Between Burns and Boundaries

The next day at work was intense.

First thing in the morning, we made the necessary changes to the presentation and sent the revised draft to Lucian. Once he approved it, thankfully without much commentary, we got to work finalizing it. Between supervising the interns and juggling a call with the marketing team, my brain was already overloaded.

Lucian is a perfectionist. He doesn’t just want results. He wants them his way. Unfortunately, our marketing team hasn’t quite cracked the code yet.

I held my phone between my shoulder and ear as I skimmed through documents, pen tapping against my clipboard.

“No, no, Mark, you’re not hearing me,” I said, cutting him off mid-pitch. “Lucian already said he doesn’t want anything flashy. His exact words were, ‘Subtle marketing genius. Not loud. Not desperate.’”

I checked my watch. Just past one. Lucian usually had his post-lunch black coffee around this time. Without missing a beat, I headed to the break room while Mark kept talking.

“But that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Mark argued. “If we lead with an attention-grabbing teaser campaign…”

“Mark,” I sighed, grabbing a mug and placing it under the machine. “It’s not about grabbing attention for the sake of it. You’re marketing this like it’s a celebrity fragrance. This is a heritage-driven, luxury restoration brand. Think timeless, not trending.”

“But we need engagement. Buzz. We’re losing traction…”

“We’re not losing anything. We’re just not catering to a viral moment, and that’s intentional,” I said, pouring the freshly brewed coffee and steadying the cup in my hand. “Lucian wants quiet confidence, not viral chaos. Minimalist visuals, curated messaging. Less is more, remember?”

Mark huffed dramatically on the other end.

“I’m not saying redo everything,” I added quickly, softening my tone just a bit. “I know you’ve worked hard on this, and your ideas are strong. But the execution needs to align with the brand’s philosophy. I see Lucian’s point. Our target audience isn’t Gen Z influencers. It’s legacy clients who appreciate restraint.”

Mark finally went quiet. I took it as a sign of reluctant agreement.

“Look, tweak the visuals and simplify the rollout strategy. Send me a revised version by EOD, and I’ll see if I can get Lucian to give it another look.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “But I still think we’re playing it too safe.”

“And I think that’s exactly why it’s working,” I said, ending the call just as I reached Lucian’s office.

What I forgot in all that multi-tasking chaos… was to knock.

I pushed open the door with one hand, coffee in the other…and walked straight into him.

We both gasped as the hot coffee sloshed from the mug. It spilled down the front of his crisp white shirt, and some of it splattered onto my hand.

“Shit!” I hissed, stumbling back. The burn stung instantly. “I…I’m so sorry!”

Lucian winced but remained surprisingly calm, blinking down at the mess now staining his expensive clothes. “Are you alright?” he asked immediately, eyes darting to my hand instead of his shirt.

“Uh, I’m okay,” I stammered, though my hand was definitely stinging from the burn. But more than the pain, I was focused on Lucian. His shirt was completely ruined—coffee-stained, soaked, and that coffee had been scorching.

“Oh my God, Lucian, I’m so, so, so sorry,” I burst out, panic climbing up my throat. “That must’ve hurt…I didn’t mean to…I was just trying to…God, I’m so sorry!”

I was spiraling, hovering too close to him, waving my hand around like it might somehow undo the damage. My brain scrambled to find something useful to do, blot the stain? Get ice for his burn? Vanish into the air?

Instead, I just kept apologizing like a broken record. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you…I didn’t mean to…I ruined your shirt…and your coffee…I burned you…”

I was already bracing myself for the yelling. He had to be furious. I’d just spilled coffee all over my boss. Lucian wasn’t exactly known for being… forgiving. The office door had swung shut behind me, thank God. At least no one would hear the explosion when it came. But it didn’t.

Instead, Lucian calmly reached out and took the empty mug from my hand.

“It’s fine, Elara. Nothing happened. Just… breathe.”

His voice was even. Calm. Not a trace of anger. That almost made me more nervous.

That shut me up instantly.

“What?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. I hadn’t expected him to be this calm…unbothered, even. I just burned him. How could he be so composed?

I swallowed hard, eyes flicking down to the mess of his shirt. A dark stain spread across the front, soaking through the expensive fabric. “God, I’m so sorry. I barged in like an idiot. I wasn’t thinking, or…or maybe I was thinking too much about work, the pitch, the coffee. I… Lucian, I’m seriously sorry.” The words tumbled out in a frantic rush. “You should check…your skin, I mean. That coffee was really hot. What if I actually…”

“I’m fine, Elara,” he said, cutting me off gently. “You burned yourself, too.”

“Yeah, but it was just a splash—”

“Same thing,” he muttered, stepping back as he shrugged off his black suit jacket. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it held a firmness that made me shut my mouth again.

I should’ve looked away. Should’ve gone to rinse my hand. Should’ve done anything except stand there and watch as he rolled up his sleeves and began unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate, calm fingers.

But I didn’t move.

He was focused on his shirt, not me, but my eyes betrayed me. I stood frozen, heart thudding unevenly as he untucked his shirt from his slacks. When he pulled the fabric away from his skin to inspect the damage, I caught a glimpse of his lean torso…toned, taut, real, and I felt my mouth go dry.

“Go wash your hands,” he said, still not looking at me as he nodded toward the private bathroom attached to his office. “There’s probably something in the wellness room too…ointment or something.”

