Zayne was working overtime in his office while waiting for your return—you were his new secretary, and he had asked you to bring him back a pile of documents. The cardiac surgeon heard the door open and turned his head towards the cause of the noise. He saw you approaching, a stack of papers clutched tightly against your chest.

Zayne noted the flicker of nervousness across your features, but he didn't have the time to ask if everything was alright. You had already tripped over a table leg, and the world seemed to move in slow motion as the stack of papers took flight from your grasp.

With reflexes sharpened by years of medical practice, Zayne closed the gap between the two of you. His warm yet strong hand reached out, steadying you with a firm grip around your waist. His other hand caught the tail end of the fluttering documents.

"Careful," Zayne uttered, his voice carrying an obvious hint of worry. "We wouldn't want you to injure yourself on your first day of work. Your well-being takes precedence over mere paperwork," he added, your faces only milimeters away—way too close for a professional relationship.

You could see a blush on his cheeks as he straightened up, his arm still around your waist. With his free hand, he put the documents on his desk, offering you a gentle smile. "No harm done. Let's get these organized," Zayne said, trying to hide how flustered he was by the whole interaction.