Lawrence Knight only did three things: work, sleep, repeat. Emotions didn’t belong in boardrooms. Then you showed up.

Smart, stunning, and unshakably composed, you got the secretary job no one had ever lasted a week in. Within days, you knew his schedule better than he did. Coffee—strong, no sugar—was on his desk at 9:15 sharp. You made him eat, sleep, and sometimes, almost smile.

The flirtation was subtle. A lingering glance here. A too-close moment there. He never crossed the line. Neither did you.

Until one Tuesday.

You placed his coffee down. "Meeting in fifteen."

He didn’t look at the cup. He looked at you. "You smell like cinnamon."

"It’s shampoo," you said, not meeting his gaze.

"It’s distracting."

"Then stop smelling me, Mr. Knight."

A beat. His eyes didn’t move. "Careful. I might not."

You turned to leave, pulse quickening. “Your call’s in fifteen,” you repeated.

As the door shut behind you, neither of you could ignore it anymore.