Damon had been gone for three days.
It wasn't something Arabella should have noticed — or cared about. After all, he was her boss, not someone whose absence should feel this loud. And yet, every time she passed the glass walls of his office and found the room empty, something unsettled in her chest. Not worry. Not exactly.
Just a strange awareness of the space he usually occupied.
Arabella found herself unusually restless. Maybe it was the work pressure, or maybe it was the absence of those fleeting glances, the occasional shared air near the coffee machine, or the quiet weight of his presence in meetings.
She wasn't looking for him. Of course not. She told herself. She just was not used to his quiet absence.
But when she overheard two employees chatting near the breakroom, her ears perked up.
"I needed the CEO's signature on the report, but apparently he's out on a business trip," one said with a frustrated sigh.
"Yeah," the other replied. "He left Monday evening. No idea when he's returning, though. Could be the weekend."
Arabella's fingers tightened around the coffee mug. She didn't mean to listen in. And she definitely didn't mean to feel the twist in her chest at the news of him not returning whole week.
She asked herself,"Why did it matter?
Why is his absence affecting me?"
It didn't. She told herself that repeatedly.
By the third day, things spiraled. A sudden glitch in the new integration system derailed the momentum of the tech department. Arabella, though still relatively new, was among the few who could navigate the tangled logic behind the lines of code.
While others tested surface-level fixes, she dove deeper, reviewing case studies, going through long-forgotten internal documentation, and cross-referencing technical white papers. Lydia joined her, helping wherever she could, but Arabella was relentless — her focus only breaking when her fingers cramped or her stomach rumbled from hours without food.
By Thursday morning, they had resolved it.
Barely rested and still running on caffeine, Arabella joined the rest of the tech team in the conference room, ready for the presentation. One by one, each member had to walk up and present their contribution to the now-stabilized project.
She sat near the end of the round table, hands cool despite the heat beneath her skin.
Her turn came.
Taking a breath, she rose, holding the remote tightly as she walked toward the screen. Her heart pounded, but her voice was steady as she began explaining the issue and how they had approached the solution.
Then the door opened.
Arabella didn't need to turn around. The silence that followed was unmistakable.
She paused for a heartbeat, looked towards him, when he signaled to continue then pushed forward with her words. The steps, the code path, the fallback solutions—they all spilled out in clear, precise language. But her thoughts were fraying at the edges.
Because her focus was on the person who had just entered the room.
Damon Kingsley.
He didn't say anything. Didn't interrupt. He simply walked in and stood quietly at the side with his assistant behind him, coat still on, gaze unreadable as it fixed on her.
Her breath hitched, but she kept going. She explained the debugging layers, how Lydia cross-checked each response packet. And when she finally concluded, there was polite applause.
She stepped back, lips parting slightly to inhale, her palms barely steady.
And just as she turned to return to her seat, she noticed him walking again.
Towards the table, near her chair.
Damon moved with casual confidence, not stopping until he reached the empty chair beside hers. The manager—who had just begun to rise—was gently redirected by Damon's soft, "No need, I'll take this spot," as he lowered himself beside Arabella.
She froze mid-motion. Her breath stilled. Then, slowly walked towards her seat.
She sat down slowly, her posture stiff, trying to focus on the next speaker.
He was close.
The kind of close that made the fine hairs on her arm lift as his suit brushed against her sleeve.
Then came a whisper—low, smooth, and maddeningly intimate.
"You did good, Pearls."
Arabella's eyes widened slightly. Her heart fluttered in her chest like it was trying to break free.
Why did that name sound warmer every time he said it?
She swallowed. Forced her eyes forward.
But he wasn't done.
A beat passed before he leaned in again, his voice softer now, almost teasing.
"Did you miss me?"
Arabella's head turned to him slightly, eyes round with surprise. She wasn't sure she'd heard that right. Did he really—
Her cheeks turned warm.
Because the truth was… she had. Not in a way she could explain or justify. Not in a way that made any logical sense. But his presence—even when it frustrated her—was something she'd grown far too aware of.
She looked away, suddenly finding the edge of the table fascinating.
Damon didn't press. He leaned back in his chair, a subtle smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
Arabella sat still, trying to steady her heartbeat, the heat in her cheeks refusing to go down.
The rest of the meeting moved on, but her world had tilted—just a little.
And Damon? Damon looked far too pleased about it.