35
The morning sun poured through the tinted windows of Ericka's car as it glided through the city streets, the buzz of traffic muted behind glass and quiet tension.
Amanda sat with her hands resting in her lap, her hair neatly pinned, her black slacks perfectly pressed, and her blouse tucked just right. On the surface, she looked every bit the sharp, collected professional the office knew her to be. But inside?
Inside was a completely different story.
Ericka sat beside her, dressed in a slate gray suit that made her look untouchable again. Her hair was up, glasses on, her phone in hand as she scrolled through emails with the same focus Amanda had seen a hundred times. Only now, Amanda had seen her without it.
Had kissed her.
Had stayed the night.
Had watched her sleep.
And now... they were going to work like nothing happened.
The silence stretched as the car neared the building.
"I should probably jump out a block early," Amanda said lightly, breaking it.
Ericka glanced at her. "No one's watching this early."
Amanda smirked. "You sure? You're kind of a big deal around there."
Ericka's lips twitched but she didn't look away from her screen. "We're professionals. We act like it."
Amanda nodded, letting the joke fade. "We will. I meant what I said last night. No lines crossed at work."
Ericka finally looked over, her gaze lingering for a beat longer than necessary. "One day at a time."
Amanda smiled softly. "Exactly."
The car slowed to a stop outside the main entrance. Ericka didn't move right away.
"You go first," she said.
Amanda raised a brow. "So I'm the decoy."
"You're the assistant," Ericka replied dryly, but her tone was just soft enough to make it sound like something else entirely.
Amanda opened the door and stepped out, heels clicking lightly on the pavement. She smoothed her blouse, straightened her posture, and walked into the building with practiced confidence.
Just another Monday.
A few minutes later, Ericka entered through the other side of the lobby, her expression calm, unreadable. She didn't look Amanda's way as she passed her desk.
And Amanda didn't look up either.
_____________________________
The office buzzed with its usual rhythm—keyboards clacking, phones ringing, hushed voices holding urgent conversations just beneath the hum of fluorescent lights. On the surface, it was an ordinary Monday.
But for Amanda, it felt anything but.
She sat at her desk, posture perfect, her expression unreadable as she clicked through emails. She'd done this a hundred times, maybe more. And yet, this morning, everything felt... heavier.
Not in a bad way. Just... aware.
Because she knew Ericka was just down the hall.
And last night? That hadn't been nothing.
The ride in, the careful plan to arrive separately, the quiet promise of no lines crossed at work—they'd stuck to it perfectly. It had all gone smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Amanda's phone buzzed beside her.
Ericka: I need you in my office. Bring the print samples.
Amanda took a breath, grabbed the folder from her drawer, and made her way down the hallway, heels soft against the carpet. Her hand hovered at the door for a second longer than necessary before she knocked.
"Come in," came Ericka's voice, sharp and polished as ever.
Amanda stepped inside, all polished poise on the outside. "I've got the samples," she said, walking over and placing the folder on Ericka's desk.
Ericka didn't look up right away. She was seated, glasses on, blazer crisp and perfect. But Amanda had seen her with her hair down, her voice soft, her guard gone. And it made standing here like this—on opposite sides of a desk—feel oddly distant.
Ericka opened the folder and flipped through the samples with precision. "These are better," she murmured. "Still want to see if the deeper green can be finished with a matte texture, but the drape on the navy's close."
Amanda nodded. "I'll follow up."
Ericka nodded back, her eyes lingering on the page just a moment longer than necessary.
Amanda hesitated.
Then slowly, quietly, she leaned forward across the desk. Not too far—just enough for her voice to be barely above a whisper.
"Can I come back to your place tonight?"
Ericka froze. The shift was subtle, almost invisible—but Amanda saw it. The way her fingers paused mid-turn of a page. The way her breath caught for half a second.
Her eyes lifted, meeting Amanda's.
There was no mask there. No CEO. Just her.
"I mean," Amanda added softly, her voice light but sincere, "if that's okay. No pressure. We said one day at a time, right?"
Ericka looked at her for a long moment. Then she nodded—slow, certain.
"Yes," she said. "You can."
Amanda straightened with a soft smile. "Then I'll bring dessert."
Ericka blinked, her lips twitching like she was trying very hard not to smile. "You'll bring something from that bakery you pretend you don't like."
Amanda raised a brow. "You notice a lot for someone who pretends to be emotionally unavailable."
That earned her the softest laugh, and it was worth everything.
Amanda turned to leave, but paused at the door.
"Text me the time," she said gently.
"I will," Ericka replied.
And Amanda stepped back into the hallway, her chest light, her steps calm.
____________
The rest of Amanda's afternoon passed in a blur of spreadsheets, scheduling requests, and design team emails. But beneath every task, there was a steady undercurrent humming quietly beneath her skin.
She was going back to Ericka's place tonight.
And this time, it wasn't by accident.
It wasn't the result of too much wine or an impulsive text.
It was a choice.
A real one.
At exactly 4:36 PM, her phone buzzed under her desk.
Ericka: Driver will be outside at 6:15. I'll finish up a call before meeting you there.
No emojis. No fluff. All Ericka.
But Amanda still smiled like an idiot at her screen.
Amanda: Noted. I'll have dessert.
Amanda: And no, it's not from that bakery I "pretend" not to like.
No response right away. But ten minutes later, as Amanda was reviewing fabric orders:
Ericka: I'll pretend to be surprised.
