CHAPTER 6: THE DANGER OF WANTING HIM

I woke up thinking about Damian Hart, which was becoming an irritating habit.

His message from last night remained on my phone.

"I hope you will let me cook for you again. Next time, tell me what you love, and I will try to make it."

I read it twice before putting my phone facedown.

My mother needed surgery. My rent was overdue. My new job was the first real chance I had to change our circumstances. Those things deserved my attention, not the memory of Damian barefoot in his kitchen, smiling when I teased him about the garlic. Especially not the way I had wanted him to kiss me.

By the time I reached Hart Group, I had made a decision. I would behave like a professional woman who had never spent a night in the arms of a man she barely knew. I would do my work, keep my distance, and stop giving one man so much power over my thoughts.

The decision lasted until the lobby doors opened.

Damian stood near reception in a charcoal suit and white shirt. His gaze found mine immediately. For one dangerous second, neither of us moved.

Then he smiled.

"Good morning, Elena."

"Good morning, Mr. Hart."

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Mr. Hart?"

"You are my boss."

"And that is the only reason you are being formal?"

"It is the reason that matters here."

He studied me. "Then I will respect it."

I had prepared for an argument, perhaps even the arrogant insistence I expected from a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. His answer left me unsettled.

He stepped aside.

I walked toward the elevators without looking back, although I could feel his attention following me.

The morning kept me busy. I reviewed the campaign brief, checked the research, and prepared a proposal. Work gave me something solid to hold on to. Numbers made sense. Deadlines made sense. My attraction to a billionaire who cooked dinner for me and then looked at me as if he wanted something beyond a single night made no sense.

When Damian asked me to discuss my proposal, I entered his office with my notes held tightly.

"I reviewed your notes," he said. "Tell me why you chose this approach."

I explained the research, the weaknesses in the current strategy, and the changes that could make the campaign feel more personal. I described the customers the company was overlooking and how Hart Group could speak to them without making every message sound like a sales pitch.

When I finished, Damian leaned back.

"You see the person behind the numbers," he said. "That is rare here."

"I think people know when a company is pretending to care."

"You also think about what the research means."

"I hope you would say the same thing if I were not sitting here."

"Your work earned this conversation, Elena. Not what happened between us."

I placed my notes on his desk.

"I need to know that what happened between us will not affect how you judge my work."

"It will not. If I ever cross that line, you can challenge me."

"You cannot promise feelings will never get in the way."

"No," he admitted. "I can promise your work will be judged on its merits. The rest is something we both have to handle honestly."

I searched his face for the hidden condition, the demand that would turn his kindness into another transaction. I found none.

"You make it difficult to keep thinking badly of you," I said.

"And how is that going?"

"Terribly."

His laugh was quiet, but genuine. For a moment, the distance between the man behind the desk and the man who had cooked for me disappeared.

I wanted to ask what he was thinking. More dangerously, I wanted him to ask what I was afraid of.

Instead, I stood.

"I should get back to work."

"Of course."

He rose too, but did not come closer.

"Elena, you do not owe me affection because I hired you. If you choose to see me again, I want it to be because you want to."

"I understand," I said.

"Do you?"

"I am trying to."

I left before the quiet between us could become something I was not ready to face.

At six, my mother called while I packed my bag.

"They still need the money, sweetheart," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "But the bakery was busy today. We sold almost everything."

"That is good, Mom. I can do this."

"I know you can. Just remember you deserve a life beyond solving problems for everyone."

My throat tightened. "I will try."

When the call ended, her concern stayed with me, heavier than my bag.

I shut down my computer and collected my things.

Across the office, Damian was still working, his sleeves rolled to his forearms. He glanced up as I passed.

"Going home?"

"That is the plan."

"Good. Go before you find another task to prove yourself with."

I smiled despite myself. "Good night, Damian."

"Good night, Elena."

In the lobby, my phone vibrated.

I hope you got home safely tonight. I meant what I said earlier about seeing you again soon, Elena.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering above the keyboard.

I could ignore it. That would be sensible. It would also be a lie.

I want to see you too, I typed. I nearly deleted the words, then sent them before fear could talk me out of it.

His reply arrived immediately.

Then stop running from me, Elena.

My pulse quickened.

Tomorrow, I would have to face him again. I could keep pretending that distance was the same as control, or admit that every careful step away from Damian was becoming another step toward him.

For the first time, I knew exactly what frightened me tonight.

It was not that Damian might kiss me again.

It was that I might be the one who finally refused to let him go tonight.