Lara's POV
The rest of the morning blurred into one long stretch of awkward smiles and forced laughter. Everyone else seemed thrilled to be away from the office, clinking glasses, exchanging jokes, taking selfies with the mountain view.
I tried to blend in, but my thoughts would not stop circling back to my super hot boss.
I could still hear his voice in my head, cold and precise, cutting through the air like steel. Stay away from Corbin Hale.
Every word still stung. Maybe because deep down, a part of me had wanted to believe it meant something more. That behind his controlled exterior was a flicker of emotion, jealousy, maybe even care. But no. I reminded myself who he was. Marco Blackwell didn't react out of jealousy, only out of reason.
When lunch time came, I slipped away from the noise, needing air. The mountain breeze brushed against my face as I stepped out onto the deck. Below me, the world stretched in endless greens and golds. The wind carried the faint scent of pine and rain, and for a moment, everything was still.
I wrapped my arms around myself, closing my eyes. For once, I wanted to stop thinking about him, his voice, his eyes, the way my name sounded when he said it. I wanted silence.
But fate, apparently, had other plans.
"Enjoying the view?"
My heart jumped. I turned, and there he was. Marco. Standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his white shirt faintly ruffled by the wind.
For a second, I held my breath. The sunlight caught in his hair, softening his sharp edges. His eyes were unreadable, but not cold. Not yet. Something in them flickered, and for the briefest, most dangerou moment, I thought I saw warmth.
"Yes, sir," I said quietly, trying to sound composed even as my pulse hammered in my throat. "It's beautiful here."
He did not answer right away. His gaze lingered on me longer than it should have. "You almost didn't make it."
"I said I would, didn't I?" I replied, my voice trembling slightly.
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, barely there, but enough to steal the breath right out of me. Then, just as my chest started to ache from holding my breath, his expression hardened again. "You shouldn't be standing around."
I blinked. "Sir?"
"Go back inside," he said flatly. "You're supposed to be assisting the organizing committee. Announce the next activity."
And just like that, the illusion shattered.
The man who seconds ago had looked at me like I was more than just his secretary was gone, replaced by the same distant, unreadable CEO I had always known.
"Yes, Mr. Blackwell," I murmured, lowering my eyes before walking past him, my chest twisting painfully.
Inside, I could still feel the echo of his gaze on my back. I told myself it did not mean anything. It could not.
But when the group assignments were announced, my breath caught. I was in his team.
The words left the coordinator's mouth, and I nearly choked on my drink. I half expected Marco to protest, to switch me out for someone else, but he said nothing. His jaw tightened, his expression unreadable as ever.
The rest of the afternoon unfolded in a blur of laughter, sweat, and nervous glances. Team building games, obstacle courses, puzzles, races. Everyone was having fun, except me. I was too aware of the man walking a few feet behind me, every movement measured, every command calm but absolute.
When he spoke, people listened. When he looked my way, my heart stumbled.
The final event of the day was announced just as the sun began to dip behind the ridge.
A treasure hunt.
The rules were simple. Each team had to find the company crest hidden somewhere in the woods. The first group to return with it would win.
We split into pairs to cover more ground. And, of course, fate paired me with Marco.
The forest was dense, the air cool and heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. Leaves crunched beneath our boots as we walked deeper into the trees. The others' laughter faded behind us, replaced by silence and the rhythmic sound of our steps.
I could feel him beside me, solid and composed, the heat of him even in the cold air. Every so often, his arm brushed mine, and I had to bite back the flutter in my chest.
"This way," he said, his voice low.
"Are you sure?" I asked, glancing at the uneven path.
He gave me a look that made me immediately regret questioning him. "Yes."
I sighed softly and followed, trying to focus on the task and not the man next to me.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. We climbed over fallen branches, ducked under vines, and scanned every patch of earth for the silver crest. My legs ached, and the hem of my jeans caught on thorns.
Then, without warning, my foot slipped on the damp ground.
"Lara!"
Before I could fall, a strong hand caught my wrist. His hand. He pulled me against him, hard enough that I collided with his chest. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. His breath brushed my temple, slow and uneven, and I could feel the rapid thud of his heart against mine.
The world fell quiet. Only the wind, the trees, and him.
"Be careful," he said, his voice rougher than usual.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, though I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for.
We stayed like that, suspended in the quiet, until he finally stepped back. The warmth between us broke, and cold air rushed in its place.
"Let's keep moving," he said, his tone clipped again.
By the time we found the crest, half-buried near the roots of an old oak tree, the sun had nearly disappeared. I picked it up, dirt smudging my fingers, and looked at him.
He was staring at me again. But this time, there was something in his eyes I couldn't name. Regret. Longing. Anger. Maybe all of it at once.
Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished.
"Good work, Ms. Quinn," he said, stepping past me. "Now let's return to camp."
