(Elena POV)
The first week at Blackwood Enterprises felt like walking a tightrope,one wrong move, and everything could collapse.
Every time I walked into Adrian's office, my heart betrayed me. It beat too fast, too hard, like it remembered the sound of his breath in the dark. He was different here:colder, sharper, all control and precision. The man who had once whispered against my skin was now the man whose signature could end my career.
And I was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much that terrified me.
My desk sat just outside his glass-walled office,close enough to see the curve of his jaw when he concentrated, but far enough that I could pretend I wasn't watching him.
He barely spoke to me that first day. Just small commands:
"Schedule this meeting."
"Email the board."
"Get me the figures for last quarter."
Each word was clipped, professional but the silence between those commands said everything we didn't dare say aloud.
By Thursday, I was exhausted. My nerves were frayed from pretending I didn't notice the way his gaze lingered when I brushed past his desk.
That morning, I brought him a report and accidentally spilled a few drops of coffee on the edge of the file.
"Damn it," I muttered under my breath.
He looked up, brow raised. "Problem?"
I froze. "No, sir. Just a small mistake."
He stood and took the folder from my hands, his fingers brushing mine. That one accidental touch:quick, harmless sent a tremor through me.
For a moment, his eyes softened. "Relax, Miss Monroe. I don't bite."
"Could've fooled me," I whispered before I could stop myself.
His lips twitched,almost a smile but then he turned back to his desk. "Close the door on your way out."
Later that afternoon, I stayed late, finishing reports for a client meeting. Most of the office had already cleared out. I could hear the faint hum of the city through the glass, the rain starting again outside.
When I went to drop the files on his desk, I found him still there:sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, eyes tired but alert.
"You should go home," he said without looking up.
"I will," I said, hesitating. "I just wanted to leave these for tomorrow."
He finally looked up, gaze locking with mine. "Sit down for a minute."
My throat went dry. "Sir?"
"Sit," he repeated quietly.
I sat.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick with the things we weren't supposed to feel.
Finally, he sighed, closing his laptop. "You're doing well here."
"Thank you."
"You're focused. Efficient. I wasn't sure how this would go."
I frowned slightly. "Because of...?"
He leaned back in his chair, studying me. "Because you're the only person I've ever hired without a professional reason."
That stung and thrilled all at once.
"I didn't ask for favoritism," I said, quietly.
He nodded. "I know. You earned your place."
Then, softer, almost to himself: "That's what makes this difficult."
My heart tripped over itself. "What is?"
He met my eyes with that same look from the hotel, the one that stripped away all pretense. "Pretending you don't affect me."
The air left my lungs.
I wanted to look away, to remind him of his own rule,that the past stayed buried but the truth pulsed between us, alive and dangerous.
"Mr. Blackwood..."
"Elena," he said quietly, cutting me off. "When we're alone, drop the title."
That one word,my name on his lips melted every defense I had.
I swallowed hard. "This isn't appropriate."
He gave a faint smile. "I know. But neither was that night."
I stood abruptly, heart racing. "We agreed to forget it."
He nodded. "Yes. And yet here we are, both remembering."
Silence.
His gaze dropped briefly to my hands,trembling on the edge of his desk then back to my face. "Go home, Elena."
My voice was barely a whisper. "Yes, sir."
I turned to leave, desperate for air, for space but his voice stopped me at the door.
"Tomorrow," he said quietly, "I'm flying to Boston for a contract meeting. You'll come with me."
I looked back, startled. "Me?"
"I need someone I can trust to handle communications."
Our eyes met again, and I knew this wasn't about business. Not entirely.
"Yes," I managed. "I'll be ready."
"Good," he said. "And Elena?"
"Yes?"
His voice dropped, rough and low. "Try not to make me regret this."
That night, I lay awake staring at my ceiling, the city lights flickering through the blinds. My mind replayed every second of that conversation, the way he'd said my name, the weight behind his gaze.
I should've been scared. And I was.
But beneath the fear, there was something else:a pulse of excitement, sharp and undeniable.
Because even though I knew this could destroy me...
A part of me wanted to see what would happen if we stopped pretending.
The next morning, I packed my bag for the trip. A simple navy dress. My laptop. My self-control.
As the car pulled up in front of my building, I hesitated only a second before stepping inside. Adrian was already there, seated in the back seat, looking effortlessly composed.
"Good morning," he said without looking up from his tablet.
"Morning," I murmured.
For the first ten minutes, silence filled the car. Then, without looking at me, he said, "You don't have to be afraid of me, Elena."
I glanced at him. "I'm not."
His eyes finally met mine. "Then why do your hands always shake when I'm near?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He smiled faintly, as if that was enough of an answer.
By the time we reached the airport, I realized something frightening.
No matter how many rules we made, no matter how much distance we pretended to keep,we were both already breaking them.
And I had a feeling that once we crossed that line again, neither of us would be able to come back.
