Chapter 20
Ruby
Ireturn to my desk with the body language of a woman walking toward a guillotine.
My inbox is full. My to-do list is overflowing. My brain? Completely ruined.
I stare at my screen.
The words blur.
I type:
“The upcoming Valentine’s Issue will focus on..."
Nope. Deleting.
“Love is in the..."
Delete. Delete. DELETE.
I take a deep breath.
Okay. Professional. You’re a professional. You can do this.
I crack my knuckles. Refocus. Ready.
My brain:
He chose you.
He said don’t run.
He said he’ll follow.
He smelled good in the hallway.
You want him.
“NO I DO NOT,” I whisper at my computer.
Ava peeks over the cubicle wall. “Talking to your monitor? Healthy babe. Very stable.”
I throw a pen at her. She dodges. Barely.
I bury my face in my hands.
I can still feel it, the warmth of his fingers brushing mine. I can still hear his voice, low, certain, entirely too intimate:
“This is the beginning of everything.”
My chest tightens.
Oh god.
Me.
Working with him.
Alone.
In rooms.
With chairs.
And tables.
And gravity.
I’m going to die.
An email notification pings.
From: Mr. Jaxon Cole
Subject: First Briefing – 3:00 PM
Location: Conference Room 12B (Top Floor)
Just us.
The “just us” is implied. I can FEEL it.
I stare at the screen, horrified.
I whisper: “…I’m not emotionally stable enough for this.”
Ava whispers back from literally nowhere: “No one asked you to be.”
I slam my forehead onto my desk.
I’m doomed.
JAXON
She hasn’t stopped thinking about me all day.
I know because she hasn’t made eye contact once when I’ve passed her floor. She stiffens. She turns away. She pretends to work harder.
People who are unaffected make eye contact.
Ruby Quinn? She trembles.
I sit at my desk and look over the project outline, but really, I’m thinking about her.
How she looked in the elevator.
How she whispered don’t when I stepped closer… but didn’t move away.
How she breathed my name in the hallway.
How she looked at me when the announcement was made, shocked, flustered, shaken.
Perfect.
Not because I enjoy her fear. God no.
Because I enjoy the way she fights her own desire.
She wants this. She wants me.
She just doesn’t trust what it means yet.
I’m patient.
But I’m not passive.
I schedule the first session deliberately.
Conference Room 12B. Top floor. Soundproof. Private. Neutral but intimate.
I prepare the materials. I print the draft documents. I straighten the chairs.
And then I stop.
I look at the chair next to mine.
Too far.
I pull it closer. Not scandalously close. Just enough.
I’m not touching her today.
But she’ll feel me.
I send the meeting invitation.
I sit back.
I wait.
And when she walks through that door… I’m going to know exactly where we stand.
RUBY
I stand outside Conference Room 12B, clutching my notes so tightly they’re crumpling.
I take a breath.
Then another.
Then a third that does absolutely NOTHING.
I’m about to walk into a room alone with the man who makes my knees behave like Bambi on ice.
I open the door.
And he’s there.
Standing at the head of the table. Suit perfect. Tie loosened just enough. Sleeves rolled like he’s allergic to my emotional stability.
He looks up.
Slowly.
And the look he gives me…
My back hits the doorframe.
“Ruby,” he says softly. “Come in.”
I do. Against my better judgment. Against God. Against every HR regulation in existence.
The door closes behind me with a soft click.
I jump.
His lips twitch. Smug bastard.
“Sit,” he says gently, gesturing beside him.
Not across the table.
Beside him.
I swallow and sit.
So close our elbows might brush if either of us breathes too enthusiastically.
I’m in danger.
He slides a folder toward me. “Let’s begin.”
His voice is calm. Controlled. Focused.
I try to read.
I really do.
But he leans in to point at something and…
His cologne hits me first. Warm. Sharp. Clean. A mix that shouldn’t be legal.
Then his voice.
“This section,” he murmurs, “needs a stronger angle.”
I nod. Too fast. Too shaky.
“Are you listening?” he asks softly.
Oh, the IRONY.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He watches me. Very closely.
“Good,” he says quietly. “Because this part matters.”
I can’t breathe.
He shifts even closer, one hand braced on the table, his body angled toward mine like gravity is doing half the work.
“This partnership requires trust,” he says.
I swallow. “Professional trust.”
His eyes flick to my lips.
“No,” he says, voice low. “More than that.”
My heart stops.
He doesn’t touch me.
But his hand moves, slowly, hovering inches from mine on the table.
Not touching. Waiting.
A question.
A promise.
My fingers tremble.
I pull my hand back quickly.
He sees it. He feels it.
He sits back slowly, nodding once, controlled.
“Okay,” he says. Neutral tone. But his eyes? Burning.
“We’ll go slow.”
My chest aches.
I whisper, “Jaxon…”
“Yes?”
“…this is too much.”
“No,” he murmurs. “This is exactly right.”
I look away. “I’m scared.”
He softens. Just a little.
“You don’t have to be.”
I shake my head. “You don’t understand.”
He leans in again, closer than before.
“I understand more than you think.”
My breath hitches.
He smiles. Small. Dangerous.
“Let’s keep working,” he says.
Professional. Calm. But the energy between us… It’s not going anywhere.
And we both know it.