Chapter 20 Feline Incursion
Feline Incursion
David’s office door was cracked open, a beam of light slanting out into the hallway like a beacon in the dimly lit corridor.
Lena bent down to peer under a row of decorative ferns that lined the executive wing. “Minx, I swear to god—”
A chirp answered her, followed by a crash that echoed through the stillness. It definitely came from the direction of David’s office.
Lena winced, her stomach dropping. That was glass. Expensive glass, knowing David’s tastes.
“Great,” she pushed the door open to slip inside. The familiar aroma of coffee and ozone—the smell of electronics working overtime—washed over her. “David will think I planted a spy.”
The sight that greeted her nearly made her laugh out loud, despite the mounting dread of what mischief her kitten had caused.
David, on one knee by his server tower, was frozen mid-debug, one hand still reaching toward a tangle of cables.
A glass of water lay tipped over on his desk, its contents spreading across a laptop in a slow-motion disaster.
Remnants of what looked like high-tech glasses lay shattered.
A line of wet paw prints trailed across his tablet like abstract art, and papers were scattered around the floor as if a tiny hurricane had touched down.
In the middle of it all, tail crooked like a question mark, sat Minx. Regal. Innocent. A smug but tiny empress surveying her conquered kingdom.
David’s mouth was taut, but his eyes held something else—not anger, as she expected. It was more like a man trying to solve an equation that kept changing variables.
He didn’t look at her—yet.
“I think your cat just rewrote part of the HVAC control algorithm.” His voice carried that deadpan quality of his brand of humor. He wiped his hand on a microfiber cloth, his motion precise and controlled.
Lena’s lips twitched. “She’s ambitious.” She crossed the room and scooped up Minx, who went boneless in her arms, purring like she hadn’t just committed corporate sabotage. “Probably wanted to see what all the glowing buttons were about.”
“Mission accomplished.” David rose and unfolded his lean frame with the careful movements of someone who’d been hunched too long.
Lena held Minx under one arm like a football and inspected the desk, taking in the full scope of the chaos.
Water dripped steadily onto the carpet (David’s expensive, plush carpet) and the broken glass glittered under the desk lamp like scattered diamonds.
“Was that one of your fancy heat-mapping glasses?”
David glanced over, his expression neutral. “It was… an experimental model.”
“Translation: you’re not mad, just deeply, deeply annoyed.” Lena couldn’t help the grin tugging at her lips.
His mouth twitched, barely, but she caught it. “More like impressed. She bypassed the retinal lock.”
“She’s a woman of many talents.” Lena adjusted Minx in her arms, the cat’s purr vibrating against her ribs.
Minx purred louder, content she’d caused maximum disruption with minimal effort.
Lena set the cat down on the windowsill and turned back to survey the damage.
Her stomach clenched. This was so unprofessional.
Thank god David wasn’t the type to hold grudges.
She knelt down and began brushing glass fragments into her cupped hand, acutely aware of David’s presence a few feet away doing the same.
“I’m sorry. Minx snuck into my tote when I came back after lunch, and I didn’t see her until we got here.
She was locked in my office—or at least, I thought she was locked in my office.
I don’t know how she slipped out.” She glanced up at him through her lashes.
“I think she likes you. She’s not usually this nosy. ”
“She’s yours. I would expect nosy.” The corner of his mouth lifted fractionally.
Lena’s eyes narrowed, though warmth crept up her neck at the way he said yours—like he had her filed under some mental category which included chaotic cats and unexpected disruptions. “Rude.”
“Accurate,” he said, rising to his feet. His shirt was rumpled, sleeves shoved up past his forearms in a ridiculously attractive way. His hair was disheveled from hours of intense concentration, standing up in places where he’d run his fingers through it.
Yet… she couldn’t look away.
Something about seeing him like this—unguarded, messy, in his element—caused butterflies to flutter in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment over her cat’s crimes.
David noticed. His head tilted, those piercing blue eyes locked on her with an intensity that made her pulse skip.
“What?” he asked, his voice softer than before.
Lena swallowed, hyperaware of the intimacy of the moment.
Just the two of them, bathed in the blue-white glow of multiple monitors, the rest of the resort miles away despite being just down the hall.
“You’re different here. In your space.” Her voice came out weaker than she intended, almost vulnerable. “Like all the edges are… softer.”
David’s brow furrowed, genuine curiosity crossing his features. “Edges?”
Lena shifted her weight, still holding the glass shards in one palm.
She gestured vaguely with her other hand.
“You walk around like you’re buffering all the time.
Like your brain’s three steps ahead of the rest of us, and you’re waiting for us to catch up.
” Surprise, then something that looked like recognition flickered in his eyes.
“Like you’re constantly translating the world into a language you can understand, but it costs you something. Energy. Patience. I don’t know.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. Too much. She’d said too much, revealed she’d watched him closer than a professional colleague should.
