Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Solenn
The office had a different kind of quiet at night.
During the day, it was filled with controlled chaos—constant phone calls, the hum of printers, hurried footsteps, and the steady rhythm of fingers flying across keyboards.
But now, with most of the employees gone, that energy had vanished, leaving behind a charged silence that made every sound feel heavier, every breath more noticeable.
And in this quiet, it was just the two of us.
Maverick sat at his desk, completely still, his eyes trained on the laptop screen in front of him, though I doubted he was reading whatever was there.
His tie was loosened, the first two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, and his sleeves rolled up just past his forearms, exposing strong, tensed muscles.
The way he carried himself, the way his fingers occasionally tapped against the desk, the way his jaw flexed when I moved just slightly in my chair—it all told me exactly what he refused to say.
He was unraveling.
And I wanted to see just how far I could push him.
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms above my head, allowing my blouse to pull just enough for him to notice. "You know, for someone who prides himself on efficiency, you sure do keep me here late a lot."
His eyes flicked up, sharp and unreadable, before dropping back to his screen. "You’re here by choice, Solenn."
I smirked, tilting my head. "Am I?"
His fingers stilled over the keyboard. It was small, almost imperceptible, but I caught it. The way his shoulders went rigid, the way his breathing slowed, controlled as if forcing himself not to react.
I stood up slowly, gathering a few stray documents from my desk, and walking toward him. "I could leave, you know," I mused, placing the papers down in front of him. "You could have sent me home hours ago. But you didn’t."
He leaned back in his chair, his dark gaze scanning me as if trying to figure out my angle. "You had work to finish."
I rested my hands on the edge of his desk, lowering my voice just slightly. "Right. Work."
The tension between us tightened, stretching so thin it felt like the smallest movement would snap it in half.
Maverick exhaled slowly, dragging his hand through his hair, his patience wearing dangerously thin. "Go home, Solenn."
I didn’t move. "Tell me something, Maverick," I said, tilting my head. "What exactly are we doing here?"
His expression didn’t change, but the air around him did.
"You think this is a game?" he asked, voice low, steady.
I smiled. "Isn’t it?"
His jaw ticked, and I knew I had hit something—a nerve, a crack in that perfect control of his.
I took a slow step around his desk, my heels clicking softly against the floor, until I was standing beside him.
Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him, close enough that I could see the tension in his shoulders, in his hands gripping the arms of his chair.
"This is wrong," he murmured.
I took another step forward. "Then stop."
Silence.
A slow inhale.
A slow exhale.
And then—his hands moved.
It wasn’t hurried, wasn’t frantic. It was slow, deliberate, his fingers brushing over my waist, the heat of his touch sinking into my skin through the thin fabric of my blouse.
My breath caught, my fingers gripping the edge of his desk to keep myself grounded, to keep myself from stepping even closer.
His grip tightened.
My pulse skipped.
"Maverick," I whispered, but it wasn’t a protest. It wasn’t anything but a breath, a name caught between my lips.
He leaned in, his lips brushing just beneath my ear, his breath warm, teasing, devastatingly controlled.
"You have no idea what you’re asking for, Solenn," he murmured.
I closed my eyes briefly, swallowing hard, because I could feel everything. The heat of his touch, the restrained strength in the way his fingers curled slightly against my waist, the way his body tensed as if every instinct was screaming at him to pull me closer, to take, to break.
But he didn’t.
He stayed there.
Just breathing me in.
A moment so heavy, so impossibly dangerous, it made my entire body burn.
But then—he let go.
The absence of his touch was instant, and it left me reeling.
Maverick leaned back, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. His jaw was clenched, his breathing uneven, his entire body locked down like he was restraining himself from something far worse than crossing a professional line.
I let out a shaky breath, trying to steady my pulse, trying to remind myself that I was the one who started this, and yet I was the one coming undone.
His voice was rough when he finally spoke. "Go home, Solenn."
I looked at him, at the way his chest rose and fell, at the way his fingers still curled slightly like he was fighting the last remnants of his self-control.
I should have said something. I should have pushed one last time, should have leaned down, pressed my lips to his throat, and ended this dangerous game once and for all.
But I didn’t.
Because for once, I wanted him to be the one who broke first.
So I straightened, smoothing my hands down my blouse, forcing a smirk onto my lips even though I was anything but steady.
"Goodnight, Mr. Spencer," I said lightly, turning toward the door.
I didn’t look back.
I didn’t need to.
Because I already knew.
This wasn’t over.