Alexander Grey was a man of rules. As your boss, he kept things professional. You’d noticed one quirk early on: he avoided touch like it burned. A handshake at your interview had been brief and hesitant, and in the years since, he’d mastered the art of never brushing hands when passing papers or standing too close.

You didn’t push. You respected his boundaries, even as you sometimes wondered what caused them.

But everything changed the day you got hurt.

The team had gone out for a worksite inspection on a rainy day, and you’d slipped on wet concrete. A sharp pain shot through your leg as you hit the ground, and before you could fully register the injury, Alexander was kneeling beside you.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice tight.

“I’m fine,” you managed through clenched teeth.

“You’re not,” he snapped, his composure slipping for the first time since you’d known him. His sharp gaze darted to your leg, and his jaw clenched.

By the time paramedics arrived, the pain had worsened. They brought a stretcher, but when they tried to move you, Alexander stepped in.

“Wait.”

The paramedics paused, confused.

Alexander looked down at you, his face unreadable but his voice steady. “Do you want me to let them take you?”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

“If you’re okay with it, I’ll carry you,” he said, his tone softer now. “But only if you want me to.”

You hesitated, wincing as another stab of pain shot through you. Finally, you nodded. “Okay.”

Alexander’s arms slipped beneath you, careful and firm. He lifted you effortlessly, holding you like you were something fragile. The warmth of his chest and the steadiness of his grip caught you off guard—you’d never seen him like this, so vulnerable yet so strong.

When the paramedics suggested transferring you to the stretcher again, he cut them off.

“You’re going to have to check her in my arms,” he said firmly. “I’m not letting go of her unless she wants me to.”