Chapter 12
Twelve
Matilda
If the ground could have opened up and swallowed me in that break room, I’d have begged it to.
How Thomas didn’t notice Henry standing behind me is beyond me.
Six foot something, broad shoulders, presence like a stormcloud — he’s not exactly subtle.
I swear I even heard him grunt at one point while Thomas was asking me out.
Thomas has been asking me for weeks now, and I’ve managed to wriggle out of it every time. But with Henry standing right there, my brain short-circuited. By the time I’d recovered, Henry had already left, and Thomas had thrown out a cheerful, “Maybe see you later,” before disappearing.
For the record, I’m pretty sure I said I couldn’t go.
I really shouldn’t care what Henry thinks of that conversation — but I do.
The idea that he might think I’m interested in Thomas makes my stomach twist. Thomas is the office ladies’ man — though, honestly, I think that’s more self-appointed than earned.
He’s a chronic flirt, and a bad one at that.
I don’t want Henry thinking that’s my type…
or worse, that I’d be unprofessional enough to date someone in the office.
Still, I need to let Thomas know I’m not going to Blox tonight. That much is certain.
When I return to my desk, Henry’s already back in his office. He looks… angry. Not the usual “client’s-a-moron” angry — this is sharper, quieter. His jaw’s tight, his focus fixed on his screen, though I can feel his attention flicker my way more than once.
He can’t possibly be annoyed with me. Even if I was interested in Thomas, which I’m not, it’s not Henry’s business.
Before I can overthink it further, Henry gestures for me to come in through the glass. My stomach drops.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask from the doorway, using it as a shield between us.
“Mrs Wright emailed,” he says, voice even, clipped. “She copied you in. I’d like you to take the reins on the project — I’ll oversee. If you’re happy with that.”
For a second, I just blink. “Oh. I—of course, that would be great, but—”
Say thank you, Matilda. Just say thank you. But my brain decides now’s the perfect time to spiral. An entire project is a huge deal. What if I mess it up? What if he regrets trusting me with something so big?
Henry’s expression softens — slightly. “Come in. Close the door.”
I obey, nerves fluttering.
He walks around his desk and leans against the edge right beside me, both hands braced against the wood. His height, his closeness, the way he looks at me — it all feels unnervingly intimate.
“I know this is a big step,” he says quietly. “But you’re ready. You’ve overseen every project I’ve done for the last four years. You know how I like things done better than anyone. I trust you to deliver — and I don’t give trust easily.”
His green eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I see the man behind the title — not the sharp, distant boss who makes half the office quake, but someone tired, human. Someone who might actually believe in me.
A warmth spreads through my chest, pride and something else entirely. “Thank you, Henry. That really means a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, a faint smile ghosting over his lips. “Now, don’t keep Mrs Wright waiting. I’m here if you need anything. We’ve still got our meeting tomorrow at five, right?”
“Yes. Five p.m.”
I stand — and of course, in the process, drop my pen. It bounces once, rolls right to his feet.
We both bend down at the same time. Our heads nearly collide. My fingers brush his — and suddenly, time seems to stop.
He’s holding my pen in his hand, our fingers overlapping, and when I glance up, our faces are inches apart. His scent — clean, warm, with that trace of sandalwood — fills my lungs. My pulse stutters.
“Yoda,” he murmurs.
My breath catches. “W-what?”
His gaze flicks to the little Baby Yoda perched on top of my pen. “Your pen,” he says softly, almost amused. “Cute.”
But the lightness fades as quickly as it came. His expression hardens, eyes fixed on mine.
“He’s not good enough for you.”
The words hang between us. My brain takes a second to catch up. “Who?”
“That guy in the break room.” His voice is low, controlled — but barely.
“Thomas?”
“If that’s his name.” Henry straightens, crowding me back into the chair. He plants his palms on the arms, caging me in. My breath stutters again. His eyes burn with something I can’t name. “I know guys like him. He’s not right for you.”
His jaw flexes, and for some reason, it doesn’t scare me. It’s… intoxicating. There’s something protective — possessive even — in his tone, and it sparks heat low in my stomach.
“Then who is?” I hear myself whisper.
His gaze sharpens, and for a moment, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. His breath brushes my lips — close enough that I taste the faintest hint of coffee and whiskey. Electricity dances through my veins.
And then — just like before — he pulls away. Abruptly. The air rushes back in between us, cold and jarring.
Within seconds, he’s back behind his desk, face shuttered, voice distant. “That’s all for now.”
I nod, too quickly, and all but flee his office.
He calls my name, but I ignore it, heart pounding so hard I can barely think.
I duck into the supply cupboard, shut the door, and lean back into the darkness, breathing hard.
What the hell just happened?
He must have sensed I was about to… what? Kiss him?
God. I was. I was about to kiss my boss. In his office.
He’d just offered me my dream project and I almost repaid him by throwing myself at him. What is wrong with me? My head’s spinning. He was the one leaning in, talking about other men not being right for me, looking at me like that — but why? Why now?
He’s spent four years pretending I don’t exist outside of my inbox. So why the sudden shift?
I grip my phone, needing an anchor. There’s only one solution to this kind of madness. I pull out my phone and get Natalie’s contact up.
Matilda: See you at Blox @ 7:00pm x
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
If I can’t get Henry Chase out of my head, maybe a night surrounded by noise, lights, and a drink or two will help.
Though, somehow, I already know it won’t.