Chapter 6: Work Late, Tension Higher

Celeste pov

The office felt different at night. The constant hum of the air conditioning seemed louder, the city lights streaming in through the tall windows casting an amber glow across the glass conference table. Most of the staff had already left hours ago, leaving Sterling Enterprise eerily quiet.

I glanced at the clock 9:42 PM. My eyes burned from staring at the same event proposal for hours. My laptop screen glowed accusingly, the blinking cursor reminding me I wasn’t done yet.

Across from me, Julian Sterling sat perfectly still, his sleeves rolled up, cufflinks neatly placed beside his laptop. His tie was gone, and for the first time, I could see the veins along his forearms flex whenever he typed. It was ridiculous how someone could look so… composed at this hour.

He didn’t look tired. He didn’t look irritated. He didn’t look anything, and that in itself was infuriating.

“Slide five needs restructuring,” he said without looking up. His voice was low but sharp, like it cut through the thick silence just to find me.

I pushed my chair back slightly. “Slide five has been restructured three times already.”

“Then it needs a fourth,” he replied, calm, like my pushback barely registered. “You’re missing the client’s key demographic.”

I bit my tongue, reminding myself again that arguing with Julian was a guaranteed way to lose. But still… “I think you’re underestimating the theme integration. The layout is consistent.”

Finally, his eyes lifted from his laptop, locking on mine. The weight of that gaze made me sit straighter, even though every cell in me wanted to shrink back.

“Consistency without accuracy is useless,” he said simply. “Do it again.”

I hated how my pulse jumped not out of fear exactly, but something sharper, more frustrating. He made everything sound like a verdict.

I forced my attention back to my laptop, fingers tapping faster than my brain wanted them to.

Julian’s POV

Celeste was stubborn. Not the immature kind of stubborn, but the kind that came from believing in her own ideas. It was irritating. And… strangely refreshing.

Most people bent to my direction without a fight. She challenged me—not recklessly, but with this precise, almost quiet defiance that made me notice her more than I should.

It was nearly ten. I could’ve told her we were done hours ago, but the truth was, I wanted to see how she worked under pressure. Not to punish her. Not exactly. But there’s something about the way her concentration sharpens when she’s cornered that tells me more than any interview could.

She didn’t know it, but she was impressing me. I wouldn’t say it, compliments were currency, and I didn’t spend them easily.

She sighed softly, rubbing her temples before resuming her edits. Her hair had come loose from its bun, strands falling across her cheek. She brushed them back absentmindedly, not even realizing she’d been chewing on her lower lip for the last five minutes.

Distracting. Too distracting.

I leaned back in my chair, reminding myself that this was work. She was my employee. This wasn’t… anything else.

Celeste’s POV

We finally got slide five approved after what felt like hours of back-and-forth nitpicking and moved on to the logistics section. My brain was fried, but Julian was still going strong, his voice measured, each instruction clipped and precise.

At some point, my coffee turned cold, but I drank it anyway, just for the illusion of energy.

He suddenly stood and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city stretched out beneath us, shimmering with late-night traffic and neon signs. Without turning, he said, “You handle pressure well.”

I blinked. Did I just… get a compliment? From Julian Sterling?

“Thanks,” I said carefully, unsure if there was some hidden critique buried in there.

He turned then, leaning against the window frame. “Most people crack by now.”

The corner of his mouth twitched like he might almost, almost smile.

“I guess I’m not most people,” I replied, surprising myself with the boldness in my tone.

His gaze lingered on me for a beat too long, and something shifted in the air. Not soft, not warm exactly just… charged.

I quickly looked back at my laptop, pretending to check formatting. “We should finish. The client’s meeting is in less than thirty-six hours.”

“Agreed,” he said, but his voice was quieter this time.

The rest of the session passed without another compliment or whatever that had been but his occasional glances kept my pulse just a little too high for me to blame on caffeine.

When we finally wrapped up close to midnight, I packed my laptop into my bag, desperate for the cool night air. But as I reached the door, his voice stopped me.

“Celeste.”

I turned.

“Good work tonight.”

It was simple. Direct. But it landed harder than I wanted it to.

I left without replying, because if I had, I might have said something I couldn’t take back.