Chapter 36
Thirty Six
Matilda
Waking up with Henry pressed against my back feels like a kind of heaven I didn’t know existed.
His arm is wrapped around my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck, and for a few blissful seconds I forget about everything — the interview, the office, the fact that we’re skating a fine line between passion and disaster.
The morning light seeps through the bottom of the curtains, drawing me back to reality. I reach for my phone.
6:15 a.m.
I groan, and Henry stirs behind me.
“What time is it?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
“Too early,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep.”
He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “There’s also time for something else that’s better than sleep.”
I laugh — and, two hours later, I’m standing in line at the coffee shop, hair freshly washed, cheeks still faintly pink from something better than sleep.
Henry dropped me off at the café before heading to the office, stealing one last breathtaking kiss in the car. My world has spun completely upside down, and I’ve never felt so giddy about it.
“Morning, Matilda! The usual?” Luke calls from behind the counter, all smiles.
“Yes please,” I reply. Luke’s been here for a few months now. I was his first customer on his first day, and somehow that turned into a friendly morning routine.
“What about a treat? Feeling adventurous?” he grins, gesturing to the display of golden pastries.
“Hmm…” I lean forward, scanning the counter. “What would you recommend?”
“Chocolate palmiers. Just baked them this morning.” His eyes light up with pride.
“Then I’ll take two.” I smile — and my stomach growls in agreement. Apparently, early-morning activities build quite the appetite.
“Matilda!”
I freeze at the sound of my name and turn to see Thomas standing in the queue, a blonde woman beside him.
“Oh, hey, Thomas,” I say, forcing a smile. My cheeks instantly heat. Please don’t let him be able to tell. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” he says easily. “I hear you’re going for the residential position with Sharon — that’s great. Heard anything yet?”
My stomach flips. How the hell does he know?
“Yes, actually. I made it to the final round,” I say cautiously. “The interview’s next week. It’s between me and someone else. How did you hear about it?”
“Natalie mentioned it,” he says, shrugging. “Said she put your name forward. The other candidate’s supposed to be pretty good, from what I hear.”
My pulse stumbles. “Oh?”
“Matilda, your order!” Luke calls.
“Thanks, Luke. See you tomorrow!” I say quickly, taking the drinks and pastries — anything to break the tension.
When I turn back, Thomas is collecting his own coffee.
“So,” I ask, trying to sound casual, “how do you know who the other candidate is?”
He shrugs again, that irritatingly smug grin on his face. “You know how this business is. People talk. Nothing stays quiet for long.”
Something in his tone makes my stomach clench. Is he hinting at the interview — or something else? Does he know?
“Right… yeah,” I say, forcing a laugh that comes out strangled.
He tilts his head. “Want to walk back together?”
The last thing I want is company, but I can’t exactly say no without looking suspicious. “Sure,” I manage.
We walk back to the office making small talk, but my earlier good mood has evaporated.
Every word Thomas says feels loaded, like he’s testing me, and the mention of “the other guy” gnaws at my confidence.
According to Thomas, he’s got years of experience designing sustainable residential projects across London.
Environmentally conscious, cost-effective — exactly the kind of architect Henry always praises.
Perfect.
By the time we reach the building, my chest feels tight with anxiety.
“So,” Thomas says suddenly, “what’s going on with Henry lately?”
The mention of his name snaps me out of my spiral. “What do you mean?” I ask — maybe too defensively.
“I don’t know,” he says with a laugh. “He’s… different. Happier. More approachable. Everyone’s noticed it. I figured you’d know why.”
My pulse spikes. “Why would I know?”
He looks at me like I’ve just confessed something. “Because you spend all day together. I figured you’d know if he was… seeing someone.”
I choke mid-sip, hot coffee spluttering everywhere. Thomas jumps back, startled.
“Jesus, Matilda — you okay?”
I cough, patting my chest. “Wrong hole.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, brow raised. “I just mean, people don’t usually go from brooding workaholic to actual human being unless they’re having really good sex.”
“Oh,” I manage weakly. “Right. Of course.”
Henry’s already in a client meeting by the time I get back, which gives me the perfect excuse to bury myself in work. I throw myself into researching my competition, and the more I read, the worse I feel. The guy’s talented. Experienced. Impressive.
And I’m… me.
There’s only one solution — my presentation has to be flawless. Every line, every drawing, every word. Which means absolutely no distractions.
No Henry.
Not for the next nine days.
By mid-afternoon, I’ve booked a conference room on the ninth floor, away from everyone. Away from him. I lose myself in design sketches, caffeine, and the hum of my laptop.
Two emails from Henry come through — both asking where I am. I ignore them.
Then the door creaks open, and without even looking up, I know it’s him. His presence fills the space before he even speaks.
“There you are,” he says, voice gentle. “I’ve been looking for you.”
I keep my eyes on the blueprint in front of me. “Sorry. I wanted to work somewhere I wouldn’t get distracted.”
There’s a pause — a knowing one. “How long have you been at this?” he asks, concern edging into his tone.
“I don’t know. A few hours, maybe? I’m stuck on the structure for the bathroom layout. It’s not working.” My words spill out in a rapid jumble.
He comes closer, resting a hand on mine. “Matilda… how many coffees have you had?”
“Um. Six?”
“Right. That’s it.” His voice softens but holds authority. “You’re done for today. Go home, shower, eat something. I’ll help you when I come over.”
“No!” I blurt, sharper than intended. His expression falters, and guilt crashes over me. “Sorry — I didn’t mean that. I just… need to focus. And you’re a bit of a distraction.”
He lets out a breath, taking a small step back. “Right. Well, I still need to approve the project, so I’ll have to be involved at some point.”
“Of course,” I say quickly. “I just got carried away. I’ll send you the updates tomorrow.”
He studies me for a moment, that unreadable look in his eyes. Then he nods. “Okay. But I’m saying this as your boss now — go home. Eat. Rest. You won’t do your best work like this.”
He hesitates, then adds quietly, “I’ll stay at mine tonight. Give you space to work.”
The words land heavier than I expect.
“That… sounds perfect,” I manage, forcing a smile.
He gives me one last look — half proud, half hurt — before heading for the door.
And when he’s gone, I realise just how much space he fills.