The next morning, I brought the finished file to Sebastian’s office.
The door was closed. I remembered Vanessa had gone in a few minutes earlier with coffee.
As I reached the door, I heard a startled female yelp from inside.
I knocked once out of politeness and pushed the door open.
Vanessa was kneeling near Sebastian’s chair, dabbing frantically at his pant leg with napkins. A paper cup lay tipped on the floor, coffee staining the expensive fabric.
The position looked terrible at first glance.
The comments immediately flashed across my sight.
Don’t misunderstand. She spilled it.
Please don’t let this become one of those awful clichés.
Sebastian looked furious.
Vanessa turned and gave me a triumphant smile, as if I were the one interrupting something inappropriate.
“Emily,” she said sweetly, “you really should wait to be invited in.”
I hadn’t even opened my mouth before Sebastian spoke.
“Get out.”
Vanessa’s smile froze. “Mr. Cole?”
“I was not speaking to her.”
His voice was so cold the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
He looked at Vanessa without even trying to hide his anger.
“Leave. Now.”
Vanessa stood up, stunned, shot me a glare, and stormed past me.
I set the file down on his desk.
“This is the report from last night.”
His shoulders eased a fraction.
He knew I hadn’t misunderstood.
“Leave it there,” he said. “I’ll review it in a moment.”
I hesitated. “Maybe you should change first.”
A brief silence.
Then, finally, the tension in his face loosened.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You can go.”
I turned toward the door just as the comments drifted back across my vision.
He’s relieved she didn’t get the wrong idea.
Use your words, sir.
Honestly, I agreed.
At the door, I suddenly stopped.
The pen was clipped inside my breast pocket.
Without thinking too hard about why I was doing it, I pulled it out and walked back to the desk.
I uncapped it.
From the attached lounge behind the office came Sebastian’s voice, sharper than before.
“Emily?”
He stepped out a second later, halfway changed.
His shirt was off.
I forgot how breathing worked.
He had the kind of body people tried not to stare at and failed. Broad shoulders. Strong chest. Lean waist. He wasn’t bulky, just solid in that controlled, dangerous kind of way that matched the rest of him.
But what really caught me was his expression.
His eyes were slightly red, like he had just splashed water on his face. He looked tense, embarrassed, and deeply suspicious of the pen in my hand.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I remembered there’s a page that still needs my signature,” I said.
I lifted the pen slightly.
He took one quick step toward me. “Don’t use that one.”
I blinked.
“Use the one on my desk.”
I should have listened.
Instead, maybe because my courage had suddenly grown reckless, I studied him for one second too long.
His whole body tightened under my gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean for you to see me like this.”
The comments soared across my vision.
He’s shy now?
This man gave her a mystical soul-linked pen and now he’s shy?
I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t laugh.
Then I asked, very carefully, “Mr. Cole… don’t you think you’re a little too protective of this pen?”
His eyes flicked to mine.
I held up the dark blue barrel between us.
“What exactly did you do?”
For the first time since I’d met him, Sebastian Cole looked caught.
Not annoyed. Not cold. Not composed.
Caught.
“I only wanted you to value it,” he said at last.
“Really?”
His throat moved.
I took half a step closer.
From somewhere in the comments, a line flashed by.
One more step and he’ll confess everything.
I almost did it.
But before either of us could speak again, the office door opened.
Vanessa walked in carrying a garment bag.
“Mr. Cole, I brought you a clean—”
She stopped.
Sebastian didn’t even turn toward her.
“Leave.”
She stood there in disbelief. “But—”
“We’re talking,” he said.
There was no room in his tone for argument.
Vanessa bit her lip, set the garment bag down, and left.
The second the door clicked shut, the air in the room changed.
Sebastian closed the distance between us before I could step back.
I found myself backed against the door to the lounge, the pen still trapped between us.
His voice dropped low, rough, and almost unsteady.
“You already know, don’t you?”
I looked up at him.
My heart was pounding so loudly I could hardly hear my own voice.
“This pen is linked to you.”
His eyes closed briefly.
Then he nodded.
“Yes.”
The room went so still that even the comments disappeared for a second.
“When you touch it,” he said, “I feel it.”
I stared at him.
My palms turned hot.
“You gave me that on purpose?”
He laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Yes.”
“Why would you do something this crazy?”
His gaze locked on mine.
“Because I like you,” he said.
Not casually.
Not lightly.
Like it had been pressed inside him for too long and finally broke free.
“I’ve liked you for a long time.”
My brain short-circuited.
The comments came flooding back all at once.
There it is.
He finally said it.
About time.
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Then opened it again.
“Mr. Cole,” I whispered, “that is an absolutely insane thing to do.”
His hand lifted and braced against the door beside my head.
“I know.”
“But also,” I said, voice trembling, “you could have just asked me to dinner.”
For one stunned second, he only looked at me.
Then the corner of his mouth moved.
The smallest smile.
The softest one I had ever seen on his face.
“And if I asked now?” he said.
I tightened my grip on the pen.
He inhaled sharply.
I tried not to smile.
“If you ask nicely,” I said, “I might say yes.”