Monday morning, Christian was waiting by the elevator.
I saw him before he saw me. He stood near the lobby doors, checking his watch. Perfectly pressed suit. Dark gray. No coffee. He didn't drink coffee on the way to work. I'd learned that Saturday night.
When I walked up, he glanced at me. His face didn't change.
"You're going to the office," he said.
Not a question. A statement.
"Yes."
"Get in."
His Tesla was parked at the curb. I slid into the passenger seat. The interior smelled like leather and something clean I couldn't name.
Christian pulled into traffic without a word. I kept my hands in my lap. No touching. No accidental mind-reading.
Then he spoke.
"The quarterly report you submitted Friday had a typo on page eleven."
I blinked. "I'll fix it."
"You should have caught it before submission."
"I will next time."
He said nothing. I waited.
Then his hand shifted on the gear stick, and his knuckle brushed mine.
*She bit her lip. She just bit her lip while apologizing. I am going to lose my mind. Focus. Do NOT look at her mouth again.*
I pulled my hand back and looked out the window. My mouth twitched.
"Something funny?" Christian asked.
"No."
"Good."
We drove in silence the rest of the way.
---
Tuesday, he was waiting again.
This time he commented on my coffee order. I was holding a latte when I got in the car.
"That has too much sugar," he said.
"It's a latte."
"It's dessert in a cup."
I took a sip. "I like it."
He made a sound that might have been disapproval. His hand rested on the console between us. I saw his fingers tap once. Twice.
*She's drinking it anyway. Of course she is. That's the third time this week she's ordered the same thing. She likes vanilla. I should remember that. Why am I remembering that.*
I hid my smile behind the cup.
---
Wednesday, he critiqued my presentation.
I'd submitted slides for a client pitch. He pulled them up on his phone while we sat at a red light.
"This font is aggressively mediocre," he said.
"It's Arial."
"Exactly."
I stared at him. "What's wrong with Arial?"
"Everything." He handed me his phone. "Use this instead."
I looked at the screen. Some serif font I didn't recognize.
"Fine," I said.
His hand brushed mine when I gave the phone back.
*That color makes her eyes look incredible. Stop. STOP. She's looking at you. Say something normal.*
"Green is acceptable on you," he said aloud.
I blinked. "Thanks?"
He turned back to the road. His jaw was tight.
I pressed my lips together and looked out the window. This was getting ridiculous.
---
By Thursday, I was cataloguing the gap.
What Christian said versus what Christian thought. The distance between the two was so wide I could have driven a truck through it.
He told me my report structure was sloppy. He thought about how I'd stayed late to finish it and whether I'd eaten dinner.
He said my email response time was unacceptable. He thought about whether I was getting enough sleep.
He told me to stop using exclamation points in professional correspondence. He thought about how the one I'd used in a message to him yesterday had made him smile for five full minutes.
I started keeping a mental list. It was entertaining. Dangerous. Addictive.
I wanted to touch him just to hear what else he wasn't saying.
---
Saturday, I went to Whole Foods.
I needed groceries. Normal things. Eggs. Bread. Something green that wasn't dying in my fridge.
I was in the produce section when I heard the voice.
"Bailee?"
I turned.
Marco stood three feet away. Meredith was next to him. She wore a coat that probably cost more than my rent. Her bag was Chanel. Her smile was sharp.
"How are you?" Marco asked. His tone was friendly. His eyes were not.
"Fine," I said.
Meredith looked at my cart. Eggs. Pasta. A bag of apples.
"How quaint," she said. "Some women just aren't built for the finer things."
Marco smirked.
I felt heat rise in my chest. I opened my mouth.
"Bailee."
The voice came from behind me. Low. Calm. Familiar.
I turned.
Christian stood at the end of the aisle. He wore dark jeans and a sweater. Casual. Still perfect.
He walked toward us. His eyes moved from me to Marco to Meredith. He didn't smile.
"Mr. Flores," he said. "Ms. Lawson."
Marco's smirk faltered. "Mr. Pierce."
Christian stopped next to me. Close enough that I could feel the heat from his arm.
"I wanted to inform you," Christian said, "that your lease is under review."
Meredith's smile froze. "Excuse me?"
"Multiple violations. Noise complaints. Unauthorized subletting." His tone was flat. Professional. "I own the building. My property management team will be in touch."
Marco's face went pale. "We didn't—"
"Monday," Christian said. "Expect the call."
He turned to me. "Your avocados are overripe."
Then he walked away.
I stood there, staring after him. Marco and Meredith left without another word.
I looked down at my cart. The avocados were fine.
I touched the spot on my arm where Christian had stood close. Nothing. No contact. But I didn't need it.
I knew exactly what he'd been thinking.
*I will buy every building they ever try to live in. She's shaking. I want to hold her. I cannot hold her in a Whole Foods.*
I smiled.
I bought the avocados anyway.
---
Monday, I had to deliver documents to Christian's office.
His assistant — Evie — was at her desk outside his door. She looked up when I approached. Her smile was bright. Professional.
"He's in a meeting," she said. "I can take those."
"I'll wait."
She stood. "Let me just check—"
She knocked, then opened the door. I saw Christian at his desk. He glanced up.
Evie stepped inside. I watched through the glass.
She said something. Gestured to a spot on her blouse. Then she stumbled. Her coffee cup tipped. Liquid splashed across her shirt.
"Oh no," she said loudly. Her hands went to the buttons. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Pierce. I'll just—"
Christian stood. His face was blank. He walked to the door and opened it wider.
"Ms. Robinson," he said. "Come in. Ms. Daniels, please step out."
Evie's smile faltered. She walked past me. Her blouse was barely damp.
I went inside. Christian closed the door.
"Documents," he said.
I handed them over. His fingers brushed mine.
*Is she having a seizure? Should I call HR? Why is she arching her back like that? This is deeply uncomfortable. Where is Bailee? I want Bailee.*
I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.
Christian's eyes narrowed. "Something wrong?"
"No."
"You're smiling."
"I'm not."
"You are."
I pressed my lips together. "The documents are all there."
"Good." He set them on his desk. "You can go."
I turned to leave.
"Bailee."
I stopped.
"Tomorrow morning," he said. "Seven fifteen."
"I'll be there."
I left.
I made it back to my floor. Sat down at my desk. And laughed into my coffee for ninety full seconds.
Diana looked over from her cubicle. "You okay?"
"Perfect," I said.
I was still smiling when I went back to work.