I didn’t budge. My feet might as well have been nailed to the floor. The sound of my pulse filled my ears. I could barely hear him over the sound of my own embarrassment.

“Actually,” he added, inspecting the red mark on his side, “I think I’ll need it too.”

Then, as he unfastened another button and finally turned his head, his eyes landed on me—on the way I was staring at him.

He froze.

And so did I.

The silence between us cracked with tension. My cheeks flamed with heat… part burn, part shame, and part something I didn’t want to name. His gaze lingered on me for a second too long, and something unreadable passed over his face.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

Just say something. Anything.

I gulped. “Should I… make you another coffee?” God, what a stupid question.

Lucian paused, his brows knitting together like he couldn’t decide whether I was serious or just losing my mind. I thought, maybe, there was the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, but it vanished so quickly I wasn’t sure it was ever there. Lucian rarely smiled. I was probably imagining things, blinded by secondhand embarrassment and the sting of hot coffee.

“No, I’m good,” he said at last, his voice unusually soft. “Go wash your hands. I’ll have someone bring the ointment…you’ll need to apply it before the burn worsens.”

His tone unsettled me more than if he’d yelled. This wasn’t the Lucian I was used to…the one with the cold voice and sharp eyes. This version of him felt… too human. Too close.

“And you should, uh – wherever it burned you, too. I mean, you should wash it. And put the ointment on. I’ll just…go use the restroom outside, and you can…” I was rambling again. My words tripped over each other in a flustered mess.

He cut me off. “Elara,” he said, gently but firmly. “Just do what I asked.”

That tone, that quiet authority, shut me up faster than anything else could. I clamped my lips shut, nodding awkwardly, unsure what else to say. I started to turn when he added, this time in the voice I was used to…low, commanding, completely unimpressed: “Not another word.”

I froze.

He tilted his head toward the private washroom. “Go. Now.”

And I did…without looking back.

Once inside Lucian’s private washroom, I leaned against the sink, heart still hammering like it had no intention of slowing down. The space was minimalist, and sleek white tiles, spotless counters, and soft lighting that somehow made the whole place feel colder, more clinical. The kind of washroom you'd expect from someone like Lucian Whitmore: polished, precise, and impersonal.

I stared at my reflection.

God.

I looked pale, like I’d seen a ghost. Maybe I had, in a way. A ghost of all the self-control I thought I had.

I let out a shaky sigh and muttered, “What the fuck, Elara?” My voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed off the glossy tiles like a slap.

Lucian Whitmore is my boss. My boss. Not just any boss, the Whitmore. The man who’s never once looked flustered in his life, and there I was ogling him like some hopeless teenager catching sight of her celebrity crush in a locker room.

What was I even thinking? Staring at him like that?

He must’ve noticed. God, what if he thought I was being inappropriate… that I was trying to send a message? Ugh, you’re disgusting, I thought, biting down on the inside of my cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut and splashed some cool water on my burning face, trying to come back to reality.

Maybe… maybe he didn’t notice. Maybe if I just pretend it didn’t happen, if I play it cool and act normal, maybe this will all blow over. Yeah. Right. Like Lucian doesn’t notice everything.

When I looked up at myself again in the mirror, what I saw was someone pathetic, nervous, rattled by a half-unbuttoned shirt and a moment of unexpected kindness, someone trying to reason her way out of being a creep.

God, what is wrong with me?

I turned on the tap again…anything to stop the spiral. I needed to get a grip. Just breathe. It was a stupid moment, that’s all… a little too long a look. Nothing more. But no matter how many times I told myself that, the mortification didn’t ease. It wrapped around me like a second skin.

I took far longer than I should have inside the washroom. Honestly, I needed every second of it. To breathe. To think. To stop blushing like a schoolgirl who'd just seen her first crush in a towel.

Lucian hadn’t knocked. He gave me space. And for that, I was grateful. I needed a moment to gather myself. By the time I stepped out, I was composed, at least on the surface. The awkwardness still clung to me like static, but I held my head up, refusing to let it show.

Lucian looked up immediately. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a split second, something unreadable flickered in them… concern, maybe... or something else entirely. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice lower than usual. Not cold. Not clipped. Just... gentle.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah.”

He gave the faintest nod, then raised his hand, the tube of ointment between his fingers. “I got this,” he said, stepping closer. Close enough for me to catch the scent of the coffee still clinging to his shirt, the faint musk of him underneath it. “Apply it to your hand,” he murmured, holding my gaze as he offered it to me.

For a second, our fingers brushed. Just barely. But it was enough to spark a pulse of heat down my spine.

“I’ll go clean up,” he added, and his voice was quieter now, almost distracted. He turned toward the washroom, folding his sleeve as he walked, and I could swear I saw the subtle clench of his jaw and the smallest shake of his head.

I was still standing there like a statue, ointment in hand, when a sharp knock startled both of us. Lucian barely turned to speak before the door opened without invitation.

“Hey, Lucian…” The voice cut off mid-sentence.

The man who walked in froze the second he saw me. His expression faltered for half a second before he recovered, a polished smile tugging at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Not even close. “Elara,” he said smoothly, like my name was some old tune he hadn’t heard in a while. “Long time no see.”

My throat went dry. My fingers curled tighter around the ointment tube.

“Noah,” I whispered, blinking rapidly as warmth spread to my face for a different reason this time. My eyes stung slightly from seeing him after so long.