Chapter 9
Bailey
Iwake up on Friday morning with my lips still tingling.
It’s been hours since Daniel kissed me on that terrace. Hours since I felt his hands in my hair, his body pressed against mine, his mouth doing things that made me forget my name, but my body hasn’t gotten the memo.
I shower and try to scrub away the memory. Then I dress in my carefully ironed lilac chiffon top and white pants, pulling my hair back and applying a little blush and mascara.
I almost, almost, look like someone who did not make out with her boss last night.
My eyes are too bright, and my cheeks have color that has nothing to do with the blush. I look like a teenager who spent the night replaying her crush’s kiss instead of sleeping.
I grab my coffee and my laptop and head to work early. Maybe if I’m already buried in projects when Daniel arrives, I can avoid the inevitable conversation.
The office is quiet at seven thirty. Just a few early risers are scattered across different floors. I settle at my desk and open my current project, trying to focus on color palettes and typography.
My phone buzzes. It’s Daniel.
Daniel: We should talk.
My heart skips as I stare at the message.
Me: I'm busy today. Maybe next week.
Daniel: Bailey.
Me: Working. Talk later.
I silence my phone and bury myself in work.
By nine, the office has filled with the usual morning mix. People grab coffee, settle into their routines, and start their days. Several colleagues glance at me as they pass. Their looks linger slightly longer than usual.
I wonder what they’re thinking. They probably saw photos from last night and are putting together the pieces about Daniel and me. Sarah from marketing stops by my desk around ten. “Hey, I saw you at the gala last night. You looked amazing.”
“Thanks.”
“So you and Mr. Williams are actually dating?” She sounds genuinely curious.
“We are.”
“That’s great. He seems really into you.”
My face heats. “He’s very attentive.”
“I bet.” She grins. “Anyway, I just wanted to say congrats. You two look good together.”
She walks away before I can respond.
So people are talking about me dating the CEO. That’s exactly the kind of gossip that spreads through an office. I focus harder on my work.
Gretchen texts during lunch, asking for details, but I tell her I’m swamped and promise to call this weekend.
By three, I’ve made significant progress on a hotel rebrand.
By five, most people are packing up for the weekend.
The office is mostly empty by six, but my work streak isn’t ending soon.
I open a new project I’ve been working on.
An animated short about a girl who builds worlds out of paper.
It’s still rough, just sketches and rough movement, but mine.
The hours blur together as I lose myself in the gentle rhythm of creation. This is why I wanted to be an animator—not for money or recognition but for the feeling of bringing something to life.
“That’s beautiful.”
I jump and spin around.
Daniel is standing behind my desk. I didn’t hear him approach. He’s wearing the same suit from this morning, but the tie is loosened and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He looks exhausted, but somehow even sexier.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“A few minutes. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He moves closer, looking at my screen. “Is this yours?”
“Just something I’m working on. It’s not finished.”
“It’s incredible. The movement is so fluid. And the way you’ve layered the paper textures creates real depth.”
I’m surprised he notices those details.
“I know good work when I see it.” He says before I ask, leaning against my desk, arms crossed. “This is what you should be doing full-time.”
“Maybe someday.”
“Why not now?”
“Because animation doesn’t pay the bills. Graphic design does.”
“That check I offered you could change that equation.”
I close the file and turn to face him. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me to take the money now?”
“I’m here because you’ve been avoiding me all day.”
“I’ve been working.”
“You’ve been hiding.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s completely fair. You wouldn’t answer my texts or come to the morning meeting. You’ve been holed up at your desk all day.” His voice is gentle but firm. “That’s hiding, Bailey.”
I stand and start gathering my things. “I needed space to think.”
“About last night.”
“About everything.” I shove my laptop into my bag. “About how complicated this is getting.”
“It was always going to get complicated.”
“You’re supposed to be my fake boyfriend, Daniel. Emphasis on fake.”
“I know what the arrangement was.”
“Then why did you kiss me?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is low. “Because I’ve wanted to since you walked into my office and realized I was your boss.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“You asked for the truth.”
“I asked for you to stick to the plan.”
“The plan went out the window the second I remembered what you felt like.” He moves closer. “I tried, Bailey. I really tried to maintain boundaries. I wanted to pretend you were just an employee helping me solve a problem.”
“I am just an employee.”
“You’re not. I don’t sleep with or kiss ‘just my employee’, do I?”
My pulse is racing now. “You’re a terrible fake boyfriend.”
“I wasn’t pretending very well, was I?”
“No,” I whisper. “You really weren’t.”
