The late hour painted the city in gold and gray, the streetlights below blinking like distant stars through the glass façade of Blake Enterprises. Camilla tightened her grip on her tote bag as she stepped into the sleek private elevator. She hadn't expected to stay this late, but the day had spiraled from routine to chaos the moment Dominic had called her into his office.
Now she was paying the price—missing dinner, her favorite show, and probably sleep. Still, part of her couldn't help but replay the way his voice had dipped when he'd said, "I need you to stay, Camilla."
She'd told herself not to overanalyze it. But her mind, traitorous and wild, insisted on imagining it said in a darker tone. One that wasn't purely professional.
The elevator chimed, and to her surprise, Dominic Blake stepped in. Alone.
He didn't say a word at first. Just loosened his tie, the muscles of his jaw tight as he hit the lobby button. The doors sealed them in. Silence. Tension. The low hum of the elevator, and the higher buzz in her bloodstream.
"I didn't think you were still here," he said after a moment, voice deep and smooth like whiskey poured over ice.
Camilla gave a small shrug, willing her heartbeat to slow. "Paperwork. And the fire you set with the investors."
His lips twitched, like he was almost amused. "I didn't set the fire. I redirected it."
"To me," she muttered.
He turned, his gaze locking on hers with sharp intent. "Because you're the only one I trust to handle it."
That made her blink. Compliments weren't his currency. Cold efficiency was.
"Well... I didn't screw it up," she said, instantly hating how breathless she sounded.
"No. You didn't." His voice dropped, and now there was no mistaking the edge behind it. "You impressed me today."
That shouldn't have thrilled her as much as it did.
The elevator gave a small jolt, then shuddered to a halt.
Camilla glanced up. The floor display blinked. Nothing moved. Her pulse spiked. "Wait, is this—?"
"Stuck," Dominic confirmed, already pulling out his phone. "Perfect."
She pressed the emergency button. No response. "This isn't funny."
"I'm not laughing."
"Well, I'm trying not to panic."
His eyes narrowed. "Claustrophobic?"
"Only when I'm locked in a steel box with my boss who makes me nervous."
He tilted his head. "Nervous? That's not the impression you usually give."
Camilla leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "That's because I'm usually not alone with you in a confined space while you're undoing your tie and looking at me like that."
He blinked, then let out a soft, surprised laugh. "Like what?"
"Like you're debating something very unprofessional."
He didn't deny it. Just took a step closer, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. "Maybe I am."
Her heart thudded so loud, she was sure he could hear it.
"I thought we agreed to keep this professional," she said.
"You're the only one who ever said that," he murmured.
They were too close now. Inches apart. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint cologne on his shirt, and see the way his eyes flicked to her lips.
She should have stepped away. She should have reminded him that workplace romances were a disaster waiting to happen.
But then his fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face, and her restraint cracked like glass under pressure.
His mouth found hers in a kiss that was neither hesitant nor gentle. It was the kiss of a man used to getting what he wanted—but not without reverence. And right now, he wanted her.
Camilla melted into it, letting the stress, the confusion, and the weeks of suppressed tension explode into something hotter, messier, and utterly electric.
When they finally broke apart, breathing hard, the elevator hummed and lurched back to life.
They both stared forward as the numbers ticked down. Camilla smoothed her blouse. Dominic straightened his tie.
Silence again.
And then he said, softly, "We'll need to talk about this."
"Tomorrow," she replied, her voice steady, even if her knees were not.
He nodded. "Tomorrow."
The doors opened. The world was back.
But something between them had shifted—permanently.