Chapter 14 #2
Swallowing a bite, she swivels in her chair to face me straight on. “So, tell me more about this speech you have to make.”
Realistically? It’s a bunch of executives patting each other on the back for making money. I would’ve skipped the ceremony entirely, but my PR team insisted that blowing it off would only add to the ever-growing list of reasons people think I’m an asshole.
“It’s a formality for a corporate leadership award. I’d never willingly do this on my own.” Technically, it’s considered an honor, having won a prestigious industry recognition for financial growth and market impact.
She gasps, like I’ve told her I’ve been nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. “Theo, this is a big deal.”
From the moment I found out about the leadership award, all I felt was dread. Now, seeing her look at me like that, like she’s genuinely proud, makes me feel something I didn’t expect. Maybe even a little pride in myself.
“It’s really not. They’ll hand them out to anyone.”
“I doubt that. You should be proud.” Her expression brightens. “Do you get a trophy?”
“Not a trophy, probably an engraved plaque.”
“Still pretty badass.” Leaning forward, she props her chin on her hand. “I think it’s time. Let me hear this infamous speech.”
Letting her hear my poor speaking skills is the last thing I want to do. However, if this is what it takes not to make a fool out of myself in front of hundreds of people, then it’s an embarrassment I’m willing to take.
I clear my throat and begin the speech I wrote out weeks ago, keeping my voice even, controlled. Professional.
The second I meet her eyes, though, something wavers. Not in my voice, but somewhere deeper. Because she’s watching me like she sees past the words and into the parts of me I don’t put on display. Self-doubt. Guilt. That constant need to prove I’m not the sum of my mistakes.
I push through, ignoring the heat creeping up my collar.
It’s only a speech. Only words. Only Marley, sitting across from me, with a belief in me that I don’t quite know what to do with.
I’m more nervous than I expected, but I don’t let it show. From the outside, I probably look indifferent. When in reality, I’m sitting here painfully aware that I’m alone at night with my gorgeous, brilliant, far-too-witty assistant, who has absolutely no reason to be caught up in any of this.
I get through the entire thing, fumbling a few key sections, but finishing all the same.
With her chin cradled in her hand, she tilts her head, analyzing me. “You know, it actually wasn’t half bad, aside from the fact that you sound like a corporate robot.”
“Isn’t that kind of the goal?”
“No, the goal is to sound like a genuine human.” She waves a hand. “Again. And this time, pretend you actually care.”
“Problem is, I don’t,” I grumble.
“Look, you don’t have to pretend to be Mr. Sunshine. If this isn’t your thing, lean into that. Be dry, but charismatic. Own it.”
As I run through it a few more times, she gives me tips she picked up from her debate team: make eye contact, breathe, slow down, ditch the script.
The issue was never the material. I know how to write something that delivers.
The problem has always been me sounding like I’m giving a eulogy instead of a speech.
And somehow, she fixes that within a few practice runs.
It turns out I’m not as hopeless as I expected, and I’m pretty sure that has everything to do with Marley.
Her ability to give direction, and my drive to want to impress her.
Our dinner-turned-coaching session stretches past an hour, until she’s spinning in her chair, cheering like a proud coach at my final delivery. We’ve eaten nearly an entire pizza, and outside, the sky has deepened into a rich navy, city lights flickering to life.
Wrapping up, she rises to clear the pizza box and plates, but I cut in.
“I’m not making you clean after forcing you to help me.” I step in close and nudge her aside. She doesn’t budge.
“There was no forcing. I was a happily willing participant.”
Her shoulder presses back into mine, small but stubborn.
I hold my ground, unmoved. “You do realize I’m much bigger than you.”
“Size has nothing to do with it. I just have to catch you off guard and—”
Before I can react, she barrels into me with everything she’s got in a full-contact attempt to shove me aside.
Her momentum backfires. Instead of knocking me off balance, she stumbles and begins to fall.
I catch her without thinking, fingers wrapping around her arms. Holding her too close. Close enough to feel the breath catch between us.
“Careful, Mar.” I steady her as she lets out a soft laugh, brushing off her stumble.
She looks up at me, still in my grasp. Her smile is still there, but quieter now. The kind that fades not from humor, but from awareness.
Before I can stop myself, my thumb brushes the inside of her arm. Her skin is silky smooth against my touch.
That’s all it takes.
The air thickens between us, charged with something neither of us is willing to name.
She bites her lip, and my eyes follow, noticing the way her teeth press into that soft curve, like she’s trying to stop herself from doing something reckless.
I want to do it. I want to kiss my assistant. And I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire forty years on this planet.
Risk analysis be damned. Whatever willpower I had when it comes to her is long gone. She’s a burst of unexpected sunshine that’s knocked my world completely off-kilter in the best possible way.
The inches between us disappear, collapsing with every breath, every second our eyes lock. My chest tightens, each beat louder than the last, as I start to wonder if I’m imagining this pull between us.
Then her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, tugging me forward, slow and certain, like she’s been waiting for this. That’s when I know for certain that I’m not imagining it. I’m not alone in this.
The only question left is whether I’ll stop it before we cross a line. But the answer’s already written in the way I lean in, and the way she doesn’t let go.
One of my hands slips free from her arm, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into the touch, soft and trusting, like she’d hand me her whole world and trust I wouldn’t drop it. And god help me, I want to be the person who could give her anything she wants.
I’m ready to close the final inch between us, when the elevator dings, bursting the bubble.
Marley jerks back like she’s been caught stealing something. Her fingers fall from my shirt, and I step away too—fast, sharp, dragging air into my lungs like I wasn’t about to ruin everything.
Two older women from the janitorial staff step out, hauling their supplies and completely oblivious to what they’ve walked into. I should be thanking them. For stopping the inevitable. For resetting the moment before I did something I couldn’t undo.
Instead, frustration coils in my chest. Now I’ll never know what it feels like to kiss Marley. And somehow, that feels more dire than it should.
We stand comically far apart, like strangers instead of two people who were seconds away from something real. She’s perched on the edge of the conference table, while I’ve practically embedded myself into the wall.
We both know what almost happened.
I clear my throat, my mouth suddenly dry as Palm Springs in the middle of summer.
“Well,” I say, voice rough. “I think that’s it for tonight. Thanks again for your help.”
She studies me for a second longer than she should, as if she can physically see my walls going back up, even if I haven’t said it out loud.
“Anytime,” she says with a small smile, hopping down from the table. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
That word. Friends.
It’s the exact opposite of what I want. Personally. Professionally. At all.
I don’t do friendships in the office. I don’t cross lines. I don’t let people in. And “friends” doesn’t even come close to covering what I want from her.
But Marley doesn’t ask for permission. She barrels straight through the lines I’ve drawn like they were never there to begin with.
She’s different. The complete opposite of me. And even though I know this could never work, there’s a certainty in my gut that she’s what I’ve been missing all along.
I was never afraid of being alone.
Not until her.
Then my world cracked open, leaving me achingly aware of everything I hadn’t even realized I was missing.
And the worst part?
I don’t know how you recover from the absence of something you never even had.