I still remember the first time I met him — those dark green eyes practically burned through me during my interview, like my very existence offended him. The interview lasted all of ten minutes, and I spent nine of those minutes trying not to stare at his mouth. So when I was offered the job, I nearly fainted. The attraction died soon after, though — hard to stay attracted to someone who communicates mainly in grunts.
The elevator chimes, snapping me out of my daydream. I take a deep breath as the doors slide open.
“Matilda, where’s the Chong file?” The words hit me before the doors even open halfway.
Of course.
I wait for the elevator to fully open, hoping I imagined his tone. Nope. There he is — standing right in front of the doors, nose buried in a binder.
“It’s on my desk. I was bringing it with your coffee,” I say sweetly, offering him his cup.
He takes it without even glancing at me. “Bring it to my office,” he mutters, already striding away.
I sigh, slipping off my coat. Then he turns, face twisted like he’s just bitten into a lemon.
“What is this crap?”
Oh, no.
I look at the cup on my desk — the one clearly markedHenry.Great. I must’ve handed him my soy latte. He glares at me, unimpressed.
“Sorry!” I swap the cups quickly, forcing a bright smile. He doesn’t even respond — just shuts his office door in my face.
“Dick,” I mutter under my breath.
I grab the Chong file, take a much-needed gulp of my latte, and head for his office. Henry designed the entire workspace himself — minimalist, glass everywhere, sharp lines. His office isa glass box overlooking London, and unfortunately, my desk is directly opposite. So yes, I get a great view. Of him.
And fine, I’ll admit it — he looksgood. The man was built for suits. Dark hair, green eyes, a jaw that could probably cut steel. But after two weeks of working with him, the halo slipped. Gorgeous packaging, hellish personality.
“Matilda?” His voice snaps me out of my staring. I’ve been standing in his doorway like a lemon.
“Yes — sorry, your file.” I place it on his desk. “Anything else?”
“Yes. I have a meeting tonight with a new client. I’ll need you there to take notes.”
The words sink like a stone in my stomach. I had plans tonight — but saying no isn’t an option.
“This is a big client,” he adds, noticing my face. “We need our A game.”
“Of course,” I manage, feeling my shoulders drop.
“I’ve booked a table at Nook for seven. You can ride with me if you wish.”
Ride with him?My jaw nearly hits the floor. He’s never offered that before.
“Thank you. That would be nice,” I say, trying not to sound shocked as I walk back to my desk.
Guilt twists in my chest. I’ll have to cancel on Rachel — our long-awaited speed dating night. She’ll understand, but it still sucks. My sister has been desperate to go; she claims it’s “research” for her new romance novel. I think she just likes collecting awkward stories.
I send her a quick message:
Matilda: Can’t make it tonight. The devil wants me at a client dinner. I owe you one.
Her reply comes seconds later:
Sis <3: I officially hate your boss. Who does business dinners on a Friday?!
I can’t help the chuckle that slips from my lips, but instantly I feel Henry’s eyes on me through the glass — sharp, burning, like hot pins down my neck. I quickly shove my phone into the drawer.
