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CHAPTER 4 : THOUGHTS AND THEN HER
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2025-05-08 03:55:08Ronan's pov
The door to the library was open.
I meant to keep walking.
She wasn’t doing anything wrong—just wiping the shelves, humming softly under her breath. Some old jazz record played low from the corner speaker, crackling like a memory.
I almost let her finish.
Almost.
But something made me step in.
Maybe it was the curve of her back as she reached for the top shelf. Maybe it was the way the late afternoon light poured through the window and painted gold over her skin.
Maybe it was nothing.
Maybe it was everything.
I walked in without a word and dropped into the desk chair like I’d planned to work all along.
She turned when she heard me—eyes flicking to mine for a beat too long—then nodded.
“Mr. Vexley.”
“Calla.”
No stammer. No nervous twitch. Not today.
She turned back to the shelves.
I opened my laptop.
Didn’t type a damn thing.
I was aware of every breath she took. Every stretch of fabric when she moved. That uniform—my uniform—wasn’t made to be tight, but on her, it clung in the wrong places. Or the right ones. I hadn’t decided.
Her hips swayed when she moved from shelf to shelf. Not on purpose. She didn’t even know she was doing it.
Or maybe she did.
God help me.
I tried to focus. I really did.
But the page I was working on had one sentence written five times and no punctuation.
I rubbed my temples. Shifted in my seat. Glanced up again.
She was dusting the top row, balanced on the edge of the small ladder. Her shirt lifted just slightly. I saw a sliver of pale skin above the waistband of her skirt.
My jaw clenched.
I didn’t like being distracted.
Especially not by women who were supposed to stay invisible.
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“Still brooding, I see.”
I didn’t need to turn to know the voice.
Elira.
I looked up. She was leaning against the doorway like she owned the place. Long legs in a designer dress, red lips curled into a smirk that had gotten her into—and out of—far too many things.
“Elira,” I said evenly.
“Don’t sound so happy to see me.”
She walked in like the air belonged to her. Calla froze halfway through wiping a frame. Her eyes flicked between us.
Elira saw it too.
“Oh,” she said, amused. “New help?”
Calla didn’t speak. Smart girl.
I didn’t explain. Elira never earned the courtesy.
“Cleaning with jazz? How very... domestic,” Elira teased, eyes raking over Calla before turning back to me.
Calla turned back to her shelf like she wasn’t in the room anymore.
I wished she hadn’t. The angle gave Elira a full view of her curves.
“You’ve been busy,” Elira murmured.
“Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m not starting,” she said, walking slowly to the desk. “Just... observing.”
She placed a hand on my shoulder like she used to. Like she still could.
I didn’t move.
But I didn’t touch her either.
Calla quietly moved to the far end of the room, pretending not to hear a word. Her back was straight. Too straight. Her body still.
Elira leaned down, lips brushing close to my ear. “Don’t pretend you don’t still think about it.”
I turned to look at her. “It’s never been about thinking.”
Her smile widened.
“I missed that mouth,” she purred.
“I didn’t.”
She laughed. “Liar.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Calla turned slightly. Just for a second. Then turned back.
Elira noticed that too. “Oh, interesting.”
“Leave, Elira.”
“You’ll call me later,” she said breezily, heading to the door like she hadn’t just dropped a match on a gasoline floor.
She stopped by Calla.
“I like your uniform,” Elira said sweetly. “It’s flattering. Very... eye-catching.”
Calla didn’t look at her. “Thanks.”
Cool. Even. Not a single tremor.
Elira smirked and vanished.
The silence that followed was brutal.
I stared at the back of Calla’s head for a full minute before speaking.
“You okay?”
She didn’t turn.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
She paused. “You hired me to clean, not talk.”
That got under my skin. Just a little.
“You talk when I ask you a question.”
She finally turned. Her eyes were unreadable.
“I said I’m fine, Mr. Vexley.”
There it was again—my name in that calm, flat tone that made me want to ruin her peace.
I leaned back in my chair, watching her.
My voice dropped. “Is that how you’re gonna be?”
She tilted her head. “How am I being?”
“Distant.”
“I thought you liked distant.”
I didn’t answer.
She turned back to her work, moving slower now. Like she knew she was being watched.
She was.
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