Two weeks.

That's how long it had been since Val left, though it felt like the days had dragged their heels just to spite me. Two excruciatingly slow weeks of not having her near.

Sure, she called when she could. I got to see her face through a screen, hear her laugh echo through the speaker, and even Duchess made appearances, looking noticeably fatter than before. And yes—Val had, true to her word, sent that boob pic. She called it motivation. I nearly died laughing.

But none of that compared to holding her in my arms, to feeling her warmth when she curled against me on the couch, to brushing her hair back when it fell into her face, to staring into those stormy eyes that always seemed to be on the edge of chaos. A screen couldn't capture the way her eyes shifted when she was hiding a smile, or how her heartbeat felt under my hand when she drifted to sleep against me.

Two weeks without that, and even with the calls and the teasing, the ache still gnawed at me.

Work at least gave me structure. Tasha was efficient—tasks came my way steadily, everything by the book. Reports, reconciliations, a presentation draft for Clarkson. Nothing outrageous, nothing sloppy. She was professional… mostly.

Sometimes her gaze lingered on me longer than it should have, but she never crossed the line. If anything, it looked like she was favoring me, though only slightly. Maybe giving me the easier path when she could. Not that I was complaining—it just made things less complicated.

Now today? Today was Thursday. The end of the month. Which meant tomorrow—my first paycheck. A milestone I'd been quietly waiting for.

---

By lunch break, most of the team had stepped out. I came back early, a file already sitting on my desk. It had been bugging me all morning—one of those little tasks that gnawed at the back of your head until you finally sat down and finished it. I figured I'd use the quiet to get it out of the way before it drove me insane.

I was halfway through reconciling a report when the door opened.

Tasha walked in.

I pretended not to notice, keeping my eyes on the page. She passed behind me toward her desk, heels soft against the floor.

There was a pause. Papers rustled, and I caught a shift in her shadow. She'd stopped moving. But I didn't look up. Whatever she was thinking about, I wasn't supposed to notice.

Then she picked up a folder, and walked right back, drawing closer until she stopped beside my desk. A soft thunk followed as she laid a folder down in front of me.

"Can you open the Ashbury account report?" she asked, her tone smooth, professional. "There's a client reconciliation note I'd like double-checked."

I nodded, closing the file I'd been working on and reaching for the cabinet. Within seconds, the folder was open between us. I flipped to the tabbed page, scanning.

She leaned slightly, close enough to point. Her finger tapped the margin as she explained, "Here. The allocation seems fine, but I'd rather have a second pair of eyes."

"It's accurate," I replied, eyes still on the numbers. "The variance is within range. Nothing missing."

She hummed softly, like she'd already known but wanted the confirmation anyway. She was my team leader, after all—double-checking was her right.

But when the silence stretched, I finally glanced up. She hadn't moved. Her hand was still resting lightly on the folder, her eyes on me instead of the numbers.

"…Anything else?" I asked.

She lingered a second too long, her fingers brushing the edge of the file before pulling back. Her lips pressed together, then parted as if she'd decided against speaking—only to let the words slip out anyway. "I'm actually twenty-six years old," she said softly, almost like she wasn't sure she should.

I blinked, caught off guard. "Uh?"

She hesitated, almost like she was debating whether to keep going. Then, with a shrug that looked too casual to be natural, she said, "I'm just… you know, saying."

I narrowed my eyes slightly. "O…kay?"

For a moment, she looked almost nervous—an emotion I didn't expect to see on her. Then she pressed on, slower this time, weighing every word.

"It's just that… you're more friendly with Derrick and Priya. But with me, you're always so formal." Her gaze dipped for a second, then returned to mine. "And Derrick's older than I am."

The implication hung there, half-spoken.

I leaned back, keeping my voice steady. "That's because you're my team leader."

Her lips parted, like she wanted to argue but didn't. She exhaled instead, her eyes dropping to my hand. To the ring.

When her gaze lifted back to mine, it lingered—direct, searching, unflinching.

And I realized, with a twist in my chest, that Avery had been right.

I had changed.

---

There was a time when I would've looked away the second her eyes met mine. Not just hers—any girl's. Back then, I couldn't handle the weight of being seen, the possibility of being misunderstood, or worse, the possibility of being read too easily (even though I was). But Val had burned that fear out of me. With her, I'd learned slowly, what it meant to meet someone eye-to-eye and never back down. To let them see me as I was. To hold steady.

Now, even as Tasha's gaze tried to cut past my guard, I didn't flinch. I just breathed. And exhaled.

"I don't want to be rude," I said finally, voice steady though my chest was tight, "but… can I ask where you're going with this?"

Her lips parted, then closed again. For a second, she looked like she might retreat, but instead, she pressed on. Her voice was softer now, stripped of the professional edge she usually wore like armor.

"It's… I…" She faltered, then gathered herself. "I just feel left out, that's all."

I knew she was lying. Not entirely—maybe there was a grain of truth buried in there—but the real reason was obvious. And I didn't want to dig at it. I didn't want the headache that came with acknowledging it.

So I nodded, pretending to take her words at face value. "I'll talk to Derrick and Priya. Make sure you're not left out."

She gave a quick nod, almost too quick, like she was eager to accept the lifeline. Then she turned on her heel, moving back toward her desk.

But she'd left the folder behind.

"Tasha," I called after her.

She stopped immediately, almost too fast, like she'd been waiting for me to stop her. Her head turned, eyes finding mine again. "Yeah?"

I held the folder out. "Your file."

Her gaze flicked down, then back up. A soft, almost embarrassed, "Oh. Right." She walked back, fingers brushing mine lightly as she took it. "Thanks."

Then she retreated again, each step measured, careful.

I watched her until she sat back down, the folder pressed neatly on the edge of her desk, her posture snapping back into the picture of composure. Only then did I turn back to my own work.

The truth was written in neon lights across the situation: this was why she favored me. Why sometimes the tasks she handed me seemed lighter than they should be, or the critiques softened, or the compliments slipped through too easily.

And the first thought that came, uninvited and unwanted, was how simple it would be to take advantage of that. To play into it. To let her guilt or interest—whatever it really was—work in my favor.

But I wasn't that guy. Never had been.

I exhaled slowly, pushing that temptation out of my chest like poison, grounding myself in one single thought that had carried me through everything.

I wanted to be the best version of myself because of Val. Because she believed in me, because she made me want to fight for more, because she saw me—really saw me—in a way no one else ever had.

And I wasn't going to let anything change that. Not a lingering look, not a nervous confession, not the silence that sometimes stretched too long between her calls. Nothing.

So I bent my head back to the papers in front of me, forcing my focus into the lines and numbers, and let the noise of the office fill the room again.

---

To be continued...

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.