7. Jo
— ? —
Jo
The Hargrove deadline is days away, and Nick’s office has become a second home.
Takeout containers have formed their own ecosystem on the conference table. Coffee cups multiply like rabbits in the night. The cleaning crew has given up on us entirely, just waving through the glass walls as they pass with their vacuums and their judgment.
It shouldn’t feel like this. He’s my boss.
His name is on the building, on my paychecks, on the lease of the chair I sit in.
There’s an employee handbook somewhere with a very clear page about exactly this, and a brother three floors down who would weaponize it in a heartbeat if he caught the faintest hint.
Every time the elevator dings after hours my stomach drops, certain it is Matthias, or HR, or anyone with the power to turn whatever is happening in this office into a scandal with my name at the center of it.
And still I find reasons to stay late. Still I angle my chair so our knees almost touch beneath the table.
Still it runs through me like a live current every time he leans over my shoulder to point at a drawing, his breath at my ear, close enough that turning my head two inches would change everything.
Wanting him has stopped being the dangerous part.
The dangerous part is how easy it would be, how much it would feel like landing instead of falling.
That’s what frightens me. Knowing better has stopped being enough to make me stop.
The rest of the staff learned days ago to leave us alone. Questions get answered through email. Problems get solved through text. The building empties out around us every night, and somehow, impossibly, it feels less like work and more like something else entirely.
The threatening notes have stopped. Maybe whoever was sending them got bored. Maybe they’re waiting for a better opportunity. Or maybe, and this thought feels dangerous to even consider, Nick’s constant presence has made them back off, his protection extending beyond words into something tangible.
It doesn’t matter. What matters is that for three days, the only thing occupying my brain has been the Hargrove project and the man working on it beside me.
It’s torture. The sweetest kind of torture.
Every accidental brush of hands sends electricity arcing up my arm and straight into my chest. Every time he leans close to examine my drawings, his scent fills my senses, clean and sharp and distinctly him, something expensive underneath but not drowning in it.
Every time he laughs at something I say, my heart does something stupid and acrobatic that probably isn’t medically advisable.
“You’re staring.”
The observation comes without him looking up from his screen, fingers still moving across the keyboard, and heat floods my cheeks immediately.
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re staring.”
“Maybe I’m thinking about you.”
The words slip out before the filter between brain and mouth can engage. Nick’s fingers pause on the keyboard. He looks up, and his eyes are dark, intense, and the realization of what just came out of my mouth hits with the force of a freight train.
“I mean, the project. I’m thinking about the project. And how you, how your ideas for the facade...”
“Jo.”
The sound of my name in his voice stops the babbling cold. He’s pushing back from the desk now, standing, closing the space until I have to tip my head back to keep his eyes.
“You’re allowed to think about me.”
“Nick...”
“I think about you.” One step closer. The desk is still between us, but it feels like nothing. “All the time. More than I should.”
“We shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“Probably not.” He moves around the corner of the desk, closing the distance inch by inch. “Does that mean you want me to stop?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a yes either.”
“Isn’t it?”
Another step. Then another. The desk is behind him now, and there’s nothing between us but air and tension and all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
“What are you doing?” The whisper barely makes it past my lips.
“I don’t know.” His voice is just as quiet, rough at the edges. “Coming closer to you, I think.”
“That seems like a bad idea.”
“The worst.” Another step. “Tell me to stop.”
“I should.”
“But you’re not.”
“No.” The admission feels like jumping off a cliff. “I’m not.”
He’s close now. Close enough that the warmth of his body reaches across the remaining distance. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the slight part of his lips, the way his chest rises and falls with carefully controlled breaths.
“You’re beautiful.” The words come out a confession, something he’s been holding back for weeks. “You know that, right? Every time you walk into a room, I forget what I was thinking about.”
“Nick...”
“Every time you laugh, I want to be the reason. Every time you’re upset, I want to fix it. Every time my brother looks at you wrong, I want to put him through a wall.”
“That’s... that’s a lot.”
“Too much?”
“No.” The honesty surprises even me. “Not enough.”
Something flares in his eyes. His hand lifts, hovers near my face without quite touching, and the anticipation of contact makes my skin burn.
