Part time lover…

– Chapter 11 –

She had only smoked once in her life and hated the taste ever since, but right now, she imagined that if she’d been an everyday smoker, this would have been the perfect moment to go through an entire pack. It seemed to work for those who lit up to cope with obnoxious, stubborn people.

And Nathaniel Marcus, tall, broad-shouldered, with a square jaw dusted in a neatly trimmed beard, green eyes that somehow made her pulse skip, and sun-kissed honey-brown hair that caught the light just so, was doing everything in his power to drive her crazy.

Mind you, a girl could still fantasize about those skilled hands of his and still fight tooth and nail not to acknowledge the feelings they stirred. She wanted to kill him, honestly, but at the same time… she wanted to wrap her arms around him and press a kiss to the flick of sadness she spotted in his eyes. Not that she’d ever admit that.

Marina realized she’d gone too far, letting her better judgment give way. Your father knew better than this, she’d said, intending to make him see reason, but the way he dismissed her made it clear her choice of words had been so totally wrong and out of place. Her stomach twisted, partly in fear, partly in… something else entirely. Which didn’t exactly make her any more professional.

If she’d had half a mind, she would’ve left things be, turned on her heel, and walked out like a proper assistant should. Instead, she went home and got to work.

Not just that night. The next one. And the one after that.

Marina carved out hours long past midnight in the upstairs bedroom that had once been an attic before her father closed it in and turned it into a real room. It was one large space tucked beneath the roof, with sloped ceilings, a narrow stairwell, and broad windows at the front of the house that caught the last of the neighborhood lights.

Her parents had given her the whole space when she moved back home from college, private enough to feel like her own, but still deeply tied to the rhythm of the house below.

From up there, she could hear the faint murmur of the television in the living room, the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, and her mother moving through the house as if making sure everyone in it was fed, settled, and where they belonged.

Most days, soft strains of Celia Cruz drifted through the air, her mother humming along as she moved from counter to table, the familiar rhythm of La Vida es un Carnaval filling the corners of the home. Her father’s low chuckle and then the soft scrape of his feet on the tile as he twirled her mother gently around the kitchen.

She wished, more often than not, that a love like her parents’ would find its way into her own life, but to be fair, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even gone on a date. Right now, though, there was no room for that kind of daydreaming.

Her laptop cast a cool glow across the desk, tabs multiplying faster than she could close them: market reports, growth forecasts, industry newsletters, anything that might hint at movement, at companies quietly positioning themselves for expansion.

She wasn’t looking for the obvious names. Those were already being courted by firms bigger than theirs. She was looking for the ones just beneath the surface. The almost-ready.The overlooked.

A soft knock came against her half-open door before it creaked wider:

„Marina, mija… you’re still awake?”

Her mother stepped in without waiting for an answer, already carrying a plate, something warm, something homemade, something Marina hadn’t realized she needed until the smell hit her.

„I brought you something. You can’t think on an empty stomach.”

„Mamá, I’m fine….”

„You said that three hours ago,” her mother cut in gently, setting the plate down beside her laptop anyway. „Eat.”

Marina exhaled, the corner of her mouth tugging despite herself. “Thank you.”

Her mother lingered for a moment, eyes scanning the screen, the mess of notes, the tight focus in her daughter’s expression.

„You work too much,” she chided, softer now. „You’re too young, you should be out living life a little. Did you hear? Cousin Miguel’s friend, Javier, was asking about you the other day. You know, he’s all grown up now… and he opened his own little café downtown.”

Marina didn’t look away from the screen. She murmured in reply, „It’s just for a few days.”

„Mhm.” her mother cast her way a knowing look. „You always say that.”

A light touch to her shoulder, then she was gone again, leaving behind warmth, food, and the quiet kind of care Marina never had to ask for.

Marina stared at the screen for a moment longer before reaching for the fork, shoving a mouthful of delicious food in her mouth.

Then she kept going.

‎

By the fourth night, patterns started to emerge.

Smaller luxury labels gaining traction in niche markets. Boutique European brands expanding their digital footprint but lacking physical presence. Regional designers quietly securing funding rounds without public announcements.

She built profiles. Shortlists. Cross-referenced engagement metrics with financial viability. Flagged anything that could realistically scale with the right strategy behind it. For the first time in days, she felt a flicker of hope. She only prayed Nathaniel would hear her out.

At the office, he air felt suffocating, as if the entire floor had drawn a collective breath and forgotten how to let it go. She’d wanted to pin it down to chaos, but that wasn’t exactly right.

Analysts who normally left at six were still at their desks well past eight, sleeves rolled up, takeout containers gathering beside glowing monitors. Finance had stopped speaking in anything but revised forecasts and worst-case scenarios. Legal was suddenly impossible to get hold of unless the matter involved permits, contracts, or Delacroix’s accelerated timeline. Marketing moved faster too, reshuffling campaigns and briefing decks with the kind of clipped urgency that made even casual questions sound like demands.

Everywhere Marina looked, people were working half a step quicker than usual. Through it all, she noticed the occasional glance toward Nathaniel’s office, the quiet pause when his name came up. They weren’t questioning the numbers, but some were wondering if this was strategy… or ego-driven.

