Chapter Nine — Saturday Night

Saturday mornings were usually Dianne Blake’s sanctuary — no work calls, no emails demanding instant responses, no Roy Sinclair looming over her day. She rolled out of bed, hair tousled, pajamas wrinkled, and muttered, “Alright, let’s see if the apartment can survive my cleaning spree.”

Her hands moved briskly, tackling the laundry, wiping counters, vacuuming corners, all while humming softly to herself. The chores were almost meditative, a way to push away thoughts of Roy — though, of course, he kept creeping back into her mind despite her best efforts.

Focus, Dianne. Saturday is for peace, not the chaos that is Roy Sinclair.

Later that evening, just as she was pouring herself a cup of tea, her phone buzzed. She picked it up, expecting another work message — but the name made her pause: Roy Sinclair.

The text read:

“It’s my birthday tonight. Family isn’t in town. Friends? Don’t keep many, except Aaron — who’s conveniently out of time. I… felt like spending time with someone, and you came to mind. Don’t overthink it. Just… come.”

Dianne blinked, heart hammering. He wants me there? On his birthday?

Her mind screamed caution. Professional boundaries. Past pride. Damian’s betrayal. And yet… there was a thrill in the unexpected, in stepping into his world outside of work.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her dress — a deep sapphire silk — clung in all the right places, subtle but alluring. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. She dabbed on a hint of perfume and felt a flicker of daring.

Alright, Dianne. Just a visit. No drama.

When she arrived at Roy’s sleek Mayfair penthouse, the city lights glinting in the windows, he was waiting at the door. He opened it himself, and for the first time, Dianne noticed the slight awkwardness in his stance. His usual smirk softened when he saw her.

“Happy birthday,” she said, handing him a small, elegantly wrapped gift.

He blinked, momentarily taken aback. “You… brought me a gift?”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s just a little something. Thought it might brighten your evening.”

He held it carefully, almost reverently, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Dianne… this is… unexpected.”

She smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I figured you could use something thoughtful. You’re usually… difficult to buy for.”

He laughed softly, a low, genuine sound that made her heart skip. “Difficult… yes. But thoughtful? Never thought anyone would take the time.”

Dinner was simple but intimate. She noticed how relaxed he became with her presence — no arrogance, no teasing, just Roy in a rare, unguarded state. She wasn’t uptight either; her laugh was easy, her conversation natural. They shared stories, joked, and argued lightly over trivial things like the right way to cook pasta.

He’s… normal, almost human, in a way no one else sees, she thought, surprised by how comfortable she felt.

After dinner, they moved on to karaoke. Dianne’s voice was rich and surprising, filling the penthouse with melodies that made Roy stop in his tracks. He watched her, mesmerized, the way she commanded the microphone with passion and ease.

“You’re… incredible,” he murmured when she finished a song, his usual confidence slipping into awe.

She smirked, brushing imaginary lint off her dress. “I do have hidden talents.”

He leaned in slightly, eyes darkening with intensity. “Hidden… yes. But so tempting.”

For a moment, their faces hovered dangerously close, the air charged. Dianne felt the pull, that magnetic draw that had been simmering for weeks. She almost leaned in, almost allowed it, but pulled back, shaking her head.

No, keep it professional. Don’t give him this.

The moment hung heavy between them, awkward and electric. Roy cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

“I should… let you go,” he said quietly, though his eyes didn’t leave hers. “I’ll drop you home?”

Dianne nodded, words caught in her throat. The ride back was quiet, punctuated only by the occasional city hum outside the window. Their glances were stolen, fleeting, dangerous — neither of them willing to fully acknowledge the tension yet.

When they arrived at her apartment, she reached for her keys. Suddenly, Roy’s hand caught hers, pulling her gently back.

“Are you angry?” he asked softly, searching her face.

She met his gaze, shaking her head. “No… I just… want to keep this professional.”

His jaw tightened, a flash of heartbreak crossing his features. “Professional… right.”

She stepped back, frowning slightly, trying to mask the flutter in her chest. “Goodnight, Roy.”

He watched her walk to the door, his mind spinning. Professional, huh? The word tasted bitter on his tongue. She was a puzzle he didn’t want to solve, yet he couldn’t walk away. Her laughter, her voice, the sincerity in her eyes — it was unlike anything he’d encountered.

