The moment I arrived home that evening, the first thing I did was put myself an exceedingly large glass of wine.
The second was to question every decision in my life that had brought me to this moment.
Because, of course, the universe would not be content with a couple of embarrassing coincidences and a motorcycle brush with death. No, it had to be full-on make Ethan Reed my firm's largest client of the year.
I could still see his smirk as he sat across from me in that glass-walled conference room, utterly at home while I tried not to burst into flames before my boss.
"You'll be my point person, okay, Tessa?" he'd said smoothly, eyes glinting.
"You're the crème de la crème, aren't you?"
And my unfaithful brain had frozen. The kind of freeze where words even such as yes and email felt foreign.
Now, hours later, I was still pacing around my apartment, swearing under my breath.
"Point of contact. Point of emotional devastation, maybe."
My phone beeped. Jenna again.
JENNA: Heard through the office grapevine your new client's hot. ???? Spill!
I groaned. "Why do I ever say anything to you?"
She called instantly. "Because you love me. Now spill the beans before I stalk him myself."
I filled her in the motorcycle, the supermarket, the appointment.
By the time it was over, she was half-squealing, half-laughing.
"So basically, the universe served you a slow-burn romance trope on a silver platter."
"I don't want a slow burn," I told her flatly. "I want no burn. No flames whatsoever. Emotional extinction plain and simple."
"Too late," she trilled, sing-song. "You already got smoke."
The next morning, I tried to trap myself in professionalism: pencil skirt, tidy bun, no lipstick that announced I was free.
But when Ethan came back to the office, all my armor dissolved.
He still had that swaggering stride, rolled-up cuffs, motorcycle helmet slung from one hand. My fellow employees actually looked over. He was conscious. Naturally he was.
"Morning, Tessa," he said, dropping in at my desk. "You look. intense."
"That's the plan," I snapped. "We have a five-minute strategy session. Try to be corporate."
"Define 'corporate.' Because I forgot my tie at home."
My mouth's corner spasmed before I could suppress it. He saw it. And that was his victory.
Following me into the boardroom, he stayed behind me. I realized something terrible:
The rulebook had no chapter for what to do when the wrong man is your everyday weight.
That afternoon, following an extremely long day of "creative brainstorming" (pretty much all of which was Ethan teasing me in earnest, sotto voce), I went to get my phone only to receive a text I wasn't anticipating.
ETHAN: You missed a spot.
There was a picture attached. Of me, from across the room, a blue pen ink smudge on my cheek that I hadn't noticed.
My heart did a strange somersault.
ME: Are you always this unprofessional?
ETHAN: Only when it catches your eye.
I stared at the screen for much too long. Then sighed.
Maybe the problem wasn't that I kept running into the wrong men.
Maybe it was because I couldn't help but find them interesting.
By the end of the workday, I was emotionally exhausted and professionally embarrassed.
Ethan spent the entire afternoon lounged in his chair during the meeting, as though he was the owner of the place and maybe a couple of hearts, too.
I, by contrast, was the very picture of control, nodding along with presentations, avoiding eye contact like it was poisonous.
Things weren't helped when every time someone complimented a campaign idea, Ethan could always credit it to me.
"Tessa came up with that tagline?"
"Oh, the color scheme? Tessa's suggestion."
"In essence, Tessa's the brain behind this outfit."
Each time Dr. Bliss spoke my name, it rolled off his tongue like he was rehearsing memorizing it. And the worst part?
I didn't hate it.
When the meeting ended, I stayed back to pick up my things. My boss, Mr. Clayton, strolled by with a satisfied smile.
"Good work today, Tessa. Reed's firm is extremely pleased. Keep it up."
"Of course," I replied, smiling up at him. "All in a day's work."
No sooner had he disappeared into his office than Ethan appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual slouch.
"See? Even your boss believes that we're a good team."
I rolled my eyes. "We don't build anything. We work. As professionals."
"Professionally," he repeated, his eyes rolling as if enjoying the flavor of the word. "You say it like it's an exam."
"It's a line," I argued. "A healthy one."
He smirked. "And how's that working out for you?"
I gasped, grabbing my bag. "I'm leaving."
"Need a lift?" he suggested, thumbing his keys, helmet glinting in the office light.
I scowled at him, then at the helmet.
"Do I look like someone who rides on motorbikes with clients?"
He smiled, slow and maddening. "You appear to be a somebody who does."
I walked past him, not daring to glance back even when he laughed softly after me.
