After the Door Closes
Elara did not sleep that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him exactly as he'd stood still, composed, eyes dark with something unspoken. Every time she tried to steady her breathing, she heard his voice again.
Next time I tell you to stay, it won't be for business.
By morning, she told herself it had been a test.
A power play.
Nothing more.
Lucien Blackwell tested everyone.
She dressed carefully tailored skirt, silk blouse buttoned higher than usual, hair pulled back tight. Armor disguised as professionalism. When she stepped into the elevator at Blackwell Industries, she was already braced.
The doors opened onto her floor.
And there he was.
Lucien stood at the far end of the corridor, speaking quietly into his phone, his presence commanding the space without effort. He didn't look at her.
Which somehow felt worse.
She passed him without slowing, aware of every step, every breath, the way her body reacted to his proximity even without acknowledgment. Her office was only a few doors down. She reached it, sat, exhaled.
Then her phone lit up.
Lucien Blackwell:
Come to my office. Now.
No greeting.
No explanation.
Her fingers hovered above the screen before she typed back a single word.
Yes.
The walk back felt longer. Quieter. When she knocked, his voice came immediately.
Enter.
Lucien stood by the window this time, city stretched beneath him like something already owned. He didn't turn as she stepped inside. The door closed behind her.
Lock it.
Her pulse spiked.
She obeyed.
Stand there, he said, still facing the glass.
She did.
Seconds passed. Then minutes. He let the silence work let her shift, let her wonder if she was being watched through the reflection. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Measured.
You didn't sleep.
It wasn't a question.
She swallowed. I'm not sure that's relevant.
Lucien turned slowly.
Everything about you is relevant, he said. When I decide it is.
Her breath hitched. He took that in, eyes flicking briefly to her throat again.
You're uncomfortable, he continued. Good.
Her hands clenched. With respect, sir—
Stop.
One word. Sharp enough to cut.
She stopped.
Lucien moved toward her, steps unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world and she had none. He stopped just short of touching her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him.
I don't enjoy defiance, he said quietly. But I respect control.
His gaze dropped, taking her in fully now. Slowly. Not leering assessing. Like something he was deciding whether to keep.
You came when I called, he said. That tells me something.
I work for you.
Yes, he agreed. You do.
The weight of that settled heavy between them.
Do you know why I asked you to stay yesterday? he asked.
She hesitated. No.
He tilted his head slightly. Wrong answer.
Her stomach tightened. Because I stood out.
A pause.
Because you didn't look away, he corrected. Everyone else does.
His hand lifted not to touch her, but to gesture just beside her shoulder, close enough that her skin prickled with awareness.
Look at me.
She did.
Don't lower your eyes, he said softly.
Her heart pounded. She held his gaze, even as heat spread through her veins, even as something inside her trembled at being seen so completely.
Good, he murmured. You learn quickly.
He stepped back, reclaiming distance like a privilege he could grant or revoke.
You'll be working later hours, he said. Directly under me.
The words landed heavy.
Yes, sir.
There will be rules.
She nodded.
Rule one, he said. "What happens in this office stays here.
Her lips parted. Understood.
Rule two, he continued. You do not discuss me with anyone.
Yes.
And rule three, he said, voice lowering, you do not pretend you don't feel what you feel when you're in my presence.
Her breath stuttered. I—
You don't need to say it, he cut in. I already know.
Silence wrapped around them again, thick and deliberate. Lucien watched her struggle to compose herself, watched the fight behind her eyes.
Sit, he said.
She did, perching on the edge of the chair across from his desk.
No, he said. Comfortably.
Her fingers tightened on the armrests, but she leaned back.
That's better, he said. I don't enjoy watching people tense unless I cause it.
Something dangerous curled low in her stomach.
Lucien took his seat behind the desk at last, all composure and control again. He opened a file.
You're very good at your job, he said. Which is why this must never interfere with it.
This? she echoed before she could stop herself.
His eyes lifted.
This, he repeated. Whatever this is becoming.
Her cheeks burned.
You will not seek my attention, he said. You will not assume familiarity. And you will not cross lines unless I allow it.
Her pulse throbbed in her ears.
And if I do? she asked quietly.
Lucien leaned back, steepling his fingers.
Then, he said, voice velvet-dark, you'll learn what it costs to disobey me.
The room felt smaller. Hotter.
He stood abruptly. You may go.
Relief and disappointment tangled painfully in her chest as she rose.
Elara.
The way he said her name low, controlled sent a shiver down her spine.
Yes, sir?
Tonight, he said, eyes holding hers, you'll stay.
Her breath caught, yes
She left his office on unsteady legs, heart racing, body humming with unspoken things.
Behind the closed door, Lucien remained still for a long moment.
Slow.
Intentional.
He had never blurred lines like this before. Never let temptation linger.
But she had looked at him like a challenge.
And Lucien Blackwell had never walked away from one.