Elena
Dominic is waiting in the lobby when I step off the elevator at seven-thirty.
He turns at the sound of the doors, and his eyes move over the dark-blue dress I spent far too long choosing. The fitted bodice and low neckline felt daring in the privacy of my bedroom. Under his slow inspection, they feel like a mistake.
“Fuck.”
The word slips out, low and rough, and I feel it like a touch. My attempt at composure is a thin shield.
“Hello to you too.”
He walks toward me in a dark suit and an open-collared white shirt. “You’re wearing that to a crowded bar?”
“I didn’t realize you had approval rights over my clothes.”
“I don’t.” His eyes drop once more. “I’m still allowed to dislike everyone else seeing you in it.”
A little shock of pleasure moves through me, followed by the familiar prickle of a warning. He’s not claiming a right he doesn’t have, but he’s still claiming.
The driver holds the rear door open at the curb. Dominic places his hand at my back as I climb into the car, and the contact lingers even after he settles in beside me.
“My friends are going to ask questions,” I tell him.
“About me?”
“About why my boss picked me up for my birthday drinks. And why he’s looking at me like that.”
“You invited me.”
“To a group event.”
“Then I’ll be an excellent group-event guest.”
I look out the window before he can see me smile. The West Loop streets slide past the window, restaurants glowing and couples walking arm in arm toward whatever Saturday night has planned for them.
I feel him watching me.
“You’re going to have to stop doing that,” I say without turning.
“Doing what?”
“Staring.”
A low chuckle rumbles through his chest. “I am memorizing the dress.”
My stomach tightens. “Dominic.”
“I’m being honest. It’s a quality you claim to value.”
“It’s a quality I value in financial projections, not in the back of a dimly lit car while your hand rests against my thigh.”
He shifts beside me, and I catch the clean scent of his cologne, the same one that has haunted my fantasies for the last four years.
“My hand isn’t on your thigh.”
The correction is so calm, so perfectly measured, that I almost believe him. I look down.
His hand rests on the leather seat between us, his fingers relaxed, his palm facing up. Nowhere near my leg.
My face burns.
“Semantics,” I say, lifting one shoulder in a shrug that I hope looks careless rather than caught.
He doesn’t answer immediately. The car turns onto Fulton, and the streetlights slide across his face in slow, golden stripes. Then he lifts his hand from the seat.
The movement is deliberate. Slow enough that I could stop him.
Slow enough that every nerve in my body registers the heat of his palm as it settles over the silk covering my thigh.
His fingers press lightly, and then—God—his fingertips slide inward, grazing the bare skin just beneath the hem of my dress.
He gives me a wicked smile and leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “Now my hand is on your thigh.”
The gasp leaves me before I can catch it, sharp and audible.
My body betrays me before my mind can intervene. A shiver runs from the base of my spine to the place where his fingertips rest, and I press my lips together to keep any sound from escaping.
“I noticed,” I manage.
“Good.”
His thumb traces a slow, maddening circle against the silk. The car slows, and I realize we’ve arrived. The driver pulls to the curb outside the bar, its neon sign casting a blue glow across the back seat.
Music spills from the converted warehouse as the driver opens the door.
Dominic offers me his hand, and I take it, expecting him to release me once I’m standing.
He doesn’t. He leads me from the crowded sidewalk into the noise, his hand moving to my waist as we press through the bodies.
The place is loud enough that he has to bend close when we reach the bar, his breath warm against my ear.
“What are you drinking?”
“Vodka soda with lime.”
He gets the bartender’s attention. “Tito’s, soda, and lime for her. Woodford for me.”
I turn toward him, the noise of the bar fading for a second. “You remembered.”
“You ordered the same thing at dinner.”
“That was weeks ago.”
He takes the glass from the bartender and hands it to me. “I know.”
Maya has claimed three tables along the back wall and decorated them with blue-and-silver balloons despite my explicit objection. Olivia, my closest friend from college, is standing on a chair while Marcus argues that the crooked birthday banner needs to be level.
“It’s a banner,” Olivia says. “Relax.”
Maya sees me and throws both arms into the air. “She came!”
“You knew I was coming.”
“Until you enter the building, every social plan remains provisional.”
Then she notices Dominic behind me.
Her grin widens. “And she brought a date.”
“He isn’t my date.”
Dominic’s hand remains at my waist, a warm, possessive weight. “Apparently.”
His voice is dry, and the word lands like a counterpoint to my denial. I can feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of my dress.
I look up at him. “Don’t help.”
“I’m trying to understand my role.”
