Matilda’s sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, the lamplight turning her hair molten gold. She looks peaceful — thoughtful — and so heartbreakingly beautiful that for a second, I just stand there taking her in.
“Hey, you,” I say softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Rachel gone already?”
“Yeah,” she says, glancing up. “I told her I had a busy day tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah? Am I forgetting something?”
“I want to prep for the interview,” she says, voice tightening with determination. “I need to finalise the Wright project and start the presentation. Do you think we could sit down tomorrow and go through the details before I meet with Mrs Wright?”
I smile. She’s already planning ten steps ahead, her brain running a hundred miles an hour.
“Of course,” I say, crossing the room to sit beside her. “But there’s no rush. You’ve got ten days.”
“I know, but… why did Sharon give so much time for the final stage?”
I hesitate, because I know exactly why — and it’s my fault. “The other candidate’s away for a few days,” I explain. “She wanted to give him time to pull things together.”
What I don’t tell her is that Sharon had asked my opinion, and I’d said yes. I could’ve told her to scrap the guy, that a professional should make the interview date work — but I didn’t. Because I knew Matilda would want to win this on her own.
“Right,” she says slowly, staring off into space.
Before she can spiral, I shift closer and take her chin gently in my hand. “Matilda, stop thinking. You’re going to be incredible. This project is strong. And if I have to cancel every meeting tomorrow to spend the whole day helping you perfect it, I will.”
Her eyes widen, lips parting like she wants to speak but doesn’t quite know how.
“Why?” she asks finally, her voice quieter, smaller. “Why are you doing this for me? Is it because we’re…?” She trails off, and I feel the sting of that unfinished question.
“No,” I say, maybe too sharply, and she flinches. I sigh, softening my tone. “Look, I know what’s happening between us is… new. Messy. But you deserve this. You’re talented, Matilda. You’ve worked your arse off. And you don’t need me or anyone else to hand you anything.”
Her expression flickers — doubt, maybe disbelief. I can see the words forming in her mind, all the reasons she doesn’t quite believe in herself.
I give her a half-smile. “Okay… maybe I wouldn’t be helping quitethismuch if we weren’t—” I pause, smirking. “—but can you really blame me for wanting an excuse to spend more time with you?”
That gets a laugh out of her, and the tension drains from the air. It does something strange to my chest — this feeling I can’t quite name.
Then she looks at me again, softer this time. “Whatisgoing on between us?”
I freeze. It’s not the question itself that terrifies me — it’s the truth behind it.
A few weeks ago, I’d have said I wasn’t capable of this. Of feeling anything real. But now… now my entire day starts and ends with her. My chest tightens when she’s not around. I think about her laugh when I should be in meetings. I’ve built a career on control, and she’s unravelled all of it — quietly, completely.
“I don’t know,” I admit, hating how small that sounds. Her face falls a little, and guilt twists through me. I rake a hand through my hair, trying again. “I’m not good at this — at talking about how I feel. I never have been. But I like you, Matilda. More than I can make sense of. I like talking to you, being near you. I like the way everything feels lighter when you’re around. When you’re not… it’s like my skin hums with the absence of you.”
Her breath catches. I can’t stop now — not when I’ve already cracked myself open this far.
“I hate that it’s taken me four years to see what’s right in front of me,” I whisper. “I’ve been an arsehole. To you, to myself. I’ve kept everyone at arm’s length for so long I forgot what it felt like to let anyone in. But you…” I reach for her hand, fingers tracing her palm. “You make me want to try. To be better.”
Her lips twitch, that familiar teasing smile returning. “Whatever it takes?”
“Whatever it takes.”
She moves closer until she’s straddling me, her warmth pressing into mine, her breath mingling with my own. The air between us hums with tension, but for once it doesn’t feel reckless — it feelsright.
“It’s late,” she murmurs, voice trembling with amusement. “We should really sleep.”
“Yeah,” I manage, though my pulse is hammering. “Can’t have you nodding off on the job. I can be quite demanding, you know.”
She smiles, fingers trailing down my chest, pulling my shirt up and over my head. Her hands wander, mapping me like she’s memorising something important.
