POV – Elena
The car pulled up in front of a small, elegant restaurant I had never seen before. The warm glow spilling from the windows made it look inviting, intimate, yet refined. Soft jazz floated out as the door opened, and I caught a glimpse of polished wood, small tables dressed in crisp linens, and subtle lighting that cast everyone in a flattering, golden hue.
James parked, his movements deliberate, precise — as always. He turned toward me, calm, composed, the kind of effortless control that made him impossibly attractive. My pulse quickened. Why is he like this? Always perfect, always poised… and yet here he is, with me.
"Shall we?" he asked, one hand gesturing toward the entrance, the other brushing lightly against the car door as if instinctively protecting the space beside him.
I swallowed, trying to steady the tremor in my voice. "Yes… let's."
As we stepped inside, my nerves surged. The restaurant was near his residence, which made me even more anxious. Was he planning something? Would he expect me to… go further? I can't. I won't. I can't have a one-night thing with my boss, no matter how much I want him.
I focused on the menu as we were seated, letting the soft clink of glasses and subtle conversation around us fill the air. I tried to remind myself to breathe, to appear composed. But every glance at James sent heat through me. His dark eyes, calm and calculating, seemed to assess everything about me without a word. Perfect. Always perfect.
We sat, menus in hand. He glanced at the wine list first.
"Do you drink wine?" he asked, voice low, steady.
"I… sometimes," I replied cautiously. "I don't know much about it, though."
"Then let me recommend something light," he said, signaling the waiter. "Something that complements whatever you decide to order."
He returned his attention to me, his posture impeccable, the way he held himself effortless. I tried not to stare too obviously, but it was impossible. Every detail — the curve of his jaw, the calm precision of his movements, the quiet authority in his presence — made my chest tighten.
"What are you thinking of ordering?" he asked, eyes scanning the menu.
"I… I don't know," I admitted. "Everything looks good. Maybe fish?"
"Salmon is excellent here," he said. "Or, if you're feeling adventurous, the scallops. They're my favorite."
"I'll try the scallops," I said, trying to sound confident despite the flutter in my stomach.
He smiled faintly, a subtle tilt of his lips that made my heart skip. "Good choice."
The waiter returned to take our orders, and we fell into a quiet rhythm of small talk, the kind you have on a first date: comments about the city, the unexpected warmth of the evening, little details about the neighborhood.
"I like this area," I ventured, hesitant. "It feels… quiet, but lively. Not too crowded."
"It's one of my favorites," he replied smoothly. "Close enough to the office, but peaceful. I like that balance."
I noticed how naturally he made conversation, effortlessly charming, always composed. He never seemed nervous, never faltered, and yet I could feel the subtle intensity of him in every glance, every slight lean, every quiet laugh that didn't reach his eyes but sent a thrill through me.
"Do you often come here?" I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.
"Sometimes," he said. "Not too often. I prefer new places… but when I want something refined and relaxed, this is perfect."
The conversation flowed — light, easy, surprisingly intimate without crossing any boundaries. I laughed at a small anecdote about an office mishap he recounted, feeling the tension in my chest ease slightly. He's so composed, and yet, when he smiles, it's like he's letting me in just a little.
As the plates arrived, I realized how attuned I was to him — the way he cut his food deliberately, the faint scent of his cologne blending with the subtle aroma of the restaurant, the occasional brush of his hand against mine when passing the breadbasket. Every moment, every glance, made my heart race.
"I'm glad you agreed to come," he said softly, eyes meeting mine across the table. "I wanted to spend tonight with you… properly. Outside the office."
"I'm… glad too," I murmured, cheeks warm. "I just… I hope this isn't awkward. I mean… we're colleagues. And I…" I hesitated, searching for words that could capture the storm in my chest.
"Don't worry," he said, calm as ever, a reassuring note in his tone. "We're just two people enjoying dinner. That's all it needs to be tonight."
And in that moment, as I sat across from him, heart fluttering and senses heightened, I realized how impossible it was to resist him. His perfection, his calm composure, his subtle provocations — everything made me ache to close the distance, yet I reminded myself to be careful. I couldn't, wouldn't, allow myself to lose control completely.
Not tonight.
But oh, how I wanted to.
The restaurant's soft lighting, the gentle hum of conversation around us, and the subtle jazz playing in the background created a strange cocoon, making the world outside feel distant.
"This wine is… really good," I said, swirling it lightly in my glass, trying to sound casual.
"I'm glad you like it," James replied, calm and composed as ever, his eyes briefly meeting mine across the table. "I thought it would suit the scallops."
I smiled, feeling a little braver under the gentle weight of his gaze. Then, after a pause, he asked softly, "Elena… have you… had anyone recently?"
The question hit me like a small shock. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks and instinctively took a delicate sip of wine to steady myself. "I… no," I admitted quietly. "Not recently. I haven't really… been seeing anyone."
James leaned slightly forward, resting one hand on the table, his movements deliberate, composed. "Complicated?" he asked, voice low, teasing but gentle.
"I guess… I've been focused on work," I said, struggling to sound nonchalant. "And life, I suppose. I haven't… met anyone I… connect with, not in a long time."
He nodded slowly, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I see. And are you… looking?"
I hesitated, glancing down at my glass. The warmth from the wine made me bold enough to be honest. "I… I'm open, I guess. But it's hard. I mean… finding someone worth it… it's not simple."
"No, it isn't," he said softly, eyes darkening just a fraction as he studied me. "Someone worth your heart should challenge you… intrigue you… make you feel alive in ways that make it impossible to ignore them."
I felt a shiver run through me. The words, the calm intensity of his gaze, the way he leaned just enough closer… I wanted to melt into him, to reach across the table and take his hand. He's impossible, perfect, and I'm completely lost in him.
"I… um," I started, almost whispering, "and you? Do you… see anyone?"
James chuckled quietly, that infuriatingly controlled laugh that made my stomach flutter. "Not currently," he said smoothly. "I've… had encounters, of course. But nothing worth pursuing. Not until now."
My breath caught, the words sinking in deeper than I expected. Not until now… he means me. My fingers tightened slightly around my glass. "I… see," I murmured, voice soft, heart racing.
He leaned back just slightly, composed, but the tension in his eyes betrayed a subtle, restrained hunger. "I want to know the things that matter to you," he said quietly, almost a whisper, "even the parts you think you're protecting."
I met his gaze across the table, feeling a mixture of warmth, nervousness, and desire. The wine had loosened my tension, but not my sense of caution. I couldn't let myself be reckless — he was my boss, and I was far too aware of the power dynamics.
"I… maybe," I said finally, smiling faintly, "I'm learning to trust. Slowly."
James' eyes softened, a quiet approval in his steady gaze. "Good," he murmured, "I like slow. It keeps it… interesting."
We sipped our wine again, the clink of glasses and the soft sound of cutlery filling the spaces between our words. I laughed lightly at one of his dry remarks about the office, feeling the tension in my chest ease, replaced by a warm, fluttering anticipation.
Every glance, every subtle movement, every tiny touch of his hand near mine across the table made it impossible to ignore the desire coiling tight inside me. And yet, I reminded myself: not tonight. Not yet.