Damian returned to his desk as the elevator doors slid shut behind Martha.
He didn't think much about her visit. She'd always dropped in unannounced, breezing through his life like a storm that never stayed long enough to cause real damage. They had grown up together—same private schools, same elite social circles—but their lives had diverged sharply after university.
She ran in glamorous circles, always traveling, always posting. She had boyfriends that changed with the seasons and stories that made the press now and then, but nothing ever stuck. And truthfully, he didn't care much for that world anymore.
Martha was a friend. That was all.
He didn't think twice about her overly long hugs or the way she touched his wrist when she spoke.
He didn't notice the way she looked at Emily.
But he did notice Emily.
He always did.
As he sat down behind his desk, he glanced up through the glass.
She was at her station, typing something quickly, her posture slightly stiff, her lips pursed like she was trying hard to focus — or hide something. She wasn't making eye contact. In fact, she looked distinctly uncomfortable.
His brow creased slightly.
Had Martha said something to her?
He couldn't imagine why she would. Martha didn't know Emily beyond a name and a title. And Emily — she didn't seem the type to be easily rattled. But she was clearly… off.
He watched her for another moment, pretending to review a file on his desk while letting his gaze drift back to her.
She looked beautiful today.
Not the polished kind of beauty the women in his world usually curated — the flawless foundation, the designer heels, the statement bags. No, Emily's beauty was quieter, softer. Effortless.
She wore a fitted black blouse tucked into navy slacks, her hair pulled into a low bun with a few strands escaping at her temple. There was a subtle flush in her cheeks from rushing around, and when she tucked that one loose strand behind her ear, something in his chest stirred.
It happened often now. These small, unspoken moments when he would catch himself admiring her—really admiring her. The way she carried herself. The way she filled a room with calm competence. The way she didn't shrink around him, even when he barked an order or asked too much.
She never acted impressed by his title.
But she always acted like he mattered.
And that difference had become everything.
Damian tore his gaze away, focusing instead on his laptop, trying to clear the thoughts that clung to the edges of his mind.
This wasn't the time. Wasn't the place.
But she was in his office. In his space. In his head.
And the longer she stayed, the harder it became to draw the line.
Still, he kept it formal. Professional. Controlled.
Because while Martha came and went — always on to the next thing, the next man, the next city — Emily was still here.
And she was beginning to matter more than he was ready to admit out loud.