The room falls silent behind us as the door shuts.
“What the hell was that?” I hiss.
He doesn’t answer — just takes my arm and pulls me into the stationery cupboard. The scent of paper and toner hits me, and my stomach flips with déjà vu.
“What is it with you and this cupboard?” I laugh nervously.
“It’s the only place we can be alone,” he murmurs, stepping closer until my back hits the shelf. “And I’ve been dying to get you alone all day.”
His breath brushes my lips and every thought in my head disappears.
“And what if someone comes in?” I whisper.
“Then they’ll get a show.”
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine — hot, hungry, desperate. The world fades. For a few dizzy seconds, there’s only us.
Then — a loud crash outside. Voices. Someone’s dropped something. We freeze. I can barely breathe as footsteps shuffle past.
When the noise finally fades, I pull back, my heart hammering. “We can’t get caught, Henry. Not now — not when I’m up for this job. I can’t risk it.”
He nods, his expression softening. “You’re right. I was being selfish.”
“Don’t apologise,” I say, brushing my thumb over his jaw. “I want to be selfish with you — more than you know. We just have to wait until tonight.”
His smile turns slow and wicked. “Tonight, then.”
And just like that, I know I’m in so much trouble.
Thirty Three
Henry
That evening, we stayed late at the office, preparing for Matilda’s interview. Watching her work, focused and confident, made it hard to remember she was once the nervous assistant I’d hired all those years ago. She knew exactly what she was doing. We talked through the Wright Project — her idea, her execution — and I told her to use it as the centrepiece of her presentation. It was her best work, a perfect example of the potential she’d honed over the last few years.
There was no doubt in my mind — she was going to ace this interview.
Afterwards, we went back to mine. We showered together, laughed too much, and fell asleep with her curled against me, her breath soft against my chest. I didn’t think I’d ever sleep so easily with someone beside me, but with her, it felt… right.
The next morning, I was useless. I had nervous energy running through me like I was the one being interviewed. Every tick of the clock made me twitch. By 9:55 I was a wreck, tappingmy pen against the folder on my desk, counting the seconds until she came out.
She was in there for over an hour. I was halfway through rewriting an entire proposal just to distract myself when the office door opened — and she was there, smiling. My chest flooded with relief.
She burst into my office, animated and glowing, talking so fast I could barely keep up. She told me everything — the questions, the laughter, the compliments. I couldn’t stop smiling. It was a home run. She was getting this job.
Then, like an aftershock, it hit me. If she got the promotion — when she got it — she wouldn’t be my assistant anymore. I’d be proud, of course, but the thought of losing her constant presence tugged at something in my chest.
The rest of the week passed in a blur ofus.Stolen glances across desks. Shared smiles over coffee. Hidden touches behind closed doors. Evenings spent wrapped up in each other — talking, laughing, exploring every part of what we’d become.
We cooked together. Watched films. Talked about everything — books, music, childhood stories, the kind of things you only share when you stop pretending. For the first time in years, I felt genuinely happy.
And every time she walked into a room, I couldn’t stop the stupid grin from spreading across my face. I was amazed no one at work had figured it out yet. Maybe I needed to start questioning my staff’s intelligence.
Saturday came around, and I headed to my dad’s for our weekly visit. I hadn’t told him anything about Matilda since the awards ceremony, and the thought of bringing her up made my stomachtwist. We hadn’t exactly defined what we were, but I knew one thing — I wasn’t interested in anyone else.
She occupied every corner of my mind. First thought in the morning, last before sleep. She’d become the quiet pulse under everything I did.
“Hi, Dad, it’s just me,” I called out as I stepped inside.
