Chapter 7: Six O'Clock Shadows

AVA'S POV

The elevator doors swung open into the quietness of the 40th-floor lobby. My heels clicked loudly on the shiny marble floor, every step clattering like a warning. The sun spilled over the west windows, bathing the floor in burning pools of orange and gold, all the way to Julian Sterling's frosted glass doors.

The air felt heavy, filled with his usual scent of clean cedarwood and sharp wild mint. Even the air in this place seemed to belong to him.

I stood there, before the high glass doors. The Sterling crest, a circle with an "S" within, was carved into the glass, glaring back at me like a warning. My own reflection met me: white face, stretched taut, wide eyes full of tension. Breathe. Just breathe. This has nothing to do with Caleb. It’s just work. That's all. Just work.

The thought didn't take hold.

I pushed the door open.

His office always left me breathless. The entire back wall of the room behind him was glass, with a city ablaze in the last rays of day. The sun was low, red and raw, painting color across the skyline. He stood in front of his enormous black desk, tall and motionless, his form like one of the statues carved from darkness. He didn't say anything at first, just observed me entering. His eyes came down hard, like they could see right through me.

"Good evening, Miss Thompson." His low voice vibrated through the still air. Miss Thompson. Cool. Formal. My fingers trembled slightly as I closed the door. The quiet click of the lock seemed final. Prisoned in.

He didn't look away.

The quiet that had built up between us was thick with something unsaid, vibrating. And then he moved, slow and languid, like a big cat coming awake from a torpor. He moved towards the huge Hudson Yards model standing in the middle of the room. It was lit by a single desk lamp, throwing hard shadows across his face.

"Your changes," he whispered to me. His silky voice had a coarser edge beneath it that sent shivers down my spine.

He pointed to the pedestrian walkway section, the one I'd worked night after night, pouring my heart and soul into it. He led me slowly around the model, speaking in short, hedged sentences. And as we circled it, the big office became smaller and smaller. It was only us now… little city, and this thick tension unwinding with each step. My sleeve brushed against his arm.

A cold, hard shock ran through me.

I shuddered a shaking breath. Before I could shove him off, his hand wrapped around my wrist. To hold me up or him, I didn't know. The heat of his touch seared my arm. Our eyes locked. His lips hovered a breath away. I saw it all in his eyes-want, control wavering, something like an animal fighting to escape.

He released me abruptly, stepping back as if it hurt him to stop.

His voice came later, cold and angry. "Victoria," he said. The name was like venom. "She's been spreading rumors about your numbers to the Planning department. Behind the scenes. Redoing specifications. Weakening you."

I froze.

He stepped nearer. "I called it off," he said to me, his eyes blazing. "For now."

He was still within reach, too close. His body seemed to fill the gap between us. "Don't give her anything else to go on today," he said, softer but no less intense. "This project needs your full attention."

But his eyes shouted louder. The words between us were no longer about work anymore.

The battle inside me for fear and fire was impossible to conceal. He sees me. He's protecting me.

He stepped forward, another one, bridging the gap.

His eyes dropped to my mouth, and back to mine. The look was a question, one I had no notion how to answer. His hand came up hesitantly, nudging a piece of hair behind my ear. The touch was soft, a kiss. But it burned.

His normal control fell apart in his eyes, this was no longer about power or professionalism.

And he kissed me.

Not slow. Not gentle.

Hard. Fast. Wild.

Like he had bottled it up for weeks and couldn't keep it contained any longer. His lips crashed into mine with a hunger that made my head spin. All the fear, all the confusion… lost. My arms flew up, not to shove him from me, but to circle around his shirt, needing something to hold onto as everything spun.

I kissed him back, just as hungry. Just as lost.

The taste of him… mint, cedar, and something else only Julian savored me full. He was all rough edges and hard muscle, and somehow everything was wrong and right at the same time. I didn't care.

Then it was over.

He winced as if burned. He stumbled back one step, gasping, chest heaving and sagging as if he'd run a mile. His face was ruined like he'd just smashed something and couldn't fix it. Shock, shame, and something animalic hung on him.

The air he'd left behind seemed icy.

He turned to the city skyline once more, eyes on the dark horizon.

The silence screamed.

When he finally managed to speak, his voice was hoarse and rough. "We shouldn't have…" He did not even look at me. "This… did not happen."

Did not happen? My breath was locked in place. The blaze of his kiss still lingered on my lips, shouting that he was in denial. That it had happened. That it meant something.

The chill of the air swept in, quenching the flames he had lit in me.

He had huddled in back of that wall once again, colder than ever. I was trapped, stunned by the emptiness that now seemed to envelop me. The golden room that had so seemed powerful now appeared to be a cell. Gold and still and empty.

He acted like nothing had changed. That he hadn't just kissed me like he was starving. That his hand hadn't just cupped my face like I was something he needed.

Where his knuckles had brushed against my skin still resonated. His kiss still trembled on my lips. The words he said may have tried to erase it but the truth screamed more than the lie.

It had happened.

And nothing would ever be the same again.