Part 2
Three weeks later, a cup of coffee appeared on my desk.
Exactly the way I liked it.
Black. A splash of oat milk. No sugar.
I stared at it.
My assistant, Claire, leaned in the doorway, trying—and failing—to hide a grin.
“You didn’t order that?”
“No.”
She lifted a brow. “Interesting.”
Attached to the cup was a sticky note.
You skipped breakfast again.
—A.H.
I stared at it.
“Claire,” I said slowly, “why does my boss know my eating habits?”
She looked delighted. “Oh my God, this is happening.”
“This is not happening.”
“This is absolutely happening.”
It didn’t stop there.
He started noticing things.
When I worked too late.
When I skipped lunch.
When I was stressed.
At first, it was subtle. Then… it wasn’t.
One evening, he appeared in my office doorway.
“You haven’t eaten,” he said.
I looked up. “Are you monitoring me now?”
“If I were, you’d be more consistent.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m busy.”
“So is everyone else. They still manage basic survival.”
I should have been annoyed.
Instead, I was… flustered.
He stepped closer, glancing at my screen. “That campaign needs restructuring.”
“It needs a miracle.”
“Close enough.”
For the next fifteen minutes, he helped me fix it.
Not hovering. Not taking over.
Just… working beside me.
And he was brilliant.
Sharp. Efficient. Uncompromising.
At one point, our shoulders brushed.
Neither of us moved away immediately.
That was new.
Later that night, he said, almost casually:
“There’s a restaurant nearby. My dinner plans were canceled.”
I looked at him. “Are you asking me out?”
“I’m offering food. And conversation.”
“That’s not a denial.”
A pause.
Then, “No.”
I should have said no.
I didn’t.
