Lines We Shouldn’t Cross

Amara’s POV

If surviving my first week at Cruz Holdings felt like climbing a mountain, week two was like getting shoved off a cliff.

By Monday morning, Damian Cruz had already decided I was his personal chew toy.

“Ms. Lopez,” he called the moment I set foot in the office. His voice carried across the floor like a whip crack. “In my office. Now.”

Every head swiveled toward me. Phones stopped mid-ring, keyboards paused mid-click. Great. Nothing like being summoned at 9 a.m. on a Monday to set the tone for the week. I smoothed my blazer, lifted my chin, and marched into his lair like I had a shred of dignity left.

“Good morning, sir.” I said through gritted teeth.

He didn’t even look up. “Define ‘good.’”

I blinked. Was he serious? “Uh… the opposite of bad?”

Finally, he raised his head. Those storm-gray eyes locked on me, cool and merciless. “You’re witty this morning. Let’s see if you’re competent.” He slid a flash drive across the desk like it was a weapon. “There are files on this. Sensitive ones. Reorganize them, update the indexes, and don’t screw it up.”

My fingers closed around the flash drive. “When do you need it?”

“In two hours.”

I almost choked. “Two hours? That’s impossible!”

He leaned back, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then consider it practice.”

I stomped out of his office, clutching the drive like a live grenade.

Clara caught me halfway to my desk and gave me a sympathetic look. “What’s the damage this time?”

“Two hours. Forty files. He’s insane.”

She winced. “He is insane. But… you can do it.”

Her faith in me was sweet, but I wasn’t sure if it was realistic. Still, I wasn’t about to give Damian Cruz the satisfaction of seeing me fail.

For the next two hours, my world narrowed to spreadsheets and cross-references. My fingers flew across the keyboard, my back screamed, and my eyes blurred from staring at tiny numbers that seemed to dance on the screen. By the end, I was muttering formulas under my breath like a lunatic.

At one point, Clara passed by with a cup of coffee. “Drink,” she whispered, setting it down like a peace offering. I gulped it without stopping my typing.

By the time I returned the flash drive, my hands were trembling, my head pounded, and I was one bad keystroke away from collapse. Still, the files were perfect. I knew they were. I slapped the drive on his desk like a declaration of war.

“Done.” I said, breathless.

Damian scrolled through the files, expression unreadable. Seconds stretched into eternity. I gripped the edge of his desk so hard my knuckles turned white.

Finally, he said, “Adequate.”

Adequate. That was it?

My blood boiled. “Adequate?”

He glanced up. “Would you prefer ‘impressive’?”

“Yes!”

The corner of his mouth curved just slightly, like I’d given him the reaction he wanted. “Then earn it.”

I wanted to throw his stupid flash drive at his stupid perfect face. Instead, I forced a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Careful, Mr. Cruz. One day, I’ll surprise you.”

His eyes darkened, and his voice dropped an octave. “You already have, Ms. Lopez.”

For a moment, the air between us shifted. His words weren’t mocking—they were almost… honest. His gaze lingered too long, heavy enough to make my chest tighten. Heat crawled up my neck.

Then he blinked, and just like that, the wall was back up.

“Dismissed.” he said flatly, as if nothing had happened.

I fled before my knees betrayed me.

Why did every conversation with that man feel like standing on the edge of a cliff?

---

Damian’s POV

I should fire her.

That thought crossed my mind at least twice a day. Firing her would be simple, clean, logical. I didn’t tolerate attitude in my company, and Amara Lopez was nothing but attitude.

And yet… I didn’t fire her.

This morning, when I tossed her the flash drive, I fully expected her to crack under the pressure. Most interns would have. Hell, most junior employees would have begged for an extension.

But she didn’t crack.

Through the glass walls of my office, I saw her hunched over her desk, typing furiously. Her hair fell across her face, but she didn’t stop to fix it. Her jaw was tight, her shoulders tense. She looked like she was ready to go to war with the files themselves.

And when she returned, slamming the drive onto my desk with that fire in her eyes, something inside me shifted.

She didn’t just meet the deadline—she beat it. And she had the audacity to demand more than “adequate.”

Impressive.

I almost said it. Almost. But that would have given her too much power, and I couldn’t afford that. Not with her.

Because every time she looked at me with that stubborn defiance, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years—alive.

It was dangerous. Dangerous to let my guard down. Dangerous to let her get under my skin.

But damn it, she already had.

---

Amara’s POV

By Wednesday, the entire office knew something was going on between Damian and me.

Not something-something, but enough tension to make people whisper. His constant summons, his relentless tests, the way I came out of his office flushed and furious—it didn’t take a genius to notice.

At lunch, Clara nudged me as we sat in the break room. “You know he’s watching you, right?”

I glanced up from my sad little salad. Damian stood at the far end of the cafeteria, phone pressed to his ear. His gaze flicked toward me—just for a second. But it was enough. Enough to make my stomach flip.

I quickly looked away, stabbing a tomato with unnecessary force. “He watches everyone.”

Clara smirked. “Not like that.”

Her knowing tone made my cheeks burn. I hated it. I hated that she was right.

Because he was watching me. Testing me. Pushing me. Every single day. And the worst part wasn’t his cruelty.

The worst part was that, deep down, I wanted to prove him wrong.

I wanted him to look at me and finally say, You impressed me, Amara.

And that terrified me more than anything.

Because if Damian Cruz noticed me—really noticed me—I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover.