Chapter 14: Tie Me Not

It was a Monday. A simple, tragically Monday-ish Monday. Grey sky. Cold coffee. Printer jam.

And then—

Katherine dropped her pen.

Not because she was clumsy. (Though, she was.)

Not because Jenkins had tried to microwave a tuna sandwich again. (Though, he had.)

No.

Because Sebastian Mason walked in.

Without. A. Tie.

She stared at him like he was an eclipse — fascinating, dangerous, and possibly illegal to look at too long.

No navy silk. No burgundy power knot. Just crisp white collar, two buttons undone, and the quiet confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

Katherine choked on her stapler.

“Holy noose-free necklines,” she whispered.

Cara glanced over. “You okay?”

“No. I’ve just witnessed a cultural reset.”

---

Sebastian, for his part, pretended like nothing was different. Which, for him, was already suspicious. He wasn’t one to “pretend” anything. He existed in absolutes.

So why — why — did his absence of a tie feel like a declaration?

I am no longer strictly business, it whispered.

I am man. I have collarbones. Notice them.

Katherine did.

Far too much.

She ducked behind her computer and texted Cara:

"He’s tie-less. What does it mean? Is this… foreplay?"

Cara responded with three skull emojis and a GIF of a woman fainting.

---

The real chaos, however, started at 10:17 AM.

During a brainstorming session.

Katherine, seated at the conference table, was gesturing wildly about brand authenticity when her pen rolled off the edge.

Sebastian, seated beside her (a new development in itself — he’d always sat at the head of the table), instinctively bent down to grab it at the same time she did.

Their hands touched.

Just a brush.

A whisper of skin.

Warm. Intentional. Real.

Katherine froze. Time hiccupped.

Sebastian didn’t move.

For half a second, their fingers remained—tangled, still, stunned.

Then he pulled back. Slowly.

“Your pen,” he said, his voice lower than usual.

Katherine took it like it was a live grenade.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “I, uh, I was testing gravity. Still works.”

A beat.

He quirked a brow. “Clearly.”

---

The rest of the meeting was a blur.

Charts? Numbers? Budget?

Please. Her brain was a swarm of butterflies in business casual.

Every time she glanced sideways, he was looking straight ahead.

Every time she looked forward, she could feel him glance at her.

And every time her fingers twitched, she could still feel the phantom imprint of his.

---

Back at her desk, she launched into crisis mode.

“Okay,” she muttered. “It was a touch. Big deal. People touch things. People touch people. People touch people’s pens. It’s nothing.”

She opened a blank document. Titled it: Totally Normal Physical Contact and Why I’m Not Losing My Mind.

Cara leaned over. “You good?”

“Fine. Great. Never been more grounded in my entire chaotic life.”

“Did he touch you?”

“No!” Beat. “Yes. Maybe. But not like—ugh, not in a ‘touch me again, Mason’ kind of way.”

Cara narrowed her eyes. “Was he wearing a tie?”

Katherine inhaled sharply. “No.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

---

Lunch didn’t help.

He was in the break room.

Eating a salad like it had personally wronged him.

When she walked in, he looked up.

Just a flick of the eyes. Barely a moment.

And yet it hit her like a thunderclap.

There was something there.

A softness. A… pause.

As if he was waiting.

For what?

For her to say something?

To ask?

To confess that his absence of tie and her swirling emotions were possibly connected?

She chickened out and grabbed a yogurt.

Smooth.

---

At 3:22 PM, she decided to confront the situation the only way she knew how: with absurdity.

She walked into his office unannounced — again — wearing a giant fake tie made out of printer paper.

“Miss Brown,” he said, not even looking up. “Is that a... napkin?”

“No. It’s a symbol.”

He finally glanced up. Blinked. Once. Twice.

She struck a pose. “Since you’ve clearly abandoned the tie life, I’ve decided to carry the burden for us both.”

He blinked again.

Then — he smiled.

A real one. Slow. Uncontrolled.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Correct. And you’re in violation of at least five dress code clauses.”

He leaned back in his chair, hands steepled. “Are you accusing me of casual rebellion?”

“I’m accusing you of giving me feelings.”

Silence.

Too much silence.

She panicked.

“Ha-ha! Kidding. Obviously. Feelings? Gross.”

He tilted his head.

“Katherine.”

Oh no. He used her first name.

Dangerous.

Delicious.

She saluted. “I’ll just... leave this symbol of lost decorum here.” She slapped the paper tie onto his desk. “Wear it with pride.”

And fled.

---

At 5:47 PM, she received an email.

Subject: Uniform Compliance

From: S. Mason

To: K. Brown

"Miss Brown,

As per your generous contribution to our corporate aesthetic, I shall be incorporating paper accessories into future meetings.

Please advise: stripes or polka dots?

Sincerely,

Temporarily Untied"

She laughed so hard she spilled her tea.

Then clutched her chest.

Because her heart?

Her stupid, chaotic, reckless heart?

It did something.

Something fluttery and full of dangerous hope.

---

6:04 PM.

The building began to exhale. Emails stopped pinging. Shoes clicked toward elevators. The hum of fluorescent lights felt less oppressive now — almost sleepy.

Katherine, of course, was still organizing chaos.

Her desk looked like a stationery explosion. Paper clips in a coffee mug. Sticky notes on her keyboard that said “Remember to BREATHE” and “Ask HR if therapy counts as team-building.”

She finally shoved her laptop into her bag and sighed. Time to go.

Except… she forgot her badge.

Again.

She trotted back, grabbed it, and cursed her brain.

When she finally reached the elevator and pressed the button — ding — the doors opened...

And revealed Sebastian Mason, standing inside.

Alone.

Tie-less.

Jawline: criminal.

Posture: unfair.

Expression: unreadable.

“Evening,” he said.

“Gah—” she coughed. “Hi. Yes. Fancy seeing you here, in this... elevator... in this office building we both work in. Wild.”

He raised one eyebrow but said nothing.

She stepped in, trying to act cool.

The doors slid shut.

The elevator jerked — that small, nearly imperceptible drop — and started moving down.

Silence.

Katherine rocked slightly on her heels. “So. Elevator small talk. Favorite fruit?”

Sebastian turned his head. “That’s your go-to?”

“It’s a classic.”

A pause. Then, dry as ever:

“Blackberries.”

“Ohhh. Sexy fruit.”

He glanced at her, clearly not expecting that response.

She shrugged. “Forbidden, dramatic, full of seeds. I get it.”

He huffed — was that a laugh?

Maybe.

Then the elevator stopped.

Ground floor.

She exhaled.

That was... weirdly intense.

---

Outside, the rain had stopped, but the pavement still glistened. Katherine fumbled with her keys, heading toward her car — a small, feisty hatchback with personality and a dying air freshener that smelled like regret.

She stopped.

So did he.

Two spots down.

His car was there. Sleek. Black. Of course. It looked like it had an MBA.

Their eyes met across the asphalt.

“Are you following me?” she called, mock-suspicious.

“You were here first.”

“Hah. Gotcha.”

He smirked — full-on, teeth and all.

She tried not to combust.

As she opened her door, he added, “Drive safe, Miss Brown.”

She blinked.

Then: “Try not to seduce anyone with that collarbone, Mason.”

He froze for half a second.

Then got in his car without a word.

But his ears were slightly pink.

Victory.

---

Somewhere between office and home, Katherine decided she deserved chocolate. Possibly a tub of ice cream. Definitely something that could fix the fluttering in her ribcage.

She stopped by the grocery store.

Small, local. Comfortingly messy. Aisles too narrow, fluorescent lights buzzing like gossiping coworkers.

She grabbed instant noodles, cheese, and three kinds of cookies because she had zero self-control.

Then—

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath.

Sebastian Mason.

At the self-checkout line.

Holding exactly one item.

Greek yogurt.

She almost screamed.

“What are you doing here?”

He turned. “Buying yogurt.”

“That’s it?”

He looked at her cart. “You seem to have... a theme.”

“It’s called ‘emotional damage and dairy.’ Don’t judge me.”

A pause. Then, he gestured to the only available checkout.

“You go first.”

She hesitated.

Then: “You’re letting me cut in line?”

“I thought you operated on chaos, not queues.”

“Oh, I do. But this is suspiciously gentlemanly of you. What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

She stepped forward.

He stepped closer.

Close enough to brush her shoulder as she passed.

And it wasn’t accidental.

She knew it.

And so did he.

Her pulse tripped over itself.

At checkout, her card declined once because her fingers were shaking. She laughed too loudly. Blamed it on the cookies.

When she left, he was still standing there. Watching.

And when their eyes met through the glass doors, he did the most dangerous thing yet.

He smiled.

Soft. Real. Just for her.

---