33
Amanda stayed in the design room long after Ericka left.
Not working. Not sketching.
Just... existing.
The soft hum of the overhead light buzzed in the silence, and her eyes traced every line of the dress she'd just made—her creation. Her moment.
But her thoughts weren't on the fabric.
They were on Ericka.
"I never only saw you as my assistant."
Those words hadn't been casual. They'd been deliberate.
And Amanda knew Ericka didn't do anything—say anything—without purpose.
She sat down on the stool by the sewing table, resting her elbows on her knees and letting out a long breath.
This wasn't the plan.
She'd taken this job to grow, to learn, to finally prove she could thrive in a space built for people sharper and faster than her. Falling for the woman in charge? That hadn't been part of the equation.
And yet... here she was.
Not just falling—but diving.
Her phone buzzed again, dragging her back to reality. She expected it to be a late email or maybe a "Where are you?" from Samantha.
But it wasn't.
It was a photo.
From Ericka.
A picture of the dress.
Amanda stared at it. The angle was a little off, and the lighting was low, but the message that followed made everything crystal clear.
Ericka: I haven't stopped thinking about it. Or you.
Amanda's breath caught.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, unsure what to say.
She didn't want to say the wrong thing—
But this?
This was an opening. A real one.
So she typed back:
Amanda: Then maybe it's time we stop pretending this is temporary.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Ericka: Come to my place tomorrow night.
Amanda stared at the screen. Her chest was tight, but not with panic. With something else.
Excitement.
Anticipation.
A choice.
She didn't hesitate.
Amanda: Text me the address.
She stood from the stool, looked at the dress one last time, and flipped off the light.
Amanda lay in bed that night, wide awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling fan turning slowly above her.
It wasn't nerves—not exactly. It was more like a low hum just beneath her skin, a vibration she couldn't quiet.
She replayed the message over and over again.
"Come to my place tomorrow night."
Ericka had never been one to blur lines. She drew them in ink. Reinforced them with steel.
But now?
She'd just opened a door Amanda hadn't expected to walk through so soon.
Still, she wanted to.
God, she wanted to.
Her phone buzzed beside her again. She grabbed it fast, pulse quickening.
Ericka: 8pm. Dress comfortably. I'll handle the rest.
No location attached. Not yet. Just that.
Amanda smiled to herself and typed back:
Amanda: Are you sure?
Ericka: I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't.
That was... very Ericka. Short. Clear. Unshakable.
And somehow it gave Amanda all the reassurance she needed.
She let the phone slip from her hand and onto the pillow, finally allowing herself to relax.
Tomorrow wasn't a game.
It wasn't a meeting.
It wasn't work.
It was personal.
It was intentional.
And she had no idea what to expect—
But for the first time in a long time, Amanda wasn't scared of the unknown.
She was curious.
Hopeful.
Open.
Whatever happened tomorrow night...
She was ready to find out.