The words were polite. Formal. Meaningless.
But the way he said Ms. Quinn, quiet and deliberate, still sent a shiver down my spine.
As I followed him back through the darkening woods, clutching the crest to my chest, I told myself it was just the cold that made me tremble.
But deep down, I knew better.
It wasn't the chill that left me shaking.
It was Marco Blackwell.
And the terrifying realization that no matter how much he hurt me, I would always, somehow, still be drawn to him.
The forest had grown darker by the time we started heading back. The light was fading fast, the air turning thick with the scent of rain.
"Let's move quickly," Marco said, his voice low but firm.
I nodded, clutching the crest tightly against my chest as I followed him through the trees. The sky above us rumbled, heavy clouds swirling into an angry gray. The first drop of rain hit my cheek, cold as ice.
Within seconds, the heavens opened. The rain poured down in sheets, drenching us completely. The air was filled with the sound of it, wild and relentless, pounding against the earth like a drumbeat. The wind tore through the branches, snapping twigs and scattering leaves in every direction.
"Mr. Blackwell!" I shouted over the storm, my voice nearly lost to the roar of the rain. "We need to find shelter!"
He turned to me, water dripping down his face, his white shirt plastered against his skin. Even now, even soaked to the bone, he looked unshakable by the chaos around us.
"This way," he called back, grabbing my hand before I could protest. His fingers were warm, strong, his grip unyielding as he guided me through the undergrowth.
Branches whipped against my arms. Mud splashed against my legs. My breath came in sharp gasps as we ran deeper into the forest, the storm raging harder by the minute.
Then, through the curtain of rain, I saw it. A small, weathered cabin tucked between the trees, half hidden by vines and moss. It looked abandoned, maybe even forgotten by time itself.
Marco didn't hesitate. He pushed the creaking door open, ushered me inside, and slammed it shut behind us.
The sound of the rain beating against the roof was deafening. I stood there, shivering, my hair dripping and my clothes clinging to my skin. My heart pounded as I tried to catch my breath.
Marco ran a hand through his wet hair, his chest rising and falling heavily. "Are you hurt?"
"No," I said quietly. "Just soaked." He nodded, his eyes sweeping the dim interior.
Marco crossed the room and checked the fireplace. "It looks usable." He crouched, striking a match from the emergency kit he kept in his pocket. Within moments, sparks flickered, catching on the old firewood until a small flame began to glow.
Warm light spread through the room, soft and golden. Shadows danced across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the focus in his eyes.
The cabin was small, only a single room with an old fireplace, a few broken chairs, and a table covered in dust. It smelled faintly of earth and pine.
I wrapped my arms around myself, still trembling. My clothes were soaked through, and the cold was seeping into my bones. He must have noticed because he stood and shrugged off his jacket, holding it out to me.
"Take this," he said.
"I'm fine," I murmured, though my teeth were chattering.
He gave me that look again, the one that allowed no room for argument. "Take it, Ms. Quinn."
I hesitated, then took it. The fabric was warm from his body heat and smelled faintly of rain and cedar. I slipped it over my shoulders, my pulse quickening as I realized how close we were standing.
Outside, thunder rolled like a beast in the distance. The rain showed no signs of stopping.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The fire crackled softly, and the storm howled beyond the walls.
"You should sit," he said finally, gesturing toward one of the chairs.
I obeyed, sinking into the seat as he leaned against the table, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the flames. His shirt clung to him, every line of muscle visible beneath the thin fabric. The sight made my breath catch before I could stop it.
He must have felt my gaze because his eyes flicked toward me. For a moment, we simply stared at each other.
The tension between us was alive and electric. Every breath I took felt heavy, filled with something dangerous and unspoken.
"Mr. Blackwell," I said softly, breaking the silence. "Thank you...for helping me."
He didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed on mine, steady and unreadable. "You should be more careful," he said quietly. "Out there, one wrong step and you could have fallen. You could have gotten hurt."
His tone was calm, but there was an edge beneath it, something raw, almost protective.
"I can take care of myself," I said, though my voice betrayed me with a tremor.
He pushed away from the table, moving closer. "You say that," he murmured, stopping just a few feet away, "but I don't think you even realize how easily you put yourself in danger."
His words hung between us, his gaze burning into mine.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. "You don't have to care, sir. I'm just your secretary."
His jaw tightened, a flash of something unreadable in his eyes. "You think I don't care?"
The question made my pulse skip. The fire crackled louder, the wind howled outside, and for a second I thought he might close the space between us.
But then, as quickly as it came, the moment broke.
He turned away, staring into the fire. "Get some rest," he said quietly. "The storm won't last forever."
I nodded, though my chest ached. I pulled his jacket tighter around me, the scent of him lingering in the air.
As the thunder rumbled and the firelight flickered, I closed my eyes knowing this night would stay with me forever.