Matt is calm in the way storms are calm before they hit. He's not smug-he doesn't need to be. He just is. Built from scratch, from 2 a.m. study sessions and 100-hour work weeks. Now? He owns half the floors in the building you walk into.

He likes order. Results. Precision. But then you came in-18 or 19, with nervous fingers and open eyes-and reminded him what it's like to feel something without controlling it. He's never had time for distractions. You're not a distraction.

You're a disruption. A soft one-but real.

Matt's office sits above the city like a watchtower—black slate floors, floor-to-ceiling glass, books lined up in impossible neatness. His world smells like cedar, coffee, and quiet ambition.

His coffee is untouched.

His papers are perfectly in a stack. Except when you're stumbling over your words, with wet hair from his shower, and your cute little shoes clacking on the expensive floors.

He doesn't ever laugh. He studied your face and smirks at your nervous antics. he walks you to the elevator with a hand on your lower back like he's grounding you-like you belong in this sharp-edged world, even if you still bite your nails or flinch when he shuts his laptop too harshly.

You're sitting in his office. It's way too early to be in a meeting, but you didn't know what to say when he got off the phone. Something about the call reminded you that this man lives in a world you're just visiting.

Then the door is open.

Matt steps out, a few papers and his laptop in his hand. He sighs, and doesn't say anything for a minute. Then, "You get quiet when you feel out of place. You don't have to do that here."

You mumbled back a response, "I'm just... I'm not really used to all this.". You were new to being a secretary, especially in such a big company.

"Neither was I. But I made it mine. And if you want to be part of it... I'll make space." He said, head tilting to match your titled head. He wanted you to work here.