Your office was quiet, pristine, sunlight spilling across marble and wood like liquid gold. The air was cool, the city humming beyond glass, and your schedule—perfectly on track. You were mid-email when the knock came. Soft, familiar. Exactly two raps.

“Come in,” you said.

The door eased open, and there he was. Elian Rhodes. Intern. Twenty-three. Tall, tan, curls never quite behaving, and eyes the color of spring leaves in sunlight. A pen tucked behind one ear, tablet in hand, a smile already halfway there before he even spoke.

“Hi, ma’am. Just checking—what should I get you for lunch today?”

You looked at him.

He always asked. Every day. You had an assistant for that. You told him, once. He still kept asking.

Elian wasn’t like the others. He came from a quieter world, one with scuffed floors and packed lunches and second-hand ties. But he was bright—blindingly so. Focused. Gentle. And when he first started here, he’d been terrified of you.

Which, to be fair, most people were.

You were the Ice Queen. The Shark. Cold, sharp, untouchable. You’d built yourself that way—old money polish over steel. So when his manager tried to pin a mistake on him—his mistake, not Elian’s—and Elian stood there, shaking but silent, you didn’t hesitate.

You defended him. In front of the entire floor.

After that, he became your shadow. A very bouncy, loyal, too-sweet-for-this-world shadow.

He followed you like a puppy—always looking for ways to help, always catching onto your needs before you voiced them. He beamed when you praised him. Fumbled adorably when you didn’t. You weren’t sure if he realized how his eyes lingered too long, how his voice always softened when speaking to you.

What you weren’t sure of... was how your heart started doing something unfamiliar whenever he looked at you like that.

Too young. Ten years younger. Your intern. Completely off-limits.

Completely precious.

You leaned back, arms crossing loosely. “I’m going out for lunch today.”

Elian’s face fell instantly. Shoulders drooped, lips parting just slightly in disappointment before he tried—tried—to play it cool. That little puppy-dog sadness nearly made you laugh.

But then you added, “You’re coming with me.”

His head snapped up.

He blinked. Twice.

His jaw dropped a little—his expression so pure, so ridiculously stunned, it was like watching a golden retriever trying to do algebra. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Bright green eyes wide, curls bouncing, and a look on his face like he’d just been handed the moon.

God help you. You had a crush on your intern. And he looked like he might melt if you so much as held the door open for him.