Chapter 8
Freya POV:
Harvey might have figured something out.
The second I walked into the office, Emily told me he’d pulled her aside for a "chat."
Thank God she was sharp enough to keep her mouth shut about the accident.
We were supposed to be strangers who just happened to meet in a hospital ward.
She’d helped me out of the goodness of her heart.
And once I’d recovered, she was the one who told me about the sales opening at her firm.
I’d be grateful to her for the rest of my life.
"Freya, the Director definitely has a thing for you."
Her smile was laced with mischief.
My fingers stiffened against my keyboard.
I gave her a shove, pushing her back toward her own cubicle.
"Not a chance. He locked me in his office yesterday to rewrite a proposal—you all saw that."
"I guess..."
She looked thoughtful for a second.
"But then why was he digging for info like that?"
The awkwardness was becoming unbearable.
I shoved her head back behind the partition again.
"He just wants me to... hit my targets. Go back to work, Emily."
After what happened last night, I did my best to stay invisible.
I packed my schedule with field visits or stayed glued to my desk, moving as little as possible.
But every time I looked up, I could see a silhouette behind the blinds of the glass partition.
I wasn't sure if he was watching me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he was.
That frantic energy lasted for a few days.
Fortunately, he didn't come looking for me.
----
Then today, the gray clouds hung low and heavy outside.
Before long, fat droplets of rain began to fall, blurring the world into a gray haze.
I hated rainy days.
The dull ache in my thigh was already starting to flare up.
The surgical steel implanted in my bone meant I couldn't sit or stand for too long, and rainy days were the worst.
It was a cocktail of soreness, numbness, and sharp stabs of pain.
On days like this, I always called an Uber.
I didn't trust my right leg enough to control a car.
I was supposed to have the hardware removed six months ago, but I was still holding out for that bonus check.
My mood tanked at the thought.
I was so young, yet my body felt like a machine on the verge of being scrapped.
I went to the breakroom and poured a cup of coffee. I took a small sip, staring blankly at the rain.
"Freya."
The familiar voice made my hand jerk, nearly slopping coffee over the rim.
I turned around as Harvey strode in.
When he saw me, a flicker of something—relief? joy?—flashed in his eyes before his expression smoothed into a calm mask.
I gripped the mug with both hands and gave him a professional nod.
"I’m heading out to a client meeting. You’re coming with me."
My heart sank. I glanced out the window.
"Today?"
"Now."
I froze, taking a subconscious gulp of coffee.
It tasted strange today.
Bitter.
"Can we do it another day?" I asked.
He was silent for two beats.
"Why?"
"It’s raining—"
The words were barely out of my mouth before my voice went cold.
His eyebrows arched slightly.
I quickly recovered.
"Never mind. It’s nothing."
Harvey stared at me, searching my face for a crack in the armor.
I hid half my face behind the mug, acting as if I were perfectly composed.
After a long moment, he finally spoke.
"I don’t always have the time to take you on these runs. Go get ready."
----
Down in the parking garage, my heart did a violent somersault the moment I saw his car.
A Mercedes G-Wagon.
All hard lines and matte black—perfect for his clinical, aggressive energy.
Back at the airport, the curb must have been higher because I hadn't realized how tall the thing was.
But now, standing next to it, I hesitated.
I wasn't sure my leg could handle the climb.
I stood by the passenger door, hesitating, my mind racing for an excuse.
He pulled the door open and extended his arm to me.
“Is your leg still giving you trouble?”
I took a half-step back, avoiding the physical contact.
But the reality of the G-Wagon’s height was undeniable.
I needed leverage.
I reached out and lightly rested my hand on his forearm.
“The scabs are healing… I’m fine.”
In this humidity, my leg felt like lead.
I was caught in that awkward, mid-climb limbo when I felt a sudden, steady warmth against my waist.
My whole body went rigid, the protest dying in my throat before it could reach my lips.
He had already gripped my waist and hoisted me into the seat.
“Careful,” he muttered.
The contact was brief, but it left me breathless.
“Thanks,” I whispered, scurrying deep into the leather interior, forbidding myself from leaning into that lingering heat.
I turned my gaze to the window, my heart hammering painfully against my ribs.
----
Walking into the IRM Machinery warehouse was a sensory assault.
Jackson, the floor manager, offered a string of “sorrys” and “watch your steps” as he led the way.
The place was a disaster zone:
Outdated layout, crumbling infrastructure, and premium inventory tossed onto dusty shelves or left rotting on the floor.
Forklifts swerved through dim corridors with zero regard for pedestrian lanes.
It was a safety minefield.
“Jackson, seriously,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. “You really need to look at our automated solutions.”
A forklift roared past us, far too close for comfort.
Harvey’s hand shot out, catching my shoulder and pulling me toward him.
Jackson let out a booming laugh.
“I hear you, Freya, but I’ve got a thousand fires to put out. For now, the chaos works.” Harvey jumped in then. He didn't push the sales pitch or trash the current setup; instead, he started talking shop about the specific parts on their shelves.
