His Secret Desire (MxM)

"Robin's POV"

The smell of fresh paint always grounded me. Something about it, sharp and clean and full of possibility, made everything else fade into the background.

I dragged the roller across the pristine lobby wall of Golden Anchor Homes, watching the cream colour spread smooth and even.

This place screamed money. Marble floors so polished I could see my reflection, chandeliers that probably cost more than my truck, and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the city like it was a painting itself. I didn't belong here, but my work did. And that was enough.

Mitchell Harper had called me about this gig three days ago.

My best friend since high school, the one person who'd stuck around through all my mess.

She worked as an interior designer and had connections everywhere. When Golden Anchor Homes needed a painter, she dropped my name without hesitation.

I owed her big time.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it, focusing on keeping my strokes even.

The lobby was massive, and I wanted to finish the main wall before lunch. But the buzzing continued, three times in a row.

With a sigh, I set the roller down and checked my phone. Three texts from Mitchell, all sent within the last two minutes. I could practically hear her impatient voice through the screen.

I smiled despite myself and typed back quickly, telling her I was working and would update her later.

She responded immediately with a string of emojis that made no sense.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket and returned to the wall. That's when I felt it, the prickle on the back of my neck that told me someone was watching.

I glanced over my shoulder.

A man stood near the hallway entrance, partially hidden by the corner. Tall. A dark suit that fit him like it was custom-made.

Black hair styled perfectly. He wasn't doing anything, just standing there. Watching me.

I turned back to the wall, my grip tightening on the roller. Maybe he was a supervisor. Or security. Rich places like this probably had people checking on contractors all the time.

But when I looked again a few minutes later, he was still there. Same spot. Same intense stare.

My heart did this stupid flutter thing, and I cursed under my breath. The last thing I needed was to get weird about some corporate guy doing his job.

I kept painting, forcing myself not to look back. But I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and assessing, like I was something worth studying instead of just a guy slapping paint on a wall.

Finally, after what felt like forever, I heard footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Moving away.

I exhaled and realised I'd been holding my breath.

Get it together, Robin.

"Christopher's POV"

I shouldn't have been standing there.

I had meetings. Calls to return. An acquisition proposal sitting on my desk that needed my signature. But instead, I was in the lobby, watching a painter work.

Watching him work.

Robin Maximus. I'd seen his name on the contractor schedule yesterday and noted it without thinking much of it.

Mitchell Harper had recommended him, someone from her personal network. I'd approved it and moved on.

But then I'd seen him this morning.

Blonde hair that caught the light. Tall, broad-shouldered, moving with an easy confidence that came from knowing exactly what he was doing.

He wore a paint-stained shirt and faded jeans and somehow made it look better than half the tailored suits I saw every day.

And when he painted, he was completely absorbed. Focused. Like nothing else in the world existed except that wall and making it perfect.

I couldn't look away.

It had been so long since I'd felt this, this pull toward someone. This want. My life was controlled, measured, and dictated by expectations and obligations I'd stopped fighting years ago.

But standing here, watching Robin work, something in my chest cracked open.

He glanced over his shoulder, and our eyes met for half a second before he turned away.

My pulse quickened.

I should leave. I should go back to my office and pretend this moment never happened. But my feet wouldn't move.

What are you doing, Christopher?

The voice in my head sounded suspiciously like my father's. Disappointed. Disapproving.

I forced myself to walk away, my footsteps echoing against the marble. I didn't look back, even though everything in me wanted to.

"Robin's POV"

By the time I finished the lobby wall, my shoulders ached and my phone was full of messages demanding updates. I wiped my hands on a rag, stepped back, and admired my work.

Clean lines. No drips. Perfect.

A woman in a blazer appeared behind me, tablet in hand. She looked like she managed things, people, schedules and problems.

She complimented my work and told me they'd need me back next week for the conference rooms on the third floor.

I agreed immediately, feeling pretty good about landing repeat work. Steady clients were hard to come by, and Golden Anchor Homes was exactly the kind of account that could change things for me.

I started packing my supplies when I heard it.

"You do excellent work."

The voice came from behind me, smooth and measured, with an edge of something I couldn't quite place.

I turned slowly.

It was him. The man who'd been watching me. Up close, he was even more striking. Sharp jawline, dark eyes that seemed to see right through me, presence that filled the entire space.

"Thanks," I managed.

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the wall before landing back on me. "Mitchell Harper speaks highly of you."

"She's a good friend."

"You're fortunate to have her." He paused, and something shifted in his expression. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of your work here."

There was weight in those words. Meaning I couldn't quite decode.

"I appreciate the opportunity," I said carefully.

He extended his hand. "Christopher Hall."

My brain stuttered. Christopher Hall. I shook his hand, his grip firm and warm, while my mind raced.

"You're the CEO," I blurted.

His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I am."

Of course he was. Of course the guy who'd been watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the building was the literal CEO of Golden Anchor Homes.

"I should..." I gestured vaguely to my supplies. "I need to clean up."

"Of course. I won't keep you." But he didn't move. Just stood there, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes. "I'll see you next week, Robin."

The way he said my name, slow and deliberate like he was tasting it, sent a shiver down my spine.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the lobby with paint-stained hands and a racing heart.

I grabbed my phone the second I got to my truck and called Mitchell. She answered on the first ring.

"Finally! I've been waiting all day. How did it go?"

"The CEO was watching me work today."

There was a pause. Then she shrieked so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear.

"What do you mean watching you? Like supervising?"

"No. Like actually watching. He just stood there, staring at me for, like, ten minutes."

"And?"

And then he introduced himself. Shook my hand. He said he's looking forward to seeing more of my work.

Mitchell made a noise that was half squeal, half laugh. "Robin. Robin, this man is interested in you."

He's the CEO. He was probably just being professional.

Professional, my ass. CEOs don't personally introduce themselves to contractors. What did he look like?

I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes. "Tall. Dark hair. Expensive suit. The kind of guy who looks like he owns everything he touches."

"Hot?"

I hesitated. "Yeah. Really hot."

Mitchell laughed, delighted. "This is happening. I can feel it."

"Nothing is happening. I'm just painting walls."

"Sure, Robin. Keep telling yourself that."

We talked for a few more minutes before she had to go. I sat in my truck, staring at the building through the windscreen.

Christopher Hall looked at me like I mattered.

And I had no idea what to do with that.