We stand there in the dim office lighting. Everyone else has gone home. It’s just us, the quiet hum of computers, and whatever is cackling between us.
“I hate those events,” Daniel says suddenly.
The subject change throws me. “What?”
“Last night. The gala. I hate all of them. I hate being around people who think money makes them important.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. “They’re everything I grew up without.”
Something in his voice makes me pause. There’s pain underneath the words.
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t grow up with galas, charity dinners, and people in tuxedos discussing their third homes.” He moves to the window and stares out at the city. “I grew up in a two-bedroom house with parents who worked three jobs between them and still couldn’t make rent half the time.”
I don’t know what to say. This vulnerable and honest version of Daniel is someone I haven’t seen before.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Most people don’t. It’s not the kind of thing that fits the narrative.” He turns back to me. “Billionaire tech bro makes good after a tragic childhood doesn’t sell as well as a self-made genius builds an empire.”
“What happened to your parents?”
His jaw tightens. For a moment, I think he won’t answer.
“They died when I was thirteen. House fire.”
The words are flat. Emotionless. But I can hear the weight underneath them.
“Daniel, I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“I’m sure that doesn’t make it hurt less.”
He meets my eyes. Something raw flickers across his face. “No. It doesn’t.”
“Is that why you work so hard?” I ask.
“Probably. My therapist would say I’m compensating for childhood instability with adult control.” He gives me a wry smile. “Turns out not having what you need as a kid makes you want to prove you can survive without anyone as an adult.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“It is.” He says it simply. Honestly. “But it’s safer than depending on people who might disappear.”
My heart aches for the thirteen-year-old boy who lost everything. For the man who built walls so high no one could reach him.
“I get that,” I hear myself saying.
“Do you?”
“Not the same way. But I understand building walls.” I lean against my desk. “I’ve always been Trevor’s little sister. That’s my identity to most people. Not Bailey, the designer. Not Bailey the animator. Just Trevor’s sister, who’s not quite as smart, accomplished, or important.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s what people think. My parents love me, but Trevor is the golden child who saves lives. I make pretty pictures for a living.”
“You create worlds,” he corrects. “You take ideas and make them visual. That’s no less important than medicine.”
The certainty in his voice startles me. “You really believe that?”
“I really do. And anyone who can’t see your value isn’t looking hard enough.”
The words land deep.
You’re brilliant, Bailey. Not in spite of Trevor or compared to Trevor. Just on your own merit.”
A knot I didn’t know I was carrying loosens in my chest.
“Thank you.”
“I’m just telling the truth.”
We fall into silence. It’s not awkward or tense, just warm. He lingers by my desk, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“You’re unlike anyone I’ve worked with before,” he murmurs.
“Is that good or bad?”
“It’s terrifying.”
“Why?”
“Because you make me want things I’ve convinced myself I don’t need.”
My breath catches. “Like what?”
“Connection.” He’s looking at me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “You.”
Time pauses between us. I should step back and remind him we have boundaries. Instead, I stay exactly where I am, watching helplessly as he reaches for my sketchpad on the desk and not flinching even as his fingertips brush mine.
Our eyes lock. I can feel my pulse in my throat. My breath is coming faster, and I can see his pupils dilate in response.
He could kiss me again. I could let him. We could pretend the boundaries don’t exist, but that would change everything.
I pull my hand back first, breaking the spell.
“I should finish this,” I whisper.
He nods but doesn’t look away. “You should.”
“Daniel—”
“I know. I’m going.” But he doesn’t go, just stands there looking at me like he’s memorizing my face. “Goodnight, Bailey.”
“Goodnight.”
He finally walks away, his footsteps echoing across the empty office. Once alone, I take a deep breath and sink into my chair, my heart racing.
What just happened?
We discussed our past, which feels more intimate than last night’s kiss. He’s no longer just my boss, the stranger from the bar, my mistake, my brother’s best friend, or the man I’m fake-dating for money.
He’s starting to matter.
Like, really matter.
And that worries me. Mattering means vulnerability; vulnerability means someone has the power to hurt you. Derek has already hurt me. I’ve learned what happens when you trust someone who doesn’t deserve it.
But Daniel isn’t Derek.
Daniel remembers my dreams, defends my work, and sees me as more than Trevor’s sister. Daniel makes me want to risk it all over again.
I grab my phone and stare at his earlier message.
Daniel: We should talk.
I type out another response before I can overthink it.
Me: Monday. We’ll talk more on Monday.
Daniel: I’ll hold you to that.
Me: I know you will.
I gather my things and head home. The subway is quiet, but my mind won’t stop racing.