Chapter 5

CHLOE'S POV

Two days had passed after that night on the sidewalk.

And Elias said nothing.

No eye contact. No conversation.

It was as if he never spoke to me.

As if I didn't stand under a flickering streetlight listening to him apologize to me.

I should’ve expected it.

He was Elias Rourke the CEO, the ice king as everyone called him. He didn't fumble,he didn’t repeat himself, and he certainly didn’t like explaining himself.

So I matched his silence. But something inside me was changing.

I wasn't anxious anymore.

…

“You look… happier,” Gavin said Friday afternoon, his head popping around the corner of my desk like a mischievous golden retriever in a blazer.

“I’m not,” I replied, though I did smile.

“Well, you look like you slept, at least. That’s progress.”

He leaned in close, arms crossed, brows raised. “Tell me something. When are you going to let me take you to lunch?”

I blinked. “Lunch?”

“Yeah. You know, food? Sunshine? Socializing that doesn’t involve emotionally unavailable billionaires?”

I laughed. “I don’t think Elias would like that.”

“Who cares?” he said, eyes twinkling. “He’s not your boyfriend. He’s barely even your boss half the time. He just stalks around in a fitted shirt glaring at people.”

“Gavin.”

“What?” He smiled. “You deserve better than that cold shoulder treatment.”

I hesitated. Then I said, quietly, “Okay. One lunch.”

…

Elias didn’t say anything to me all morning.

But I noticed the way his door opened slightly when Gavin walked past my desk.

And the way he looked at the two of us as we laughed.

Gavin had that effect,he made me feel like the most important person in the room.

But I couldn’t ignore how I felt when Elias looked at us.

…

We ate at a Cafe around the corner.A clean and cozy place with soft music and windows that framed the city like art.

Gavin kept the conversation light, but I could feel something beneath it. Not romantic. Not yet. But intimate. Like he wanted to understand me, not just flirt with me.

He asked about my college years, my mom back in New Orleans, my favorite books, the fact that I hated veggies and secretly loved action movies.

“I’m not surprised,” he said when I admitted it. “You look like you’d enjoy watching things blow up after a bad week.”

“I do,” I laughed. “Especially if there’s an emotionally distant antihero involved.”

Gavin grinned. “Ah, so you have a type.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Too late.”

…

When we returned to the office, Elias’s door was closed.

But ten minutes later, he emerged.

He didn’t look at me.

Instead, he spoke directly to Gavin.

“Can I see you in my office?”

Gavin raised an eyebrow, but followed.

Shutting the door after them.

Fifteen minutes later, Gavin walks past my desk with an small smile.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just territorial growling. Don’t worry. I still have all my limbs.”

He smiled and walked away.

…

Later that night, I got a text from Gavin.

> Gavin: Lunch again on Monday? If you're not too busy glaring at your boss.

> Me: I’d like that. As long as you don't talk about him.

> Gavin: Deal.

I looked at my screen for a while, smiling.

I didn’t know what I wanted anymore.

But I knew one thing is certain,

Elias Rourke had finally noticed me.

…

On Monday, I arrived to find a tiny box on my desk.

Inside were chocolate cookie and a yellow sticky note.

> You looked tired on Friday. Chocolates fix everything –G

I smiled to myself.

“Who’s putting gifts on your desk now?” Nina asked, setting down her coffee and eyeing the box.

“Gavin,” I said.

“Ah.” She grinned. “The golden retriever strikes again.”

“I think he’s just being nice.”

“Sweetheart, men don’t drop a box of chocolate on your desk just to be nice.”

“Tell that to my blood sugar.”

…

At noon, Gavin showed up at my desk, hands in his pockets, with a charming smirk.

“Don’t turn me down this time,” he said. “Let’s go get lunch.”

“I brought leftovers,” I replied, lifting my Tupperware as evidence.

He took it from my hand, gave it a sniff, and made a face. “That’s a hate crime against your taste buds. Come on .”

“Gavin—”

He leaned closer, dropping his voice. “It’s one hour. I promised not to talk about Rourke. Just good food and bad jokes, And you promised me another lunch.”

I sighed. “Fine. But I will pick the place.”

…

We walked to a little Korean BBQ place. Gavin let me lead, let me talk, let me choose, which was something I hadn’t realized I missed until it was freely given.

Over lunch, we didn’t talk about Elias. Not once.

We talked about college. Siblings. Books we pretended to have read. How he hated mushrooms with a violent passion. How I secretly wrote short stories I never let anyone read.

“You’re surprising,” he said as we walked back. “You have that quiet librarian thing going on, but underneath it? You’re smarter than you let people see.”

I gave him a sideways glance. “So what’s your type, Mr. King?”

He grinned. “Right now? Secret novelists with strong coffee orders and excellent chocolate taste.”

I blushed and looked away.

...

Later in the day, Elias finally spoke to me.

Not a full conversation. Just:

“Miss Hart. Update me on Ridgewell.”

I handed him the file and stood back, heart beating fast.

He flipped through the pages, barely looking at me.

“You and Gavin seem… friendly.”

My heart raced.

“Should I not be?”

He didn’t answer.

Just looked at the report and said, “Tell him I want a revised draft by tonight.”

And then went silent.

…

I stepped into the break room and found Gavin by the window, sipping a soda and watching the clouds.

“Elias asked about you,” I said.

He arched his brow. “Oh?”

“He pretends he doesn’t care, but clearly he does.”

“Classic.” Gavin leaned over the counter and whispered,“You know he won’t do anything,even if you set yourself on fire, he’d just stand there with a glass of water and wait for you to ask him to save you.”

“I’m not looking for anything,” I said, honestly.

“I know. But maybe you deserve something.”

He pushed the soda toward me.

“Do you ever think that maybe he’s not capable of it?” he asked.

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know.

…

That evening, I stayed a bit late to prepare a legal memo. The floor emptied out. Lights dimmed. I was the last one still typing outside his door.

He came out at 6:57 p.m, with his jacket slung over his arm,his eyes tired.

His looked towards my desk.

“Still here.”

“I’m wrapping up.”

A pause.

Then, in a voice too calm to be casual, he said: “Lunch with Gavin again?”

I looked up slowly. “Is that a problem?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just tightened his grip on the file in his hand.

“No.”

But I saw it in his eyes—the subtle shift. The tension behind the mask. Something coiled and unsettled.

He wasn’t falling for me.

Not yet.

But he didn’t want to watch someone else do it either.

“Have a good night, Mr. Rourke,” I said.

He didn’t reply.

Just walked away.

Leaving me in silence.

…

I stayed for a while and finished the documents.

I became hungry and tired and decided to call it a day.

I left the building and headed to get some takeout before heading home, because I was too tired to cook.

When I got home and got into the shower and stood there, the water ran down my body.

And suddenly I started thinking about him, why was he so cold? Why didn't he like opening up to people?

The thoughts just kept running through my head.

But why did I care so much about him?

I snapped out of my thoughts and left the bathroom and headed to the kitchen to eat, while I watched a movie, to distract me from thinking about him.