's not ready," he said simply. "Caldwell wants it first thing Monday. We'll need to work late."
Maya groaned, grabbing her laptop. "Of course he does."
They settled in the conference room, papers spread, laptops glowing in the dim light. Outside, the city buzzed in twilight, but inside it was just the two of them, their soft voices and the hum of the AC filling the space.
Hours passed in quiet concentration, punctuated by the occasional sarcastic remark from Maya and Daniel's dry replies. At some point, he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms that Maya tried very hard not to stare at.
Around ten o'clock, Maya stretched, groaning. "If I read one more statistic, I'm going to throw myself out that window."
Daniel smirked. "Please don't. The paperwork would be a nightmare."
She laughed, the sound echoing in the empty office. When their eyes met, the humor lingered between them, warm and unguarded. For a moment, Maya saw not the polished analyst but a man who was tired, human, and maybe just as lonely as she sometimes felt.
"Hungry?" he asked suddenly.
She blinked. "Starving."
Ten minutes later, they were sitting cross-legged on the floor with takeout containers spread between them. Chinese food, eaten with flimsy chopsticks, sauce dripping onto spreadsheets. Maya was halfway through a dumpling when she noticed Daniel watching her with quiet amusement.
"What?" she demanded, cheeks heating.
"You get soy sauce on your nose," he said, reaching out before she could react. His thumb brushed her skin, gentle, intimate.
The air shifted.
Her laughter died, replaced by a thundering in her chest. His hand lingered just a second too long before he pulled back, suddenly serious.
"Sorry," he muttered, eyes dropping to his food.
But Maya couldn't shake the electricity that zipped through her at that touch.
---
By midnight, they'd finished the slides. Maya leaned back against the wall, yawning. "We make a good team," she admitted.
Daniel glanced at her, something soft flickering in his gaze. "We do."
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then, slowly, he reached for her hand. Not for appearances this time. No audience. Just him and her in the dim light.
Maya's breath caught. Their fingers intertwined, and it felt terrifyingly natural.
She should've pulled away. This wasn't part of the rules. This wasn't pretend.
But she didn't.
Instead, she whispered, "Daniel…"
He looked at her, his expression unreadable, eyes dark with something that made her heart stutter. For one impossible second, she thought he might lean in. Her pulse hammered, her body frozen in anticipation.
But then he dropped her hand, standing abruptly. "We should get some sleep."
The moment shattered like glass. Maya forced a nod, gathering her things.
As they rode the elevator down, neither spoke. But her palm still tingled where his hand had been, and she couldn't decide what scared her more: that this was all fake, or that it wasn't.
---
The next week only blurred the lines further.
They had lunch together "for appearances," but Daniel started remembering how she liked extra pickles on her sandwich. They staged an Instagram photo at a coffee shop, but when he leaned closer than necessary, Maya's smile wasn't fake.
One afternoon, she caught him watching her across the office, his gaze softer than she'd ever seen. He quickly looked away, but the image stayed with her, warm and dangerous.
The rules were crumbling, and Maya knew it. But she couldn't stop.
Because for the first time, the
idea of it being real didn't feel like a disaster.
It felt like hope.