After that, the whole day felt unreal.
I went back to my desk carrying my file and the pen and a secret so big I thought it would show on my face.
Sebastian liked me.
Not a little.
Not vaguely.
Enough to bind a supernatural fountain pen to his nervous system.
It was ridiculous.
It was dramatic.
It was, unfortunately, very him.
At lunch, Vanessa cornered me by the break room.
“What is going on between you and Mr. Cole?” she asked.
Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “He barely looks at anyone, but suddenly he’s defending you every five minutes.”
I filled my cup with water and kept my tone mild. “That sounds like a question for him.”
She scoffed. “Don’t get carried away. Men like him don’t take girls like you seriously.”
I looked at her over the rim of my cup.
The comments floated by in a delighted rush.
She has no idea.
Not a clue.
I should have walked away.
Instead, maybe because I was still dizzy from the morning, I said, “Then you really don’t know him at all.”
Her face twisted.
Before she could answer, my phone buzzed.
A message from Sebastian.
Dinner tonight. Please say yes.
No title. No signature. Just that.
Simple words, and somehow they made my heart skip harder than any grand confession could have.
I texted back before I could overthink it.
Fine.
Another message came almost instantly.
I’ll pick you up downstairs at six-thirty.
The comments lost their minds.
He’s counting the minutes already.
She has him wrapped around her finger.
I shoved my phone into my pocket, trying to look normal.
I failed.
At six-thirty sharp, I stepped out of the building and found Sebastian waiting by a black sedan.
No driver.
No assistant.
Just him.
He came around to open the door for me, and somehow that tiny old-fashioned gesture was more dangerous than anything else he had done.
He looked at me like he was still not entirely convinced I had actually come.
“You made it,” he said.
I laughed softly. “You asked like I might not.”
He lowered his voice. “I wasn’t taking any chances.”
The restaurant he chose was elegant but private, tucked away on a quiet street with low golden lights and enough distance between tables that we could speak without an audience.
For the first ten minutes, we talked like normal people.
About work.
About deadlines.
About the conference next month.
Then our eyes met over the candle on the table, and suddenly none of that felt important anymore.
I set my fork down.
“Can I ask something?”
“You can ask me anything.”
“Why me?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he looked at me with an expression so steady it made my chest ache.
“When you first joined the company,” he said, “everyone saw a nervous intern trying not to fail. I saw someone working twice as hard as anyone else and apologizing for taking up space. You made a mistake, and your first instinct was not to protect yourself. It was to worry that you had disappointed everyone around you.”
I stared at him.
He continued, quieter now.
“You looked like you had spent your whole life trying to earn kindness. I hated that.”
The air in my lungs shook.
“Sebastian…”
“I told myself to keep my distance,” he said. “That I was your boss, and anything more would be unfair. But then a year passed. And then another almost did. And every day I liked you more.”
The comments drifted by, much softer than usual.
Well. That’s devastating.
He was gone long before the pen.
I swallowed hard and looked down at my glass.
“So the pen was your idea of restraint?”
His ears turned a little red.
“Yes.”
I laughed so suddenly I had to cover my mouth.
He looked faintly offended. “It sounded less unhinged in my head.”
“It really didn’t.”
For the first time, he laughed too.
A real laugh.
Warm, low, and so unexpectedly gentle that I stared at him all over again.
When dinner ended, he drove me home.
The street outside my apartment was quiet. He turned off the engine, but neither of us moved.
Finally, he said, “Emily.”
I turned toward him.
He looked almost nervous.
Which was incredible, considering this was a man who could terrify an entire boardroom with one glance.
“If I kiss you,” he said, “will you regret saying yes to dinner?”
I met his eyes.
“No,” I whispered.
His hand came up slowly, like he was giving me every chance to pull away.
I didn’t.
When he kissed me, it was careful at first, like he was handling something fragile.
Then it deepened just enough to leave me breathless.
When he finally drew back, his forehead rested lightly against mine.
And because I was suddenly feeling braver than I had ever felt in my life, I slipped the pen out of my purse and curled my fingers around it.
He shut his eyes and let out a helpless, quiet laugh.
“You are going to ruin me,” he murmured.
I smiled.
“Maybe,” I said. “But only if you deserve it.”