7. Ava
Ava
The office is a maze.
I’ve been here for three days, and I still can’t figure out the layout. Every hallway looks the same—glass walls, sleek furniture, and the endless doors that open to small offices, including my own. I can’t count how many times I’ve walked into the wrong office.
And now I’m on the top floor. I’m supposed to be dropping off paperwork for the HR director, but I’ve taken so many wrong turns that I’m starting to think I’ll never find my way back to the elevator.
This place needs a map. For an innovative tech company, they are seriously lacking in common sense. How is anyone supposed to know where in the hell to go?
I round another corner, my arms full of files, and collide with someone big and hard.
“Watch it,” a familiar voice growls.
I look up, and my stomach drops.
Nick.
He’s standing in front of me, a cup of coffee held out to keep from dumping it on me or himself. He glares at me. Clearly, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
He’s wearing a tailored suit that probably costs more than my rent, and his hair is perfectly styled. There’s tension in his shoulders that makes him look … off. He looks extra-stressed.
“Sorry,” I say, adjusting the files in my arms. “I was just dropping off paperwork and took a wrong turn.”
He raises an eyebrow with the faintest quirk of his lips. “You’re lost.”
It’s not a question.
“A little,” I admit, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I’m looking for, uh, I think it’s Rory’s office. Sarah wanted me to drop these off.”
He sighs. “Come on. I’ll show you the way.”
He’s already walking. I hurry to keep up. As we walk, I can’t help but notice how stressed he looks. I won’t pretend I know him well, but part of my education included reading people.
And I’m picking up on some serious negative energy. I’m HR. I’m the person that counsels employees, listens to their concerns, and tries to smooth things over. But Nick—well, he’s not exactly the type who opens up easily. Still, I feel like I should say something.
“Everything okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low as we weave through the maze of hallways.
He glances at me. “Just a long day. Long week.”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you ask?”
I shrug, trying to play it cool. “You just seem … stressed.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment, I think he’s going to ignore me. But then he sighs. “Just dealing with some business stuff,” he says. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
I nod, though I’m not sure I believe him. There’s something in his tone that makes me think it’s more than just “business stuff,” but I don’t push it.
We agreed to keep things professional. No personal stuff. That means we’re not friends. Just because I’ve seen him naked, it doesn’t make us buddies.
“Here,” he says and knocks on an office door.
“Thank you.”
I take the files in and meet Rory. Nick waits at the door for me.
“Are you going to show me my way back to the elevator?”
“Yes. Do you want coffee?” he asks. “I was just going to get a refill.”
“That would be amazing,” I say with a laugh. “I’m crashing hard. The mid-morning crash.”
He leads me to a breakroom that looks like one of those rooms in hotels that offer complimentary breakfasts.
“Wow,” I say, trying to take it all in. “You guys on the top floor really know how to live.”
He smirks. “Are you saying the breakroom downstairs isn’t like this?”
“You’ve never seen it?”
“Nope.”
“No, it’s not like this,” I tell him. “We do have a Keurig and bottled water, but this place is way bigger and has a lot more stuff.”
He seems to consider that. “Is that bad?”
“Bad?”
“From an HR standpoint. Is that bad?”
I pause, considering his question. “Well, it’s not ideal,” I admit, leaning against the counter as he pops a pod into the machine.
“If the lower floors feel like they’re getting less—whether it’s perks, resources, or even just space—it can create resentment.
People notice these things. It’s human nature. ”
“I hadn’t really thought about it that way,” he says. “I honestly haven’t even been to any of the other breakrooms.”
“Most people in leadership don’t,” I say with a small smile.
“It’s easy to overlook when you’re up here in your corner office with the fancy break room.
But the little things add up. A bottle of water versus a fully stocked kitchen might seem trivial, but it sends a message about who the company values. ”
He nods slowly, his brow furrowing as if he’s processing this for the first time. “Fair point. I’ll look into it.” He pauses and then shakes his head. “No, I won’t.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Well, at least your honest.”
“No, I mean, I won’t. You will. You’re in charge of that. Check all the floors. Up here are all the developers. They tend to think they’re a little better than the rest of the company, considering they make all the tech.”
“They make the tech, but you’ve got the people that market the tech that I personally think are amazing,” I tell him. “They are fun people. I like them.”
“Third floor,” he says.
“Yes. You don’t go down there?”
He shrugs. “Not really. Just here. I don’t spend a lot of time in the office.”
He pulls the cup from the machine and hands it to me. I can’t resist the assortment of syrups and flavored creamers. While I doctor up my coffee, he starts a cup for himself.
I take a sip, savoring the sweetness. It’s hotter than shit outside, but the coffee is more of a necessity.
“So,” he says, leaning against the counter, “how do you like the job so far?”
“It’s … interesting.”
He smirks, his eyes narrowing. “Interesting?”
I shrug, trying to keep my tone light. “The boss is kind of a dick.”
He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “He has to be. It’s part of the job. So I hear.”
I can’t help but smile, though I quickly hide it behind my coffee cup.
“I suppose,” I say. “Are you typically here this often? I only ask because people say they don’t really work with you that often. Like you’re kind of an enigma.”
He smirks. “I get a little cabin fever.”
“Cabin fever?”
“I’m a sun worshipper. I like the sun. I love the summer. I want to be outside. I hate being in the office.”