Amanda bit back a grin.
The clock finally crawled its way past six, and Amanda shut down her screen, packed up her things, and smoothed the front of her blazer with a quick glance toward the elevator.
She didn't look back as she left. She didn't need to.
When she stepped out of the building, the sleek black car was already waiting at the curb. The driver opened the door without a word, and Amanda climbed in with ease, her tote bag pressed to her side and a box of pastries on her lap.
The ride felt different this time. Familiar, but not in a routine way. In a "this could become something" way.
And when the car pulled up to Ericka's building, Amanda didn't hesitate.
She stepped inside. Took the elevator up. Knocked once.
Ericka opened the door almost instantly, dressed down in a fitted tee and joggers, barefoot, with her hair loose and damp like she'd just stepped out of the shower.
Amanda's breath caught for a second.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Hi." Ericka glanced at the box. "That the dessert?"
Amanda held it up. "Only the best overpriced pastries in the city."
Ericka smirked and stepped aside. "Come in."
Amanda walked past her into the warm glow of the apartment, the low lights already dimmed, soft music playing in the background. Familiar, now.
Comfortable.
Ericka closed the door and turned to her. "You really came back."
Amanda set the pastries down on the kitchen counter and turned around, leaning casually against it.
"You invited me," she said, shrugging lightly. "And I wanted to."
Ericka nodded slowly, stepping forward. She reached up, gently brushing Amanda's hair back behind her ear.
Then she leaned in—slow, intentional—and kissed her.
Amanda sank into the couch, toes curling into the edge of the cushion as she let out a slow breath. Her heels were off, the tension in her shoulders finally easing under the soft lighting and familiar hush of Ericka's apartment.
It felt good. It felt real.
Ericka walked in from the kitchen with two glasses of wine, handing one to Amanda before sitting down beside her. No rush. No distance. Just a closeness that had finally stopped pretending it wasn't there.
For a while, neither of them said much. The music played low in the background, and the clink of Amanda's glass against the coffee table was the only sound between them.
Ericka leaned back, calm and collected, but Amanda could feel the weight in her. The way she always seemed to be holding just a little more than she let on.
So Amanda shifted, turning to face her, one leg tucked beneath her body. She looked at Ericka—not just at her, but into her.
And she said, gently, "I just want you."
Ericka looked at her, something flickering in her eyes.
Amanda continued, soft but certain. "Not the version everyone else gets. Not the perfectly polished, CEO-Ericka who keeps everything neat and controlled. I want the real you. The one I saw last night. The one who lets her hair down and doesn't feel like she has to apologize for needing a break."
She paused, giving the words room to settle. Then added, "I want to understand you. Your needs. Your wants. I'm not here to complicate your life—I'm here because I want to be someone who gets you."
Ericka didn't speak for a long moment. Her expression didn't change much—but her whole body softened.
"Why do you want me?" she asked softly.
Her voice didn't waver, but Amanda could feel the vulnerability behind it—the question beneath the question. Why now? Why you? Why someone like me?
Amanda sat up a little straighter, not with shock, but with the kind of certainty that only came from knowing exactly how she felt.
"Because you're beautiful," she said simply.
Ericka blinked, but didn't look away.
Amanda's voice stayed steady, honest. "Not just in the obvious way. Though, yes, that too. But... it's the way you carry yourself. The way you walk into a room like you already know how it's going to end—but still listen like it might surprise you anyway."
Ericka didn't speak, her expression unreadable. So Amanda kept going.
"You put on these masks. The sharp suits. The clipped tone. The 'I've got this handled' expression. And they work. Everyone buys it."
She leaned in, her voice softening just enough to land like truth.
"But I see past them."
Ericka's eyes flickered then. Not much—but enough.
Amanda smiled gently. "You're kind. You care deeply, even when you try to hide it. You carry more than you should, and still show up for everyone else like it's easy."
Her hand reached out, barely brushing against Ericka's. "You're genuine, Ericka. You try to act like you're made of stone, but I've seen you laugh. I've seen you soften. I've seen the real you—just enough to know I want more."
Ericka was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, almost too softly to hear, "No one's ever said that to me."
Amanda squeezed her hand, just once. "Then maybe you've been around the wrong people."
That earned the faintest tug of a smile.
Amanda leaned back with a light shrug, but her gaze never wavered. "I don't want anything from you. No grand gestures. No promises. I just want you. The real version. The one who's sitting right in front of me."
"You're making it really hard to keep pretending I don't care," she said.
Amanda smirked. "Good. I'm not here to let you pretend. I've noticed... even in just the short time I've been around you, that you're going through something."
Ericka's brows twitched ever so slightly, but she didn't look away.
Amanda leaned in a bit, her voice steady.
"You don't have to tell me what it is. Not until you're ready.
But I can see it. In your eyes. In the way you carry yourself when no one's watching.
And I just want you to know..." —she reached out, brushing Ericka's knuckles with her thumb— "I've got your back. "
Ericka exhaled like she'd been holding something in. Maybe for a long time.
Amanda gave her a soft smile. "No pressure. No expectations. I don't want to fix you, Ericka. I just want to be here. For all of it. For you."
Ericka looked at her like she was seeing something she didn't know how to name—something she didn't quite believe she was allowed to have.
But Amanda's gaze didn't falter. And her hands didn't let go.
"You're not alone," Amanda said softly. "Not anymore."