Ashley's POV
The building had gone quiet hours ago. Most of the lights were off, the hum of the city outside a faint whisper through the tinted windows. Only one office still glowed — ours.
Alan sat across from me, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to make him look… dangerous. We were supposed to be finishing a proposal. Instead, we'd been stuck on the same paragraph for thirty minutes, pretending to work while pretending not to stare.
Every time I typed, I could feel his eyes on me.
He'd offer small comments — too casual, too soft — that made my pulse stumble.
"This part could use your touch," he said once.
"My touch?" I'd asked.
He'd smiled, and that was the end of my focus.
Now, as the clock blinked past ten, I sighed and pushed the laptop away. "I think we should call it a night."
He leaned back, watching me in that maddening, unreadable way. "You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Run when it gets uncomfortable."
My chest tightened. "We've been working for six hours, Alan. That's not discomfort — that's exhaustion."
He stood. "You know that's not what I mean."
I swallowed hard. His tone was low, steady, almost careful. Like he was choosing each word with precision.
He came closer — just close enough for the air to change.
"Alan," I warned, trying to stand, but he blocked my path gently, hands resting on the edge of my desk. "We really shouldn't—
"I can't," he said simply. "Not when you're standing here, looking like that, pretending you don't feel it too."
I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because everything in me screamed to walk away — and everything else wanted to stay.
"Alan…" I finally said, softer this time. "You don't understand. This— us— it can't happen. Not again."
His gaze softened, even as something fierce lingered behind it. "Why? Because of our families?"
"Yes!" I hissed. "If my father ever finds out, it won't just ruin the deal — it'll destroy everything."
The air between us went still.
And before I could process what was happening, he closed the space between us.
His hand brushed my cheek first — slow, hesitant, like he was giving me a chance to step back. I didn't. My chest rose and fell, and my pulse thundered as he leaned in, his forehead resting against mine for a heartbeat.
Then it happened — the kiss that should've never happened again.
It wasn't soft this time. It was desperate, like two people trying to breathe the same air after being underwater too long. My hands found his collar, his tie — I wasn't sure which — while he deepened it, one hand on my back, the other finding its way into my hair.
One hand slid around the curve of my waist, pulling me in flush against his body. The other, warm and possessive, settled deliberately over my breast, molding through the silk of my blouse. The sheer audacity, the publicness of the gesture in his private office, was staggering.
His mouth found mine, and the kiss was long, passionate, and consuming. It was a savage relief, a desperate, mutual surrender to the weeks of agonizing tension. I tasted coffee, mint, and pure, intoxicating desire. My hands went immediately to his hair, pulling, deepening the contact, just as I had that night.
The merger, the fathers, Richard—it all vanished. There was only the heat, the pressure of his body, and the sound of my ragged breath against his lips. His hand gently cupped my breast, confirming the heat and excitement building within me, his thumb brushing my nipple through the fabric.
When we finally broke apart for air, Alan rested his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard.
And then—
A shrill ringtone shattered it.
I broke away, chest heaving. The phone on the desk flashed "Richard".
Reality slammed back so fast it hurt.
I scrambled for the phone, trying to catch my breath before answering. "H-hello?"
"Ashley?" His deep voice came through. "You're still at the office?"
"Yes," I said quickly, forcing composure. "Just… finishing up some final edits."
"Go home," he ordered. "It's late."
"Right. I'll be on my way."
The call ended. Silence swallowed the room again.
"That was…" I started. Then stopped. Because what word could possibly fit?
He gave a small, rueful laugh. "Yeah."
"I have to go."
He nodded, though his eyes didn't move from mine. "Ashley—"
"Don't," I said, too quickly. "Please. Not now."
He hesitated, then simply said, "We can't keep avoiding this forever."
I grabbed my bag, trying not to look at him. "Maybe not. But tonight, I have to."
I left before I could change my mind.
Alan's POV
She was gone before I could think of what to say.
The room still smelled faintly like her shampoo, her perfume — her. I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled hard.
For someone who built his life on control, I'd lost every ounce of it tonight.
Leah was right — I'd been quiet, distracted, obsessed. And now I knew why. That night hadn't been a mistake. It was a beginning I couldn't stop chasing.
But she was right too. Our families would never forgive this.
Still, as I stared at the half-empty wine glass she'd left behind, I knew one thing for sure — this wasn't over.
___
Ashley's POV
By the time I got home, my hands were still trembling. I collapsed onto my bed, replaying the night over and over again like a film I couldn't pause.
I'd broken my own rule. Again.
My phone buzzed — Chloe. I ignored it. Then another buzz — her again.
Finally, I sighed and answered.
"Girl, tell me you've found out who that stranger was," Chloe said immediately. "You've been acting weird for weeks."
I forced a laugh. "No, Chloe. Drop it."
"Liar."
"Goodnight."
I hung up before my voice could betray me.
Because the truth was, I'd found him.
And the worst part?
I didn't want to let him go.