“That explains the tan.” The words are out before I can think about it. That’s not flirting. Not really. It’s a fact. He’s tan.
He smirks again. “That explains it.”
It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but there’s a tension in the air that I can’t quite place.
“How’s Amelia?” he asks suddenly.
I blink, surprised by the change in topic. “She’s good. The baby’s keeping her busy, but she’s happy.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.”
“She was so disappointed she couldn’t make the wedding.”
He nods again. “Is she okay? Jessie said there were some complications.”
“She’s fine now,” I answer. “Her blood pressure was a little high, and her feet and legs were swollen. The doctor was worried the flight would be too much. Turns out, it was for the best. Would have been bad if she had the baby in Mexico or on the plane.”
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
There’s another pause as he dumps sugar into his coffee. He looks over at me. It’s unnerving, but also … something else. Something I don’t want to think about. He has this way of making me feel like he’s touching me.
Stripping me.
There’s fire in his gaze.
“I should probably get back to my office,” I say, my voice is barely a squeak. “I’ve probably been wandering around up here for fifteen minutes. They’re going to think I bailed. I don’t want to be fired.”
He nods, pushing off the counter. “I’ll walk with you. Show you the way.”
I want to argue, to tell him I can find my own way, but he’s already heading for the door, so I follow him. I’m going to need a cold shower.
And all he did was make me a coffee.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice the way people look at us. Some of them nod respectfully, while others shoot us curious glances. But it’s not until we pass Sierra, someone I’ve learned about down in HR, that I feel the full weight of her glare.
She’s got one hell of a reputation. No one likes her. I happen to have seen some documentation about a complaint that Sarah is dealing with. She is a world-class bitch.
Now, Sierra is standing in the hallway, her arms crossed, her expression speaking a thousand words. She looks from me to Nick, her eyes narrowing.
I can feel the animosity rolling off her. I don’t know why, but she hates me. If looks could kill, I would be slaughtered. I’d be a bloody mess on the floor, and I have the weird feeling she would be smiling.
“Nick,” she says. Her voice drips with disdain.
I swear the temperature in the room has dropped ten degrees. I have never encountered anyone so vicious. She’s really said nothing to me or even done anything, but I see danger.
“Sierra,” he replies, his tone equally cold.
There’s history here. That much is clear.
Sierra doesn’t say anything else, but the look she gives me is enough to make my skin crawl. I quickly look away. I’m not trying to get into a war with Queen Bitch. That’s something else I’ve learned about her.
She is like the queen of Sullivan Tech. No one messes with her. She seems to do what she wants, and no one dares to get in her way.
“Excuse us,” Nick says.
“Nick, we need to talk,” Sierra says.
“No, we don’t. I’m busy.” Nick looks at me and jerks his head.
Sierra’s presence has sucked all the air out of the hallway. I keep my eyes straight ahead, but I can still feel her stare burning into my back long after we’ve passed her.
“Don’t mind Sierra,” Nick says after a moment. “She’s … complicated.”
“Complicated?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “That’s one way to put it.”
He glances at me, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “She’s been here a long time. Thinks she owns the place.”
“Seems like it,” I mutter, though I’m careful to keep my tone neutral. I don’t need to stir the pot, especially not with someone like her.
Out of nowhere, Nick’s hand is on my back, pushing me through a doorway. “Nick!”
We end up in a closet.
I stumble, my heart racing as the door clicks shut behind us. The space is small and dark. I can feel the heat of his body as he steps closer.
“What are you—” I start, but he cuts me off, his lips crashing into mine.
For a moment, I’m too shocked to react. But then my body takes over, and I’m kissing him back, my hands tangling in his hair as he presses me against the wall.
It’s intense, almost overwhelming, and I can’t think straight. All I can focus on is the feel of his lips on mine, the way his hands grip my waist, the way he smells like coffee and something else—something uniquely him.
I melt into him, my body responding before my mind can catch up. His hands move from my waist to my lower back, pulling me flush against him. I can feel the heat of him through our clothes, the hardness of his chest pressing into mine as our breathing becomes ragged, uneven.
His tongue brushes against my lower lip, seeking entry.
I open to him without hesitation. The sound that escapes me is muffled by his mouth, a soft moan that he swallows greedily.
His hands slide down farther, gripping the curve of my hips before lifting me effortlessly, pinning me against the wall.
My legs wrap around his waist instinctively.
I hold onto him, one hand sliding up the back of his neck to hold him close to me. His tongue slashes against mine. I want him naked. I want to be naked.
I moan again, grinding my hips against him.
His groan vibrates against my lips, low and hungry.
I shift my hips again, feeling his erection spring to life.
His hands tighten on my thighs, his fingertips digging into my skin through the fabric of my slacks.
Every inch of me is hyper-aware of him—the way his breath hitches when I bite his lower lip, the way his body trembles as he holds me tighter, the way his breathing comes in ragged gasps.
One of his hands slides up my back, fingers tangling in my hair as he tilts my head to deepen the kiss.
His other hand slips beneath the hem of my blouse, his palm scorching against the bare skin of my waist. I gasp into his mouth, my nails scraping lightly against the back of his neck.
He growls in response, his hips pressing harder into mine as I arch against him.
I’m pinned against the wall, and all I can think about is getting my pants off. I’m desperate for him.