“Matilda?”
My name cuts through my daydream, jolting me back to earth. It’s not the barista calling — the voice is behind me. I turn,and my stomach plummets. Sharon — head of residentials — stands there, smiling politely.
“Sharon! Good morning.” My voice is too high. “Getting coffee?”
Smooth, Matilda. Really smooth.
“I thought that was you.” She steps forward in the queue. “Yes, I normally go to Black Beans, but it’s closed today. Is the coffee good here?”
“Yes! Well— Henry likes it, so…”
Sharon laughs lightly. “If Henry likes it, it must be good.” She pauses. “Speaking of Henry, I saw your application for the residential team. Does he know you’re applying?”
I can feel my heart pounding. She hasn’t said who’s through to interviews yet, but I can hardly breathe waiting for her next words.
“Yes, I told him. He’s very supportive — not that that should sway anything, of course.” My words tumble out in one long, nervous rush.
“Of course,” she says with a knowing smile. “Well, I was actually going to email you later today to arrange an interview. Do you have any availability this week?”
Before I can answer, the barista calls my name. “Matilda!” Two coffees and a paper bag of pastries slide onto the counter like a lifeline.
“Yes, of course,” I stammer, grabbing them quickly. “I’ll check my calendar when I get in and send you what I have.”
“Perfect. Speak soon,” Sharon says pleasantly.
I bolt before she can say anything else, juggling coffee cups and pastries all the way to the office.
By the time I step out of the lift, my pulse still hasn’t settled. Henry’s sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, jacket off, every bit the picture of calm control — and I nearly forget how to breathe.I saw him get dressed this morning, but seeing him here, in that three-piece suit, confident and collected… it hits differently.
Stay on track, Matilda.
I place the coffee and pastries on my desk, pretending to focus on my computer while I check my calendar for Sharon. Normally, I’d take Henry his coffee first, but I need to email her before I lose my nerve.
I’m halfway through typing when I feel him. That presence. The shift in the air.
“Is this how it is now?” Henry’s voice is low, teasing — right beside my ear.
My stomach flips. “What?” I turn slightly, and there he is — leaning close, coffee in hand, that maddening smirk playing on his lips.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, flustered. “I bumped into Sharon. She wants to book my residential interview.”
The smirk fades into a real smile, warm and proud. “That’s great. When are you booking it for?”
He leans in to look at my screen, so close I can feel the heat from his chest against my back. I should move. Anyone could walk in. But I don’t. I like the way it feels — dangerous, secret, ours.
“I was thinking Friday afternoon,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Too long. Keep the momentum going. Don’t give them time to move on to someone else. Tell her you’re free tomorrow at ten. I’ll help you prep tonight, if you want.”
“You’d help me?”
“Of course I would,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Isn’t that kind of cheating?”
“Well…” He tilts his head, grinning. “If I’m helping as the company CEO — maybe. But if I’m helping as your boyfriend…”
My eyes snap up to his. He freezes, realising what he’s said. A flicker of panic crosses his face before he clears his throat.