“I’ve been trying to be professional.” His voice drops lower, barely above a breath. “I’ve been trying to keep my distance. But you make it impossible, Jo. You make everything impossible.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“I know. That’s what makes it worse.” His fingertips finally make contact, brushing along my jaw so lightly it might be imagined. “If you were trying, I could resist. But you’re just... you. And I can’t stop wanting you.”
“What do you want?”
The question comes out breathless, reckless, nothing like the careful woman who walked into this office three weeks ago determined to keep her head down and her heart protected.
“Everything.” The word is a whisper against my skin. “I want everything. But I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”
“And if I’m not willing to give anything?”
“Then I’ll back off. I’ll be your boss and nothing else. I’ll pretend this conversation never happened.” His thumb traces my cheekbone, feather-light. “Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want, Jo?”
The office is silent except for the hum of computers and the city far below. The world outside these windows might as well not exist. There’s only this room, this moment, this man looking at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life.
“I want you to stop asking me questions I don’t know how to answer.”
“Okay.” A ghost of a smile. “What about questions you do know how to answer?”
“Like what?”
“Like...” He leans closer, his breath warm against my temple. “Do you think about me when you’re not here?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think about this? About us? About what it might be like if we weren’t so careful?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to kiss you right now?”
The word catches in my throat. Every rational part of my brain is screaming, he’s your boss, he’s Matthias’s brother, this can only end in disaster, but the rest of me, the part that’s been lonely for seven years, the part that’s been so careful and so guarded and so goddamn tired of being both, that part has a different answer.
“Yes.”
His forehead drops to mine. Their noses brush. His hand cups my cheek fully now, warm and steady, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.
“We can’t,” he whispers, even as he moves closer.
“I know.”
“You’re my employee.”
“I know.”
“And my brother...”
“I don’t care about your brother.” The words echo his own from moments ago, and his expression cracks open. Surprise, maybe, or recognition. “I care about this. I care about you. And I’m so tired of being careful, Nick. I’m so tired of being scared.”
“You don’t have to be scared. Not with me. Never with me.”
“Then stop talking.”
His lips are a breath away from mine when the door bangs open.
We break apart so fast the world blurs. One second we’re tangled in each other’s gravity, the next we’re three feet apart, breathing hard, trying to look like nothing happened.
Matthias is standing in the doorway, and his expression could curdle milk.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Nick’s voice goes cold in a way that sends shivers down my spine, sharp enough to cut glass. “What do you want, Matthias?”
“Dad’s here. Emergency family meeting.” Those cold eyes slide to me, and the smile that curves his lips is pure poison. “You’re not invited, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call her that.”
“Protective, aren’t we?” Matthias’s smirk widens, enjoying this, feeding on the tension in the room, making a meal of it. “Careful, brother. You know what happens when you play with my damaged goods.”
Nick moves so fast the motion barely registers.
One second he’s across the room, the next he has Matthias pinned against the doorframe, forearm pressed across his throat. The thud of impact echoes through the empty office, and for a moment, nobody breathes.
“Don’t.” Nick’s voice is quiet, controlled, and somehow more terrifying for it. “Ever talk about her like that again.”
Matthias’s smirk falters. For the first time since walking in on him seven years ago, since that day in the apartment that destroyed everything, fear flickers across his face. Real fear. The kind that comes from realizing you’ve pushed someone past their limit.
“Nick...” The word comes out strangled.
“Go home, Jo.” He doesn’t look away from his brother. “I’ll call you later.”
“But...”
“Please.”
The please does it. The same word that got me into his car in the parking garage, the same word that keeps breaking through defenses that turn out to be made of paper.
Gathering things takes longer than it should with shaking hands.
The laptop, the notebooks, the phone that’s been buzzing with ignored messages from Grace.
Nick still has Matthias pinned when the path to the door opens up, and neither brother looks over, locked in some silent battle of wills that predates my existence in their lives.
The elevator takes forever to arrive. Waiting for it, alone in the hallway, the reality of what almost happened comes crashing back. Almost kissed my boss. Almost crossed a line that can never be uncrossed. Almost let myself want something that could destroy everything I’ve built.
The phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
You should have stayed away. Now it’s too late.
The elevator dings. The doors slide open. And the fear that’s been lurking in the background for weeks comes rushing back, cold and sharp and impossible to ignore.