Chapter 38
Thirty Eight
Matilda
Friday’s here, and Henry still hasn’t told me where we’re going. I’ve been trying to guess all week, but he won’t budge an inch — just keeps saying it’s a surprise, that frustrating smirk plastered across his face.
We’ve been hiding whatever this is for three weeks now — three weeks of sneaking glances, secret smiles, and stolen moments that feel like they could burn through walls.
Add to that the weeks before where we both pretended not to feel what was clearly happening, and now keeping quiet about the fact that I’m going away for the weekend with him feels like actual torture.
I want to stand on my desk and scream, Henry Chase is mine and I am his! But then again… am I? I mean, surely he wouldn’t be whisking me away for a weekend escape if this was just about sex. Right?
Next week is my big presentation for the residential role and my first-ever client meeting with Mrs Wright — two career-defining moments — and honestly, I should be a wreck about it. But instead, I’m choosing to listen to Henry and just let go this weekend. To actually relax for once.
I can’t remember the last time I went away anywhere with a man — let alone one who makes me feel like this.
Something about it feels different, like we’re on the edge of something real.
The scary kind of real. In all the years I’ve known Henry, I’ve never seen him in a relationship.
Not even close. He’s the king of no-strings-attached, and I knew that before I ever crossed that line.
But still… I can’t shake the hope that this time, maybe, it’s more.
When I arrive at the office, Henry’s already at his desk. He doesn’t look up, but I see it — that small, secret smile that tugs at his mouth when he knows I’ve walked in. My chest tightens.
“Off somewhere nice?”
I jump at the voice behind me. Thomas is standing there, eyes flicking down to the large travel bag by my chair, that smug little grin on his face.
“Oh! Uh, no — just heading to my parents’ for the weekend,” I lie quickly, shoving the bag under my desk. “Figured I’d go straight after work.”
“Ah,” he says, clearly unconvinced but amused. “Nice. Family time and all that.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, desperate to redirect the conversation as I take off my coat and set down the coffees I picked up — one for me, one for Henry.
We didn’t drive in together today because he had an early meeting, which, of course, I completely forgot about when I left the house…
meaning I had to lug my weekend bag on the train. Smooth, Green.
“Michael asked me to drop off these files to Henry before heading to a client site,” Thomas explains, holding up a thick folder. “Is he free now, or shall I come back later?”
“I’ll check.”
I walk toward Henry’s glass office, catching his expression through the door — the soft smile he had moments ago has morphed into a sharp frown. A very Henry Chase kind of frown.
“Morning, Mr Chase,” I say as I step in, deliberately teasing.
His glare could cut glass. It’s half annoyance, half something much more dangerous.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the grin from forming.
I used to call him Mr Chase all the time when I first started, until he told me to stop because it made him “sound ancient.” I started using it again recently — partly to wind him up, partly because, well…
he gets that look in his eyes when I do.
“Why is he here?” he asks, voice clipped.
“Oh, good morning to you too,” I say, playing innocent. “Thank you for my coffee. Lovely to see you as always.”
“Matilda,” he warns.
“Fine,” he sighs. “Good morning. Thank you for my coffee. Now, why is he here?”
“He’s got some files from Michael. Can I send him in?”
Henry leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly. “If you must.”
“Why do you dislike him so much?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“You really have to ask?” His tone is incredulous, like I’ve just asked if the sky’s blue.
“Yes, I do. He’s always been polite to me. Friendly even.”
“He asked you out.”
I blink. “What?”
“He asked you out. You said yes. He stares at you every time you walk into a room. He finds excuses to talk to you.” Henry’s jaw tenses. “I don’t share, Matilda. I’m selfish with what’s mine.”
That one word — mine — sends a spark straight down my spine.
“Mine?” I echo softly, daring him to repeat it.
He doesn’t. Instead, he waves Thomas in, dismissing me with a look that’s equal parts lust and frustration.
I walk back to my desk, hot, flustered, and trying not to smile like a lunatic. My phone pings with a new email.
From: henrychase@
To: matildagreen@
Subject: Mine.
Yes, Matilda. You are mine.
And for the next seventy-two hours, I’m going to show you exactly how much you belong to me.
I stare at the screen, my heart doing somersaults.
Well… fuck.