Jesus, get a grip, Henry.
I quickly look away just as she knocks on my door.
“I’m heading home—unless you need anything else?”
I manage a neutral tone. “No, all good here. Thank you. Have a nice evening.”
She gives me a small, sweet smile, one that lingers longer than it should. “You too.”
I fix my eyes on the file in front of me, pretending to read, even though the words blur. I don’t look up until I hear the elevator doors close and know she’s gone. Only then do I realise I’ve been holding my breath. The exhale leaves me heavy, deflated.
I try to get back to work, but after five minutes of shuffling papers and opening meaningless emails, I give up. I shut down my computer, grab my jacket, and head out.
As I pass her desk, something makes me pause.
Her workspace is tidy but warm—soft touches everywhere. There’s a framed photo of her and a woman who’s clearly her sister. Something dark and possessive twists inside me when I realise it’s not a boyfriend. They look alike—the same smile, the same eyes—but her sister’s hair is a wild mess of dark curls, whereas Matilda’s are soft, golden, neat.
Then I notice her computer mouse. It’s not company issue—there’s a little blue gem in the middle and faint engraved writing around it. I lean closer.
Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.
Of course it does.
In two minutes of snooping, I’ve learned more about her than I have in four years. She has a sister, she’s clearly a Star Wars nerd, and she’s apparently into Marvel too. Matilda Green—geek, optimist, and apparently the kind of woman who’s been hiding right under my nose all this time.
And damn it, I find that incredibly hot.
By the time I get home, my head’s a mess.
“Hey, can you hear me alright?” I say, settling deeper into the sofa. Whiskey in hand. Pop-Tart balanced on my knee.
“Loud and clear,” Jas’s voice crackles through the laptop. “And I can hear you slurping something. What’s your poison tonight?”
I take a sip. “1926 Macallan. My personal favourite.”
There’s a beat of silence. “TheMacallan? Jesus, Henry, what the hell happened?”
I huff a laugh, half amused, half tired. “I’m fine.”
Jas doesn’t answer, just lets the ice clink in my glass do the talking.
“Okay, fine,” I admit, “maybe notfine. I might’ve developed… weird feelings for my assistant. And today I may have promoted her, so now we’re working closely together, and I’m starting to realise that might’ve been a catastrophic decision. I can practically see the HR complaint already.”
There’s silence—and then Jas bursts out laughing. Proper, unrestrained laughter that lasts far too long.
“Jesus Christ, Henry! Are youthatstupid?”
My annoyance ticks up a notch. “I’m aware of how bad it sounds, thank you. And for the record, I haven’tcrossedany lines. I may have just… blurred them slightly.”
“Uh-huh. She’s not married, is she?”
“God, no.” I answer too quickly. Too defensive.
“Then relax. Dating your assistant isn’t illegal. I’m just stunned it’s taken you this long to notice she’s gorgeous. Four years, Henry. Four. Years.”
I want to argue, but she’s right. My mouth opens, then closes again.
“Okay, ‘feelings’ is a bit of an overstatement,” I mutter. “It’s not like I’ve suddenly realised she’s beautiful. I always knew that. I just… didn’tseeher properly before. She was the hot assistant who smiled too much and wore questionable shades of pink.” I pause. “Wait—how do you know she’s gorgeous?”
