Chapter Eight

Nora's POV

I was going to lose my mind.

That was the only rational conclusion I could come to after six and a half hours of typing, printing, sorting, running around, smiling when I didn’t want to smile, and acting like I wasn’t silently plotting the downfall of every man who ever thought “Let’s just squeeze in a quick meeting before the trip.”

The air in the office was cold—colder than usual, maybe because the AC was working overtime or maybe because my soul had officially left my body and I was now just a shell of caffeine and passive aggression.

Everyone else had gone home.

Lucky them.

I still had the quarterly performance sheets to finish compiling, cross-check the department budgets Adrian had demanded last minute, and go over the itinerary for the damn business trip. Three days. Out of state. With Adrian. The idea alone made my stomach tighten—and not just because I was stressed.

The only upside? Silence. Blissful, uninterrupted silence.

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. I’d been staring at my screen for so long the words had stopped making sense.

I checked the time.

9:13 PM.

What the actual hell.

My stomach growled like it was protesting against human rights violations. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and that was basically just one croissant and a passive-aggressive comment from Olivia about my “unprofessional attitude.” She could choke.

I sighed and stood up to stretch, my back cracking like dry twigs. That’s when I heard it.

Thunder.

A low rumble rolled through the sky like an irritated warning, followed by the sound of rain hitting the windows hard. I walked toward the window, peeking through the blinds. The city was drenched, glowing gold under streetlights. Streams of water ran down the glass like tears. It was oddly beautiful. Calming, even.

And then I noticed something.

The light was still on upstairs. In his office.

He was still here?

Why?

A part of me wanted to ignore it. I could pretend I hadn’t noticed and continue working like a responsible adult. But the other part—the stupid, curious, nosey part that got me into situations I never planned for—was already heading toward the stairs.

My legs felt heavier than usual. Maybe it was the late hour or the haunting memory of the last time I’d been alone with Adrian in close proximity, breathing the same tense air, his hand brushing mine during that ridiculous dance at the charity event.

God. I still remembered the way he’d looked at me like I was something he wasn’t supposed to want.

I reached the top floor and saw the door slightly ajar. I pushed it open gently.

He didn’t hear me.

He was by the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened and hanging around his neck like he was mid-battle with it but gave up halfway. One hand was in his pocket, the other held a glass of something amber. He stared out at the rain like it held the answers to all his problems.

I should’ve walked away.

I should’ve turned around and tiptoed back down before he noticed me standing there like a creep, watching him like some tragic anti-hero in a moody N*****x drama.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I knocked softly on the doorframe.

He turned.

His eyes landed on me and for a second—just a second—his face softened. That unreadable, calculated expression he always wore cracked a little.

“You’re still here,” I said, stupidly. Obviously, he was still here.

“So are you,” he replied, his voice low, hoarse. He cleared his throat and added, “You should’ve gone home hours ago.”

“You piled enough work on me to keep me here ‘til dawn,” I replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “I’m guessing the rain’s what kept you.”

He nodded. “I don’t drive in it.”

I blinked. “You don’t drive in the rain?”

“I don’t like it.” He looked back out the window. “It reminds me of things I’d rather forget.”

Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten.

I hovered by the door like a scared intern, unsure of whether I was intruding or not.

“You can come in,” he said suddenly, like he could hear my thoughts. “I don’t bite.”

I stepped in slowly, walking over to the other side of the room, pretending to admire the minimalist art on the walls like I hadn’t seen it a hundred times before.

The silence stretched.

He took a sip of his drink, and I watched the way his throat moved. I hated that I noticed.

“You know,” I said, trying to fill the space, “for someone who prides himself on being emotionally detached and frighteningly efficient, you have a weirdly poetic relationship with the weather.”

That earned a small chuckle. “You think I’m emotionally detached?”

“Adrian, I’ve worked with you for a few weeks and I still can’t tell when you’re joking or planning to fire me.”

“Maybe both,” he said, looking at me now with something behind his eyes. Mischief? Sadness? Lust?

I didn’t know.

I leaned on the edge of his desk, crossing my arms over my chest. “Seriously though, what’s up with you tonight? You seem... distant. More than usual.”

He was quiet for a moment, like he was considering whether to answer.

Then he said, “It’s my mother’s death anniversary.”

I froze.

“Oh.”

He gave a tight, bitter smile. “She died in a car accident. In the rain.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally.

He nodded, eyes back on the rain. “I don’t talk about it much.”

“You don’t talk about anything much.”

That pulled another chuckle out of him, but this one felt sadder.

“I wasn’t supposed to take over the company this early,” he said. “She was the buffer. Between me and him.”

“Your father?”

He nodded. “She softened him. When she died... he hardened. And I stopped trying.”

I watched him for a long time. This man who was always so poised, always in control, now standing here, vulnerable in the most unexpected way.

I don’t know what made me do it.

Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the late hour. Or maybe it was just the ache in my chest watching him carry so much weight alone.

But I stepped closer.

Just a little.

He didn’t move away.

“I think you try more than you realize,” I said softly.

His eyes flicked to mine. “You give me too much credit.”

“Or maybe you don’t give yourself enough.”

He stared at me for a long time. Too long. The silence between us grew heavy. His eyes dropped to my lips, and I swear my heart stopped.

“I should get back to work,” I said suddenly, stepping back, breathless.

But he reached out.

His fingers brushed mine, stopping me.

“Nora.”

It was the way he said my name. Soft. Broken. Needy.

I turned to face him fully. My hand was still in his.

His other hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and I felt it. That familiar spark. That warning sign screaming that this wasn’t just work anymore.

“You’re... not what I expected,” he murmured.

“Good or bad?”

He smiled faintly. “Dangerous.”

And then he leaned in.

Not all the way. Not yet.

His lips hovered near mine, close enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath, the scent of whatever he’d been drinking. Whiskey, maybe.

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t move.

Everything in my body screamed for me to close the gap. To find out what he tasted like. To let the tension break.

But I didn’t.

Neither did he.

He pulled back first.

Just a breath.

Then said, “You should get some rest. You have a long day tomorrow.”

I nodded, trying not to look as shaken as I felt. “Right.”

I turned to go, heart hammering.

And just before I reached the door, he said—

“Nora.”

I turned.

His expression was unreadable again, but something flickered there.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Morning.”

And then I walked out.

Back into the empty hallway. Back down the stairs. Back to my overworked, exhausted life.

But something had changed.

Something between us had shifted, and I wasn’t sure we could go back.