Heaven knows how he does it, but within minutes, he had Jackson doubled over in laughter.
My stilettos were a massive mistake for this terrain. I picked my way through the clutter, careful not to trip over a stray pallet.
Harvey stayed within arm’s reach the entire time, seemingly by accident, but always there.
His warmth and that faint, familiar scent were the only things grounding me in this wreck of a building.
Under Harvey’s lead, the meeting was surgical.
We reached a preliminary agreement in record time.
Jackson went to see us out, but a frantic employee flagged him down.
I waved him off and started walking slowly toward the exit with Harvey, snapping reference photos as I went.
“Let’s go,” Harvey urged, his voice tight. “You’ve got enough for the proposal.”
I didn't stop.
“I’ve never seen a warehouse this ancient. It’s a literal dinosaur.”
I drifted a few steps deeper into the shadows, trying to capture the sheer absurdity of one particularly messy corner.
Harvey looked back at me, shaking his head with a sigh of forced patience.
“I almost hate to see them upgrade,” I joked, finally feeling a spark of fun in the outing. “The 'Dinosaur Era' has a certain charm.”
Harvey gave me a look that suggested I’d lost my mind.
“Back to the car. Now.”
“Just a few more—”
The words died in my throat as a massive shadow accompanied by a rush of cold air roared toward me.
I didn't even have time to turn around before my heart simply stopped.
This is it.
“Watch out—!”
A violent force slammed into me, yanking me sideways.
In that split second, the screech of metal, the bone-shaking impact, and a piercing, white-hot pain flooded my mind.
Past and present collided.
A forklift thundered through the spot where I’d been standing a millisecond before, kicking up a cloud of grit and acrid diesel exhaust.
“Freya!”
My vision flickered to black.
I felt like I was falling into an abyss, the floor vanishing beneath me.
I heard him screaming my name, the sound distant and distorted.
A single thought clawed through the panic:
I’m not dead.
At least, not yet.
But the old agony—the suffocating despair of the accident—coiled around me like a rusted chain, tightening until I was shaking from head to toe.
----
“Freya, look at me!
“Do you hear me?
“Answer me!”
He was cupping my face in his hands, his voice a frantic roar.
I lunged for him, my fingers knotting into the fabric of his shirt.
Even breathing felt like a feat I could no longer master.
Then, the ground vanished.
Harvey swept me up into his arms.
He was moving.
He was running.
He hauled me toward the car and shoved me into the back seat.
He stayed there, hovering over me, his hands still framing my face.
“Freya, look at me.
“Deep breaths.
“Focus on me.”
His voice was vibrating, a tremor running through every word.
I heard him, but I couldn't obey.
Once again, I had lost command over my own body.
Terrified, he pressed a heavy, desperate kiss to my forehead before crushing me against his chest.
“Baby, don’t do this to me. Just breathe. Please...”
He pressed his face against mine, and I felt a sudden dampness against my skin.
I wasn't crying. I didn't even have the strength for tears.
It was... his...
The old memories were a relentless tide, battering against my brain.
But this time was different.
This time, I could hear his voice cutting through the noise.
It was a lifeline—the only thing keeping me from being swept away.
I clung to his shirt, my fingers white-knuckled, as if letting go meant falling forever.
It took what felt like an eternity for my vision to sharpen.
My fingers twitched.
The roar of my heartbeat finally began to recede into a dull hum.
I let out a long, shuddering breath, though my lungs were still trembling.
I tightened my grip, my fingers meeting the warmth of his chest.
It was solid.
It was safe.
He felt me move and pulled me even closer, his grip almost bruising.
“You’re back. You’re with me, aren’t you, Freya?”
I could barely breathe under the weight of him.
I tried to find the strength to push him away, to reclaim some space, but my muscles refused to cooperate.
I gave up.
“Harvey,” I whispered, my voice so thin it was barely a ghost of a sound.
“I’m not dead, right?”
He recoiled as if I’d struck him, his hands flying back to my face.
He inspected me with a frantic, surgical intensity, as if I were a piece of delicate glass that had just taken a lethal blow.
“You’re not...”
His voice broke, jagged and raw.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I’d never heard him sound like that—completely hoarse, stripped of all his corporate armor.
I managed a weak, hollow smile.
“I already died once.
“You just weren’t there to see it.”
He pressed his cheek against mine, his words a broken murmur.
“Never again. I swear, never again.”
In that moment, a sudden, inexplicable warmth flickered in my chest.
My fingertips felt alive again.
I gripped him tighter, a few stray tears finally escaping to trace the line of my jaw.
“You better mean that.”
“I do. I swear to god, I do.”
His voice was a gravelly rasp as he leaned in, his lips finding mine.
My spine went rigid—every instinct screamed at me to shove him away, to protect the wall I’d built.
But my body betrayed me.
I didn't push.
I leaned in.
The kiss started as a warm, tentative plea before shifting into something fierce and predatory.
It was a desperate attempt to bridge a two-year chasm in a single breath.
I trembled in his arms, unable to tell if it was the lingering shock of the accident or the terrifying, beautiful agony of being found.