As the door closed, he sank onto the sofa, running a hand through his hair. Determination settled in his gaze. She’s mine to win. No games, no pretenses. I’ll make her see it — I’ll make her feel it.

And for the first time in a long time, Roy Sinclair felt something he couldn’t simply control — a growing, undeniable pull toward the woman who had shaken every ounce of his carefully constructed world.

Dianne leaned her back against the closed door, eyes shut, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The apartment was silent, dimly lit by the small lamp near the sofa, and her heartbeat echoed louder than anything else in the room.

She exhaled shakily.

What… was that?

The karaoke.

The laugh they shared over burnt garlic bread.

That almost-kiss.

Roy’s warm hand around her wrist.

The way his eyes softened — not calculated, not arrogant — soft.

She pressed a hand against her chest. “Oh God… I need to get a grip.”

She kicked off her heels and wandered toward her living room, running a hand through her hair. Every moment from the evening replayed in her mind like a film she couldn’t pause. His smile when he opened her gift. The surprised flicker in his eyes when she sang. The hurt in his voice when she said she wanted things professional.

“Dianne Blake,” she muttered to herself, plopping onto the sofa, “you are playing a dangerous game.”

Her mind flicked back to the way his fingers brushed her wrist before she walked into the building. That touch felt too real, too intimate, too… sincere.

She groaned and covered her face with her hands. No. No, no, no.

She couldn’t fall for Roy Sinclair.

He was chaos.

Complicated.

A man who ate boundaries for breakfast.

Even if he felt… different tonight.

Dianne curled her knees to her chest on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. “Keep it professional,” she whispered again, but her own voice sounded weak, unconvincing.

Her phone buzzed — a message from Maya checking in — but she ignored it for now. She needed silence. Space. Air. Something to cool the wildfire Roy had accidentally sparked in her chest.

“Just one night,” she whispered. “Just his birthday. Nothing more.”

But even as she said it, she didn’t believe herself.

Meanwhile, Roy Sinclair’s drive home was a storm of thoughts he couldn’t escape.

He gripped the steering wheel with one hand, the other running repeatedly through his hair as if he could scrub out every feeling that had risen inside him tonight.

Professional?

Her saying that echoed through him like a slap.

He parked in his building garage but didn’t move, staring ahead into the darkness.

“Professional…” he scoffed softly. “She says that as if this is some business transaction.”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes closing for a moment. The memory of her laugh — free, melodic, warm — drifted through his mind. He replayed her voice during karaoke, how the sound filled the room and filled something inside him he didn’t even know was empty.

He saw her again in that sapphire dress. The delicate perfume she wore. The way her eyes widened slightly when their faces were inches apart. How she swallowed hard — fighting the pull. Fighting him.

A slow, unguarded smile curved onto his lips.

“She almost kissed me,” he murmured.

But the look in her eyes when she said she wanted things professional… that stung harder than he expected.

Why did that hurt?

He had dealt with hundreds of women — confident ones, clingy ones, dramatic ones, ones who faked innocence, ones who pretended not to care. He had seen them all.

But Dianne…

Dianne was something else.

She hadn’t even tried to impress him — and yet she did. Effortlessly.

Her gift sat on the seat beside him, wrapped paper now slightly wrinkled from how tightly he’d held it earlier.

No one brings me gifts.

Not without an agenda.

Not without expecting something in return.

But she did. Without hesitation.

Roy exhaled deeply, running a thumb over the gift box absentmindedly.

“She’s… different,” he muttered to himself. “And God help me, I can’t stop thinking about her.”

He finally stepped out of the car, the cool evening air hitting him as he shut the door. His shoulders felt heavier — with want, with confusion, with something he didn’t want to name.

“Professional,” he repeated under his breath, this time with a faint scoff. “We’ll see about that.”

Inside the elevator, his reflection stared back at him — the usually confident CEO now looking strangely conflicted.

He smirked, but it held no arrogance tonight.

“I’ll win her,” he whispered to himself. “Slowly. Carefully. Whatever it takes.”

The elevator doors slid open, and Roy stepped out with one clear truth ringing in his mind:

Dianne Blake had already gotten under his skin — and he wasn’t sure he wanted her out.