Maya hugs me and introduces Dominic to the friends he hasn’t met. Olivia tells him within thirty seconds that I complain about him often. Marcus offers him a beer. Everyone watches us with varying levels of subtlety.
Dominic doesn’t miss a beat. “I assumed she discussed me constantly.”
Olivia laughs. “Mostly when you rearrange her schedule without asking.”
“I move meetings when she forgets to eat.”
I stare at him. “That happened once.”
“Three times last month.”
Maya lifts her glass. “Trust me, he has notes. You’re going to lose this one.”
I refuse to ask how often the two of them discuss my lunch habits when I’m not present.
Dominic acts as though none of it bothers him. He remembers names, asks questions that aren’t small talk, and listens to Olivia tell the story of the letter I drafted after our college landlord refused to repair the heat.
“She cited three municipal codes,” Olivia says.
“It was sixteen degrees outside,” I remind her.
Dominic leans close enough that his mouth brushes my ear. The warmth of his breath on my skin is a distraction. “You had a binder before the binder.”
“I had standards.”
“You still do.”
His thigh presses against mine beneath the table. Neither of us moves.
For the next two hours, he slips into the spaces of my life.
When Marcus leans in to say something, Dominic’s arm rests lightly on the back of my chair, a silent claim.
He listens to one of Olivia’s stories, his expression serious, and she laughs, won over.
Even Maya’s interrogation about our work on the Northbridge schedule doesn’t faze him. He makes it all feel unsettlingly easy.
Maya returns from the bar carrying a tray of shots and sets one in front of me.
“No tequila,” I tell her.
“It’s your birthday.”
“It was my birthday weeks ago, and I still hate tequila.”
Dominic picks up the glass and smells it. “She said she doesn’t want it.”
The table quiets for a beat.
I put my hand on his wrist. “I can handle Maya.”
“I know.” He sets the shot back on the tray. “I was handling the tequila.”
Maya looks between us. “Vodka?”
“Please.”
She takes the rejected shot and heads back toward the bar. Dominic turns his hand beneath mine until his thumb rests against the inside of my wrist.
“Too much?” he asks.
“A little.”
“Do you want me to apologize?”
I think about it. “No. I wanted the vodka.”
His thumb moves once. “Good.”
This is no longer my boss making a polite appearance at my birthday drinks. He wants my friends to remember him. He’s stepping outside the lines of our agreement, and a part of me is letting him.
After cake, Dominic and I end up alone at the table while everyone else drifts toward the bar or dance floor.
He rests one arm along the back of my chair. “Have you collected enough evidence yet?”
“You’ve demonstrated social competence.”
“That isn’t the test we were discussing.”
His knee settles more firmly between mine.
I take a drink. “This is a limited sample.”
“I remember how you kissed me, Elena.” His fingers curve around my waist. “Do you?”
A jolt goes through me at the memory, sharp and immediate. “One kiss,” I say, and I have to stop, start over. “One kiss remains inconclusive.”
“You keep saying that while sitting pressed against me.”
I should move. Instead, I turn toward him. “You’re confident for someone who hasn’t been invited anywhere private.”
His hand stays still, giving me room to pull away. “I know exactly where I’ve been invited.”
Marcus drops into the empty chair on my other side with a fresh beer. His eyes move from Dominic’s hand to the way our legs are touching under the table.
“Are you two planning to tell us what’s happening?” he asks.
My entire body tenses. I can feel Dominic’s stillness beside me, waiting for my answer. I give Marcus the only one I have. “We work together.”
“You’re sitting close enough to share a chair.”
Dominic’s fingers remain at my waist. “Is monitoring my employee’s seating arrangements part of your job description?”
Marcus takes a drink. “Only when her boss looks like he’s about to have me physically removed for occupying it.”
“You’re still here.”
“Very reassuring.” Marcus stands. “I’m going to find Maya.”
I wait until he leaves. “You promised to behave.”
“I am behaving.”
“Your standards are concerning.”
“Did you want him to stay?”
“No.”
“Then we’re fine.”
Maya returns before I can answer. She looks between us, then checks the time.
“Are you two leaving?”
Dominic stands and holds out his hand.
I take it.
The driver gives Dominic the cake box and opens the rear door for me. I slide across the leather seat, and Dominic gets in beside me.
“Her address,” he tells the driver.
Neither of us speaks once the car pulls away.
His knee touches mine.
We leave it there.
The memory of that first kiss has been a low hum all week. Tonight added the weight of his hand at my waist, the heat of his mouth at my ear, the unsettling fact that he charmed my friends effortlessly.
I turn my head.