“And in here?” When he spoke, his voice was careful, like he approached something fragile.
Lena met his eyes, suddenly brave. “In here,” she said, “you’re home. You’re comfortable.”
The words lingered between them, weighty with more meaning than she intended. His throat worked as he swallowed; his fingers clenched against his thigh.
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he turned back to his desk, reaching for a roll of electrical tape and began to repair a cracked cord protector. But his shoulders relaxed slightly, and Lena recognized it for what it was—acceptance. Satisfaction, even, at being seen so clearly.
She watched him work for a moment, mesmerized by the precise movements of his long fingers, the way he handled the delicate components with casual expertise.
The silence between them was different now—charged but not uncomfortable.
Like they’d crossed some invisible threshold without either of them meaning to.
Lena stepped forward, depositing the broken glass carefully in his trash can before moving to where Minx lay on the windowsill. The kitten was curled into a perfect circle, eyes closed, unconcerned with the havoc she’d wreaked. Lena ran a finger over Minx’s fur.
“Do you want help?” Lena asked, turning back to David.
He glanced up, one eyebrow raised. “With correcting your cat’s cybercrimes?”
“With whatever you were doing before the feline incursion.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, uncertain. This felt like a test, like he was considering whether to let her into this space—his real space, the one where he didn’t need to translate himself for other people.
David hesitated. She could see him weighing the pros and cons; thoughts flickered across his features too quickly for her to read.
Silently, he pulled a stool beside his chair—the forgotten one pressed against the wall.
His chair was something else entirely—low, sculpted, built to cradle a man who spent more time in his mind than in the room. It moved when he did, fluid and silent.
She had the absurd thought that it might know him.
“You can hand me the tools,” he gestured toward the organized chaos of his workbench. “Please try not to short-circuit anything.”
Relief and something warmer flooded through her. “No promises,” she said, grinning as she sank onto the stool.
She adjusted the height, spinning the seat until she was level with the desk, the leather cool through her slacks. This close, she could smell his cologne—citrus and cedar, and something else—mixed with coffee and that indefinable electronics odor that seemed to cling to everything in this room.
“Phillips head screwdriver,” David pointed to a drawer. “Second from the top.”
Lena pulled open the drawer, marveling at the obsessive organization inside. Every tool had its place, labeled and sorted by size. “You know,” she selected the proper screwdriver and passed it to him, “most people throw their tools in a box and hope for the best.”
“Most people aren’t trying to maintain a multi-million dollar technology infrastructure with a ninja cat actively working against them.” His lips quirked as he accepted the screwdriver, and their fingers brushed.
The contact was brief—barely a second—but sparked like static electricity, warm and startling.
David’s hand stilled for a fraction of a moment before he turned back to his work, but she saw the tautness in his shoulders, the way his breathing changed. He’d felt it too.
They worked in companionable silence, and Lena relaxed into the rhythm of it.
He’d ask for a tool, she’d hand it to him.
Sometimes he’d explain what he was doing—“This cable routes the backup power through a redundant system”—and sometimes he’d say nothing, his focus absolute and beautiful to watch.
Their knees bumped occasionally beneath the desk as one or the other shifted position. The first time it happened, Lena pulled away, murmured an apology. But David didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge it as anything requiring distance, so she stayed put.
The second time, his knee pressed hers for a beat longer than necessary before he reached for a component on the far side of the tower.
The third time, neither of them moved at all.
Lena’s heart hammered behind her ribs, her entire awareness narrowed to that point of contact—the solid warmth of his leg against hers through two layers of fabric. It was such a small thing, innocent even. Accidental.
Except it didn’t feel accidental anymore.
She sneaked a glimpse of his profile, illuminated by the cool glow of the monitors. His jaw was set in concentration, but there was something else too—a softness around his eyes, a slight curve to his mouth that hadn’t been there when she arrived.
He liked this, having her here. The thought sent warmth cascading through her veins, dangerous and thrilling.
“Cable tie,” David murmured, and Lena fumbled for the small plastic fastener, hyperaware of how her hand shook as she passed it over.
When their fingers touched this time, David’s hand closed around hers—just for a second, only long enough to register—before he took the cable tie and returned to his work.
Lena’s breath caught, her pulse thundering in her ears loud enough for him to hear in the quiet office.
Right now, guests slept. No alarms flashed. No one shouted her name.
“If this keeps up, this calm,” she said, “we might actually get ahead of it.”
David didn’t answer right away—but when he did, there was something careful in his voice.
“Let’s hope.”
She took that as agreement.
Outside the window, the Florida moon hung heavy and bright over the ocean, turning the waves into liquid silver. Inside, surrounded by the hum of electronics and the occasional contented sigh from Minx, something shifted between them.
Something inevitable.
Something that made Lena’s carefully constructed walls feel about as sturdy as a cloud. For the first time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to rebuild them.
For the first time since the storm, the resort felt… stable.