Chapter 27
Cece
The office feels colder than usual. Or maybe it’s just me, still feeling the heaviness of last night and everything that occurred. Of Luc. Of how tightly I held onto him, like I was afraid the moment—or he—would vanish if I let go.
I don’t know what that moment was exactly.
I’d never felt so deeply needed by someone while also needing them just as much.
It was like something I’d been missing without even knowing it.
Now, under the sterile lights of the office, everything feels back in its place, but also different.
Kind of like I’m performing a version of myself that no longer fits.
“Chloe!”
I turn just as Corinne waves me down, striding toward me in heels that are far too confident for a Tuesday morning.
“I meant to say thank you again for coming last night,” she says, handing me a paper cup with my name scribbled across the side. “You were such a wonderful presence. Daniel’s already singing your praises.”
I give a half-laugh. “Glad I didn’t ruin the team vibe.”
“Actually, quite the opposite,” she says. “And hey, don’t forget—you’re presenting your segment at the all-hands Friday.”
Right. Friday.
I nod, trying not to let the thought pull me too far forward.
At my desk, I don’t even get my laptop powered on before Daniel appears in my peripheral.
“Morning,” he says with a smile that seems stronger than it should.
“Hey,” I reply, keeping my voice light.
“You have a minute?” He nods toward the hallway, and I follow him into one of the smaller conference rooms. He doesn’t sit, just leans casually against the edge of the table.
“I wanted to follow up on what I mentioned at the dinner,” he says. “The collaboration with St. Alden’s . . .”
“The university hospital?” I ask, eyebrows raised.
He nods. “That’s the one. It’s a big step, and I want you on it.”
“Seriously?” I mean, I know he mentioned joining a new project, but I didn’t realize he meant one of our biggest ones.
“You’re one of the operationally sharp people on this floor,” he says. “You think in timelines and downstream impacts, which was clear from your work last month. And frankly, that’s exactly what this project needs.”
It’s a genuine compliment, but the way he says it makes me feel like it was earned.
“I’d love to be part of it,” I say, meaning it.
“Great,” he says with a quick clap of his hands. “I’ll send a calendar invite for later today—just you and me. We’ll go over the initial objectives.”
I manage a small smile, trying to ignore the little knot of nerves forming in my stomach.
As he moves to leave, he pauses for a second.
“You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to working with you on this,” he says. “You bring more to this than you probably realize.”
Then he’s gone.
I stay locked in place for a moment—but not for the reasons I’d expect.
This is an incredible opportunity. But working this closely with Daniel suddenly feels like a risk.
And even though I meant every word I said to Luc last night, I can’t shake the uneasiness about this setup.
Not because I want Daniel. But because I’m not sure what being wanted by him might stir up.
The rest of the day crawls by. I try to throw myself into work—data reviews, reports, even that miserable inbox that’s been glaring at me all morning—but my mind keeps circling back to the meeting invite Daniel sent:
2:30 PM — St. Alden’s Initiative Kickoff (Cece/Daniel). Conf. B3.
I open it more than once, like something new might appear. It doesn’t.
People stop by my desk. I answer questions, provide updates in meetings, and send a few clean bullet-point summaries. Basically, I do my job. I even do it well. But underneath the calm, I feel it. That familiar twinge of something fluctuating. Something waking. Not supernatural.
Just complicated.
I keep thinking about Luc. About the way he looked at me last night. Not just like I was important to him, but like I was the only thing that mattered. And it feels crazy—and overwhelming—just how much my life has changed in such a short period.
When the time for the meeting hits, my nerves are already on overdrive. I head down to the conference room and tap lightly on the glass before stepping in. Daniel’s already there, laptop open, notes spread in organized chaos across the table.
“Right on time,” he says, smiling.
“Trying to impress the boss,” I tease as I slide into the chair beside him.
He lets out a quiet laugh, turning to face me. “Good,” he says, his voice low, eyes locking with mine. “But just to be clear, I’m not your boss.”
An unreadable look crosses his face.
“But you’ll need that energy.”
He lays out the project partnership scope and the support needed. The team is strong, but the timeline’s aggressive.
“I’m giving you full autonomy over these activities,” he says. “You’ll have room to build from the ground up.”
My eyebrows lift. “That’s . . . a lot of trust.”
“You’ve earned it,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Your work before was great. You think differently, and I want that here.”
It’s everything I’ve been aiming for for months. More responsibility. More visibility. A step toward future promotions. I should be pleased.
But sitting beside him, I can’t quite shake the reminder of last night—the awareness of it still hovering there, distracting me in a way I didn’t expect.
Because beneath the charts and measured discussion, there’s still something in the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m focused on my notes. Too intent to be entirely neutral.
“Cece,” he says once we’ve wrapped up the last milestone, “there are a few other projects I’d like to consider you for.
It would be based on your overall performance, of course.
” A pause, then a faint smile. “The work is interesting. I think you’d be well-suited to it.
Would that be something you’d want to explore? ”
“Absolutely. Thanks for thinking of me . . . again.”
He lifts a hand, dismissing it lightly. “Of course. We can talk more another time.”
Then, almost as an afterthought, “So, how’s everything else? You’ve been quieter today.”
“Just tired,” I say quickly. “Didn’t sleep much.”
He studies me for a second longer than necessary, then nods. “I get that. Last night was a lot.”
I glance back down at my notes, but he doesn’t move on right away.
“Also,” he says, more quietly, “I meant what I said earlier. About you having a presence.” He hesitates, choosing his words. “It’s not just about the work.”
I still.
“I just wanted you to know,” he adds, not elaborating, not asking for anything. “In case it came across that way.”
And even without him saying more, I understand. Whatever he’s referring to, it’s no longer entirely professional.
I step inside, the familiar quiet of my apartment settling around me. The low glow of the lamps, the faint scent of something herbal—it’s home. Xan’s voice murmurs softly from the couch, but my attention snaps to Luc, already there, leaning against the counter.
When his eyes find mine, the world narrows. Everything else fades.
“Hey,” I say softly, slipping off my shoes. “What do you want to do for dinner?”
Before either of them answers, Luc moves toward me. His arms circle me with a tenderness that knocks the breath out of my lungs. I lean into him without hesitation, because this—he—is where I belong.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly against my hair.
I pull back just enough to look at him, my brows lifting, the reaction slipping out before I can stop it.
“For making you feel like you needed to apologize about the situation with Daniel,” he says, his voice thick with something like regret. “That wasn’t fair to you at all.”
My heart pounds. I want to tell him it’s okay. That none of it matters. But he keeps going.
“I was jealous,” he admits. There’s something raw in his voice, something unguarded that makes my heart ache. “And I’m not used to feeling that way. That isn’t an excuse.”
He lifts my chin gently, his eyes searching mine like he needs me to hear this.
“But I know you care for me. And I . . .” He hesitates, like the words are too much. Too real. “I care deeply about you. More than I’ve ever been able to say.”
“I care for you very much, too,” I whisper, my voice raw but resolute.
He smiles—a slow, breathtaking smile—and his lips immediately find mine.
It’s not just a kiss. It’s a promise.
Even with everything pulling at me and within me—this thing with Daniel, all the uncertainties—it’s this bond with Luc that holds me steady. Because no matter what comes next, no matter how complicated things get, Luc is my anchor.
And I’m not letting go.