Chapter 3 - Lines Begin to Blur

"Robin's POV"

The elevator doors opened directly into Christopher's penthouse, and I stepped inside, my toolbox feeling suddenly ridiculous in my hand.

The space was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the city skyline, sleek modern furniture in shades of grey and cream, and abstract art pieces that probably cost more than my yearly rent. Everything was pristine, carefully curated, and expensive.

And completely empty of warmth.

"Robin."

I turned to find Christopher walking toward me. He'd changed since the party.

Gone was the sharp suit, replaced by dark jeans and a black sweater that somehow made him look more approachable and more dangerous at the same time.

His hair was slightly mussed, like he'd been running his hands through it.

"Hey," I said, setting my toolbox down. "So where's this shelf?"

Christopher stopped a few feet away, hands sliding into his pockets. For a moment, he just looked at me, and I couldn't read the expression on his face.

"About that," he said finally.

My stomach did a weird flip. "About what?"

"There is no shelf."

I blinked. "What?"

"There's nothing that needs fixing. I lied." Christopher's jaw tightened. "I brought you here because I wanted to see you.

To talk to you. Without the pretence of work or business or anyone watching."

The confession hung in the air between us. I should've been angry. Should've grabbed my toolbox and walked right back into that elevator. But instead, all I felt was curious.

"You lied to get me here," I said slowly.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Christopher looked away, toward those massive windows. "Because I couldn't stop thinking about you. And I didn't know how else to see you again without making it complicated."

My heart was doing that annoying flutter thing again. "So you made it complicated anyway by lying."

"I know. I'm sorry. If you want to leave, I understand. I'll have James take you home right now."

I stood there, toolbox at my feet, looking at this powerful man who'd just admitted he'd gone through all this trouble just to spend time with me. It was reckless and impulsive and kind of insane.

And I wasn't leaving.

"I'm not offended," I said.

Christopher's head snapped back toward me. "You're not?"

"No. I'm curious."

"About?"

"About why a CEO who could have anyone's company he wants went through all this trouble for a handyman he barely knows."

Christopher stepped closer, and I could smell his cologne now, something expensive and woodsy that made my pulse quicken.

"Because when I saw you at that party, looking so different from how I'd seen you at work, I realised I wanted to know you.

Really know you. Not as the painter working on my building, but as Robin." He paused. "And I haven't wanted to know someone like that in a very long time."

The honesty in his voice caught me off guard. Most people, especially people like Christopher, didn't show this kind of vulnerability.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. You want to get to know me? Let's do that." I glanced around the sterile apartment. "But maybe with less awkward standing around?"

A smile tugged at Christopher's lips. The first real smile I'd seen from him. "I have wine. And a balcony with a view."

"That works."

"Christopher's POV"

I'd expected anger. Accusations. Maybe even for Robin to demand payment for wasting his time before storming out.

I hadn't expected him to stay.

We settled on the balcony with glasses of red wine and takeout containers from the Italian place down the street.

I'd ordered too much food, nervous energy making me overthink everything, but Robin just laughed and said we'd make it work.

"So," Robin said, settling into one of the chairs and looking out at the city. "Tell me something real about yourself. Not the CEO stuff. Something that actually matters."

The question surprised me. Most people wanted to hear about deals and acquisitions and business strategies. But Robin was looking at me like he genuinely wanted to know who I was beneath the title.

"I hate my life sometimes," I said before I could stop myself.

Robin's eyebrows rose. "That's honest."

"You asked for real." I took a sip of wine. "I hate the constant performance. The expectations. The feeling like I'm living someone else's life instead of my own."

"Then why do you do it?"

"Because it's what's expected. Because walking away would mean losing everything I've worked for. Because sometimes it's easier to stay in a cage, you know, than risk freedom you're not sure you can handle."

The words felt raw, exposed. I'd never said them out loud before.

Robin was quiet for a moment, just watching me. "That sounds exhausting."

"It is."

"So why bring me here? Why risk complicating things even more?"

I met his eyes. "Because I'm tired of pretending. And when I'm around you, I don't feel like I have to."

Something shifted in Robin's expression. Understanding, maybe. Or sympathy. He didn't push and didn't ask follow-up questions. He just nodded and shifted the conversation, asking about my favourite places in the city.

We talked about everything and nothing. Restaurants we loved, places we'd been, childhood memories that made us laugh.

Robin told me about growing up with his dad on construction sites, learning to fix things before he could properly read. I told him about boarding schools where I'd been more lonely than educated.

The wine loosened us both, and somewhere between the second and third glass, I realised I was laughing more than I had in months.

Robin had this way of making everything feel lighter, easier. When he smiled, it was genuine. When he laughed, it was unfiltered.

He was everything I wasn't. Free, warm, honest.

And I wanted him more than I'd wanted anything in years.

"Robin's POV"

Christopher was different out here. Away from the office, away from the suit and the title, he was just a man trying to figure out his own life. I liked this version of him. Maybe too much.

"Okay, confession time," I said, refilling our glasses. "What's the most reckless thing you've ever done?"

Christopher thought for a moment. "This."

"This?"

"Bringing you here. Lying about the shelf. Risking my professional reputation just to spend time with someone I barely know." He looked at me. "That's pretty reckless for me."

"That's kind of sad, actually."

"I know." He smiled, but there was something bittersweet in it. "What about you? What's the most reckless thing you've done?"

"Probably saying yes when you asked me to come here," I admitted. "I knew something was off. But I came anyway."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to see what would happen. And because..." I hesitated, then decided to just say it. "Because I couldn't stop thinking about you either."

The confession hung between us, charged and electric. Christopher's eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to my mouth for just a second before meeting my eyes again.

"Robin," he said, his voice lower now.

"Yeah?"

"I want to see you again. Properly, I mean. Not under false pretences. A real date."

My heart kicked against my ribs. "A date?"

"Yes. Dinner. Conversation. Whatever you want." He leaned forward slightly. "Unless you think this is a terrible idea."

"It's probably a terrible idea," I said honestly. "But I want to anyway."

Christopher's smile was slow and genuine. "Friday? I could pick you up at seven."

"Friday works."

"Good." He held my gaze. "I promise I'll be honest this time. No fake repairs."

I laughed. "I'll hold you to that."

We sat there for another hour, talking and laughing until the wine was gone and the city lights blurred together.

When I finally left, Christopher walked me to the elevator, standing close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Friday," he said again, like he was reminding himself.

"Friday," I agreed.

The elevator doors closed, and I leaned back against the wall, my heart racing.

This was dangerous. Christopher Hall was complicated in ways I probably didn't even understand yet. But when he looked at me like I mattered, like I was someone worth risking things for, I couldn't bring myself to care.

Friday couldn't come fast enough.

"Robin's POV"

I stood alone in my apartment after Robin left, staring at the closed elevator doors.

What are you doing?

The question echoed in my head, but I already knew the answer. I was being selfish. Reckless. Crossing lines I'd sworn I'd never cross.

But for the first time in years, I felt alive. And I wasn't ready to give that up.

Not yet.