The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the distant hum of traffic and the lightness of Sophie's laughter that still echoed in my head.
The apartment welcomed me in silence, calm, soft, and still.
I slipped off my shoes, padding toward the kitchen with a tired smile, still feeling the warmth of our girls' day on my skin.
Sophie always knew how to pour balm over raw wounds, not with pity, but with honesty, sass, and unwavering loyalty.
My phone buzzed.
I nearly ignored it.
But something, intuition, habit, curiosity, made me glance at the screen.
Mr. Michael.
Again.
The name alone sent a flutter across my chest, not quite excitement, not exactly fear.
Just something... unsettling.
I hesitated. Then tapped the message open.
"I hope your day brought you clarity.
You've been on my mind, Ella.
More than I care to admit.
If I overstepped in the office, forgive me. But I meant it, I'm here.
Whenever you're ready.
Rest well."
My breath caught in my throat.
There it was again, that strange softness threaded between his usual calm and collected words.
The same man who once only addressed me through assistants or curt memos… now texting me at night with quiet concern and subtle confessions?
I sat on the couch, slowly staring at the message, rereading it.
The glow from the screen lit up my face.
But inside, I felt something shadowed stirring".
Why now?
Why me?
And more hauntingly…
Was I ready to hear him out?
I leaned back against the cushions, phone resting on my chest, pulse unsure of what to do next.
Some part of me whispered, "Don't confuse attention with affection."
But another part bruised from Joe, softened by vulnerability, whispered right back, "What if it's something real this time?
"Thank you for checking in. It's been… a lot lately.
I'm not sure what you meant by everything, but I appreciate the kindness.
For now, I need space to breathe and figure things out.
Hope you understand."
I hit send before I could second-guess myself.
Not cold. Not too warm. Just honest.
I placed the phone facedown on the coffee table, unsure if she wanted a reply or feared one. Either way, I'd said my piece.
The rest… would unfold on its own.
The next day at work, I walked in with a determined calm.
My heels clicked against the hallway tiles with purpose.
My mind was still sorting through Sophie's blunt honesty, Joe's messy truth, and Mr.
Michael's late-night message.
I didn't expect to see him so soon.
But there he was, Mr. Michael, standing at the far end of the corridor, speaking to someone, a file tucked under his arm.
Our eyes met, and time faltered for a heartbeat.
He excused himself from the conversation and walked toward me. Each step was measured. Confident. Intentional.
"Ella," he said, his tone low, careful. "Good morning."
I gave a polite nod. "Morning, sir."
His eyes lingered on mine a second too long.
"I got your message last night," he added. "Thank you for replying."
I kept my expression unreadable. "I figured you deserved a response."
He looked as if he wanted to say more, but the busy hum of the office pressed in around us, phones ringing, voices murmuring, footsteps passing.
"I… won't keep you," he said, voice soft now. "But if ever you want to talk, about anything work or not, my door's open."
I gave a tight smile. "Thank you. But I'm okay."
He stepped aside to let me pass, and I did, aware of his eyes on my back as I walked away.
But for the first time in a long while, I wasn't shrinking under someone's gaze.
I was standing tall in it.
After Hours
The board presentation was the next day, and pressure throbbed through every minute we spent buried in spreadsheets, concept slides, and dry runs.
By late afternoon, I was seated at the edge of Mr. Michael's sleek office desk, laptop open, papers scattered, my blazer long discarded.
Mr. Michael had rolled up his sleeves, a look of calm intensity framing his face".
We worked in sync, exchanging ideas, adjusting slides, and refining numbers. Surprisingly, we made a great team.
"You have a sharp mind," he said at one point, not looking up. "You make this look easy."
I laughed lightly. "I just don't want to mess up in front of the board tomorrow."
He smiled faintly. "You won't. I know you won't."
Hours passed unnoticed. The hum of the office around us slowly faded.
At some point, the distant chatter of coworkers and the ding of elevator doors stopped.
The quiet crept in warm, heavy, and intimate.
I was so deep into editing the final draft that I didn't notice until. I glanced at the clock.
7:42 PM.
"Oh my God," I gasped, sitting up straighter. "It's past hours. I didn't even realize."
I began gathering my things quickly, flustered.
"Mr. Michael, I'm so sorry I should've wrapped this up earlier. You didn't have to wait for me…"
He leaned back in his chair, calm, unreadable.
"It's fine," he said softly. "Honestly… it was nice. Working with you here. Like this."
I met his eyes, and something about the way he said it made my heart beat a little faster.
I stood, ready to leave, already halfway turned toward the door, when his voice stopped me again.
"Ella…"
I turned back.
He was on his feet now, a few steps closer.
His tie was loose, his expression unreadable, but his voice had dropped gently", persuasive.
"Call me Michael."
I hesitated. "I… I've always called you Mr. Michael. I'm used to it."
He stepped forward again, now close enough to touch. His eyes didn't leave mine.
"Take your time," he murmured. "But don't call me Mr. again."
I opened my mouth to respond, but his hand rose two fingers, brushing gently against my lips.
It silenced me instantly.
My breath caught.
The tension between us cracked like a live wire. I felt it in the air.
On my skin. In the way he looked at me, not with authority now, not as a boss, but as a man seeing a woman who intrigued him.
I tried to take a step back. Too close. Too close.
But before I could move, his hand was already on my waist, firm yet slow. I froze.
"Michael…" I whispered, a warning and a whisper all at once.
"Shh," he said against my cheek. "Let me just do one thing."
Then he kissed me.
It started gently, cautious… but quickly deepened. His lips moved over mine with surprising tenderness, almost like he'd been waiting for this, maybe even longer than I had realized.
His hand slid up my back, pulling me into him, and I didn't resist.
For a moment, I let myself get lost in it.
In the warmth.
In the taste.
In the way his body felt against mine, solid, commanding.
But suddenly… Joe.
The ghost of him rose uninvited, crashing into the moment.
The way Joe used to touch my hair, whisper my name, that smirk when he pulled me closer, all of it surged forward.
For a moment, kissing Michael felt like him.
And then it didn't.
I pulled away sharply, breathless. My hand came to my lips.
"I-I'm sorry," I stammered. "I… I shouldn't have. We shouldn't…"
His gaze was steady, but there was a glimmer of something vulnerable in it.
"You didn't stop me," he said, voice low, almost hoarse. "Ella, don't pretend it didn't mean something."
I shook my head, stepping back, heart racing. "It was the moment… it was just the two of us here.
I wasn't thinking straight."
He took a step toward me again.
"I've wanted to do that for a while," he confessed. "Not just tonight.
You walk into a room, and I lose focus. I try to fight it… But you, Ella, you're magnetic."
I held up a hand. "Please… don't."
"Don't what? Tell you I'll see you? That I admire you not just for your work, but for your strength?"
Tears welled in my eyes. Not again. Not this storm of feelings.
"I need space," I whispered, nearly running to the door.
Behind me, I heard him call after me, softly, "Ella…"
But I didn't turn back.
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, hand trembling as I pressed the button.
My lips still tingled, but my chest ached with confusion.
I didn't know if I was running from him…
Or from the part of me that had wanted that kiss, even for just one moment.