The elevator doors slid shut, and my heart was pounding like I had just run a marathon.
It was night, and I sat in bed, laptop open but work abandoned. My mind kept coming back to that single sentence.
You look like someone who wants to.
It wasn't what he said it was the way he'd said it. Not teasing this time, but gently, as if he knew I was tired of being cautious.
My phone beeped again.
ETHAN: Just wanted to check you got home alright.
I read it for a solid minute.
No emoticons. No flirting. Just… considerate.
I typed, deleted, and typed again.
ME: I did. Thanks.
I hung up my phone, rolled onto my side, and pulled the blankets up to my chin.
But between trying to fall asleep and playing like I didn't care, I figured it out
he'd skipped my rulebook.
Not with charm.
Not with threat.
But with something a whole lot worse.
He'd intrigued me.
Sleep was in no mood to play along.
Every time I closed my eyes, I could see Ethan's face in that doorway the smile, the calm teasing, the lingering gaze a fraction of a second too long.
I told myself it didn't mean anything. That men like him came into the world with that look easy, assured, honed. But there was something else about the way he'd said goodnight. Something too solid to be a game.
I quit at 2 a.m. and padded to the kitchen, my cardigan wrapped around me like armor. The city pulsed outside, low and sonorous, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was up too.
Nope.
No thinking about it.
I opened my laptop and dived into work instead. Campaign overviews, client information, mood boards. Anything to fill the void he'd somehow left behind.
And then I saw it an email notification.
From: Ethan Reed
Subject: Project Update
Time: 1:47 a.m.
My heart skipped a beat.
"Couldn't sleep. Had an idea for tomorrow's pitch. Thought I'd share it before I forget. Also, for the record you were right about the tagline. It fits."
I shouldn't have smiled. But I did.
I responded before I could talk myself out of it.
"Appreciate the update. Try getting some sleep before you begin writing copy at 2 a.m."
A response came instantly.
"Only if you do. I don't think you're sleeping either."
I stared at the blinking cursor, questioning whether I should reply. I didn't. But I didn't close the laptop for another twenty minutes, either.
The next morning, I walked into the office with coffee fuel and determination. Professionalism. Focus. No more mixed signals.
Of course, the first one I saw was Ethan leaning on the reception desk, chatting with Jenna.
I blinked. "Jenna? What are you"
She spun, grinning as though she'd stumbled upon a live soap opera. "Oh hey! I was just bringing cupcakes to your team. Small-world moment: Ethan's friend's fiancée is my cousin!"
I rolled my eyes in my head. Of course. Because obviously fate existed as a comedian part-time.
Ethan smiled at me, that knowing look. "Small world indeed."
Jenna looked between us, eyes creased. "Wait… you two know each other?"
"Work," I said quickly.
"Groceries," Ethan said at the same time.
Jenna's grin widened as if she'd found her new favorite hobby. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
By lunchtime, I was this close to breaking under stress.
Ethan hovered just on the edge of professionalism to leave me reeling light shoulder bumps when handing over files, soothing compliments that only sounded innocuous after you'd had a chance to replay them in your head later.
And maybe that's what scared me most.
Because I wasn't used to this type of attraction the steady, gradual kind that was closer to gravity than flames.
When I finally broke for the break room, Jenna was already there, standing against the counter with two coffees in hand.
"Okay," she said. "You have to explain what's happening here."
"Nothing's happening."
"Uh-huh." She handed me a cup. "You've got that look. The one you get right before you pretend not to like someone."
I rolled my eyes, taking a sip. "He's a client. It's professional."
"Sweetheart," she replied, patting my arm. "You can tell yourself that all you want but I've seen this movie before. The credits don't roll until someone gets kissed in an elevator."
I choked on my coffee. "Absolutely not."
"Just saying." She grinned. "You can't fight chemistry with a checklist."
That evening, while walking home, my phone buzzed once again.
ETHAN: Did you try one of the cupcakes Jenna brought in?
ME: Yeah, I did. Why?
ETHAN: Just making sure you didn't miss the one with your name on it.
I frowned, glancing down at the empty bakery box I'd left sitting on my desk. And then I saw it wedged in the bottom corner. One cupcake, untouched, with a tiny frosting heart and a note on the napkin:
For the individual who continues to feign not liking frosting.
My heart skipped a beat. I told myself it was nothing. Just a courteous joke.
But that night, I didn't delete the message.
And for the first time in quite a while, silence didn't feel empty it felt anticipatory.