The meeting eventually drew to a close, but Arabella's heart was still racing. She couldn't focus on anything other than the presence beside her—the way Damon's arm occasionally brushed hers when he leaned forward during the discussion. Every motion, every glance he spared her made her all the more aware of how close they were sitting.
As soon as the final words were spoken and the meeting ended, she stood up a little too quickly, muttered a polite "excuse me," and walked out of the room, ignoring the curious glance Lydia threw her way. She needed air, space—anything to settle the wild thudding in her chest.
Later that evening, at home, Arabella moved through her routine almost robotically. Dinner was made and left half-eaten. Her favorite playlist played in the background, but even the familiar comfort of soft piano notes couldn't quiet her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. The faint smile when he whispered to her, the low rasp of you did good, Pearls still echoed in her ears.
She stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself, wondering what this even was. Was she just overthinking everything? Damon Kingsley was her boss. She barely spoke more than a few sentences to him before last week. And yet now… she found herself looking for him during coffee breaks, noticing when he wasn't on their floor.
Why is he doing this? What does he want from me? Her brows furrowed, frustration blending with a subtle fear. And why do I keep thinking about him?
The next morning, she stepped into the elevator with her usual quiet demeanor, clutching her work tablet. As the lift ascended, it stopped on the next floor—and in walked Damon.
Her breath caught, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. "Good morning, Mr. Kingsley," she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the door.
"Morning, Pearls," he said, voice warm and unhurried. A pause. Then, "Bring me a coffee, will you?"
Her eyes flicked to him—just for a second—then nodded slightly. "Of course, sir."
She didn't know what this was. A test? A joke? A whim? But it sure was an instruction, and that meant she would follow through.
After dropping off some documents, she made her way to the coffee station, brewing a fresh cup, pouring it into a cup. She wasn't sure why he'd asked her to bring coffee. It wasn't something she usually did, and it certainly wasn't something in her role. But it was a request from her boss, and she wasn't going to question it.
She took the cup carefully to his office, knocking gently.
"Come in," came the low voice from inside.
When she stepped in, Damon looked up from his laptop, his expression unreadable at first—then a slight smirk lifted the corner of his mouth as his eyes landed on the cup in her hand.
He stood, walked around the desk, and gestured toward the seating area. "Sit, Pearls. I need some company while I drink this."
Arabella blinked, uncertain, but nodded. She moved to the sofa slowly, her fingers tightening around the edges of her blazer as she sat down, rigid and quiet.
Damon followed, sitting beside her, far too close for her comfort, yet not quite enough to be inappropriate. He watched her as he took the first sip, his gaze lingering on her small movements—how she kept her posture proper, how her hands stayed in her lap fingers clenching, how her gaze quietly took in the surroundings of the room.
"You're nervous again," he said after a long pause, voice rich with amusement.
"I'm not," she murmured, clearly trying to compose herself.
"You are," he countered gently, chuckling. "But you're here. So that's progress."
Arabella didn't respond just sat stiffly, the tension in her spine refusing to ease. Damon leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, the cup balanced in one hand while the other rested loosely on the back of the sofa to her side—not quite touching her, but close enough that she could feel the presence.
"So," he began casually, eyes still on her, "you survived my absence."
Arabella turned her head slightly, her gaze brushing his before darting away. She didn't know how she should respond to that. "It wasn't that long," she replied softly.
"But long enough for you to miss me?" he asked, voice dipping, teasing.
Her breath caught, with fingers curling slightly in her lap,"I was focused on work."
"Hmm." He sipped, then added, "You did well with the report. I read through the final documentation this morning."
She nodded, trying to keep the fluster from rising to her cheeks. "Thank you."
Damon studied her in silence for a moment, then leaned forward to place the empty cup on the low table in front of them. As he leaned back again, his shoulder brushed against hers. Arabella went still.
"You always get this quiet when you're around me," he said, barely above a whisper, his voice rich with amusement. "You aren't like this during the presentation. So, is it just me that you don't want to talk to..?" He stretched out the sentence, teasing her.
"That was different," she said quickly, then regretted how fast she'd replied. She looked down, then added more quietly, "It was about work."
"And this isn't?"
He was close—close enough she could feel the warmth from his arm, the faintest brush of his cologne teasing her senses. She didn't answer, afraid anything she said would betray too much.
"I enjoy this version of you too," Damon said after a pause.
That made her eyes snap to his again, confusion and something else swimming in her gaze.
He gave a soft smile. "Relax, Pearls. I'm not here to bite."
But he didn't move away, didn't create distance.
And Arabella, with her back to the sofa , could not inch away either.