The next few days passed in a blur neither of them could fully remember nor ignore. The air around them was thick, charged with something neither of them could put into words but both of them could feel.
Erin could sense him even when he wasn't near. Her skin prickled when he entered the room. Her pulse reacted before her eyes ever met his. It was unbearable. The very silence between them spoke in volumes. Every breath felt stolen. Every brush of the hand, accidental or not, lingered longer than it should have.
And Xander… Xander was holding himself together by threads.
The five-day mark had passed. They were officially on the sixth day now.
Four more to go.
And every second was becoming more impossible. And they both had started giving up the delusion that these 10 days could do anything.
Erin was walking toward his office carrying a stack of reports when she stumbled. Her ankle twisted against the uneven corner of the rug, and before she could fall, she let out a sharp gasp. The papers in her hands fluttered like birds, scattered midair.
But before she could even register the fall, strong arms caught her from behind.
She froze.
Xander.
His hands were steady on her waist. He'd caught her just in time, one arm looped around her middle, the other bracing the fall.
"Careful," he murmured into her ear.
"I'm fine," she said too quickly, trying to straighten herself.
He didn't move away. "You don't look fine."
She turned in his arms just enough to glare up at him, cheeks flushed. "I can walk."
He raised a brow. "On that ankle?"
"It's not twisted."
"You wince every time you put weight on it."
"Coincidence."
He didn't let go. He simply bent slightly, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and walked toward the couch in his office.
"Put me down!" she said, eyes wide.
"You're not dying, Erin. It's just a couch."
"I don't need your help."
"You do. You just don't want to admit it."
He set her down gently and knelt in front of her, carefully removing her shoes.
"You're ridiculous," she muttered.
"And you're stubborn," he said, inspecting her ankle. "Still not twisted. But bruised. Told you."
She didn't answer. His hands were warm against her skin, the contact too much and too little at the same time. She held her breath.
He looked up at her. "You should rest it for a while."
"I can work."
"You're already doing too much."
"I'm your assistant. That's literally my job."
His eyes searched hers. "Erin…"
Her gaze faltered, then dropped. "Don't."
He tilted his head. "Don't what?"
She stood abruptly, ignoring the dull ache in her ankle. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you care."
He was silent for a moment. "What if I do?"
She turned away from him, but his words followed her. "What if I care more than I should?"
She pressed her lips together tightly. "It's been six days."
"Feels like sixty," he said behind her.
She didn't move.
"You haven't walked away," he added.
"I tried."
"Try harder."
She turned sharply, and their eyes met. The moment was sudden, burning, electric.
He walked toward her slowly. "We can't keep doing this," she said.
"We're not doing anything."
"We're thinking about it."
"You think about it too?"
Silence.
She hated how easy he made it sound. How casual he was being, even when everything inside her was chaos.
He was close now — not touching her, but nearly. One more breath and he'd be there. One more blink and she'd be in his arms again.
Her eyes fell to his lips.
His gaze lingered on hers.
And before she could comprehend the situation, he leaned in.
So did she.
Almost.
Their mouths were a breath apart.
He lifted a hand to her face, slowly — so slowly — brushing her hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her jaw. Her breathing hitched.
And then —
She stepped back.
"No," she said, barely above a whisper.
His eyes didn't change. He didn't look surprised. Just… resigned.
"This is insane," she whispered.
"But you still haven't walked away."
Her heart pounded in her chest. "That doesn't mean I'm staying."
"I know."
"You think I'm just going to break after six days?"
"I think you already have."
She stared at him, unsure whether to be angry or scared or both.
"I'm not the one leaning in," she said.
"No," he agreed. "But you never stop me."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, she turned toward the door. "Four days left," she muttered.
He didn't respond.
And she didn't look back.