She sometimes asked herself the same, but pushed the thought aside. She didn’t know much about him beyond their interactions, but from what she’d seen so far, he was fair, pushed people to do better, and unlike most bosses, actually listened.

Past that, they had fallen back into their earlier pattern. Brief, efficient exchanges when necessary. His eyes were always scanning some document or another, his tie perpetually askew, the top button of his shirt loosened by late afternoon as if even the fabric had given up keeping pace with him. He looked worn around the edges, and each time Marina caught sight of him, it took more effort than it should have to look away.

He was first and last in the office and his door was closed more often. When it was open, she could feel the tension radiating off him even from her desk. And she didn’t interrupt unless she had to. When she did, it was quick, to the point.

“Finance sent over the revised cost projections.”

A nod.

“Legal flagged potential delays in permitting for California.”

A clipped, “Noted.”

So she worked around him instead of with him. A quiet question to Finance about discretionary budget flexibility. A follow-up with Marketing on bandwidth for additional client onboarding. A casual check-in with Business Development about leads that hadn’t been fully pursued. Just enough to know what would be possible, if she needed to put something in front of him.

By Tuesday, exhaustion had settled into her bones. But so had something else. Resolve.

Marina leaned back in her chair, eyes flicking over the latest set of notes she’d compiled, her fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before she finally started drafting the final version. The next meeting with Delacroix was scheduled for Friday. Which meant that if she was going to do this, it had to be now.

She printed the briefing packet, slid the pages into a slim folder, and stared at it for a moment longer than necessary. Then she stood, squared her shoulders, and walked to his office.

His door was half-open.

Nathaniel stood by the windows, phone pressed to his ear, one hand braced against his hip, his tie gone and his sleeves rolled up. Even from the doorway, he looked strained.

He ended the call with a sigh „Send it to me in the next hour,” and turned just enough to spot her standing there. His gaze dropped to the folder in her hand, then lifted back to her face.

„What is it?”

„I need ten minutes.”

His expression didn’t change. „This is not the best moment.”

But he also didn’t make a move to dismiss her further. So Marina stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

„I’ve spent the last few days pulling data, checking expansion activity, funding patterns, digital growth, onboarding feasibility, and department capacity.” She placed the folder on the corner of his desk, but didn’t push it toward him yet. „I also spoke with Finance about budget flexibility, Marketing about bandwidth, and Business Development about dormant leads that haven’t been fully pursued.”

Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed slightly. „You went ahead when you had no approval to do so?”

„I did,” Marina said evenly, holding his gaze. „But I did it in my own time. Well… except for a couple of quick questions with some of the department leads to make sure the data was realistic.”

„You know….people have been fired for less.” Nathaniel replied with no bite in his voice, so she took that as a good sign.

„Right,” she acknowledged, then took a deep breath. „But I’ve cross-referenced everything, pulled engagement metrics, financial viability, and department capacity. I’ve flagged three prospective clients that are not just viable, they actually fit what we need for a fast-track expansion, which would account for nearly three quarters of what Mr. Delacroix is prepared to commit.”

She paused, letting her words settle. „I just need five minutes to show you the data. If it doesn’t hold up, I’ll never bring this up again.”

Nathaniel’s green eyes lingered on her, sharp and assessing, but there was a trace of something softer underneath the fatigue, interest, maybe even curiosity. The silence stretched just long enough for her enthusiasm to start deflating, and then he inclined his head in a small nod.

“Ten minutes. Tomorrow,” he said, “But you’ll need to convince the rest of the board members as well. This isn’t just about me, if they’re not on board…”

„About that….” she started, feeling her cheeks heat and a tight knot coil in her stomach. Oh boy.

His face hardened for a fraction, then his gaze drifted upward, eyes momentarily fixed on the ceiling as if searching for patience, one palm rising to cover his face. After a beat, he let out a low, incredulous sigh. „You already spoke with them… behind my back. Figures.”

„It’s not like that,” she said quickly, though her palms now were starting to sweat, and she felt the need to wipe them down her skirt, but didn’t dare to move. „I didn’t go behind your back to undermine anything. But… I needed to make sure what I bring to you is actionable. I couldn’t risk walking in here empty-handed, not when the timeline is this tight.”

„I’m not sure what to chalk this down to,” he said, voice low, a dangerous edge slipping through that made a shiver run down her spine. Mind you, it wasn’t fear she felt. Surely, the exhaustion was sending her body all the wrong signals. „I’m not sure if you’re this self-assured, or you’re experimenting with my tolerance.”

She opened her mouth, ready to defend herself, but a subtle lift of his hand stopped her mid-word. His green eyes pinned hers, as if he could see every thought racing through her head.

„Miss Reyes… don’t make a habit of this. Confidence without consequence is a dangerous thing.”

His words reminded her of their first encounter…and the aftermath. That memory made her core tighten in a way she hated to admit. As she walked out of his office, Marina scolded herself silently for letting her mind wander, for feeling, not fear – though she was rightly chastised – but a stubborn, maddening flicker of desire she couldn’t rein in. Surely, she was losing her mind. And if she wasn’t careful, by tomorrow, she might lose her job too.

– Chapter 9 –

By the time Thursday finally arrived, Nathaniel had already lived through it twice.

He stepped out of the elevator just after eight, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, already halfway through a list of numbers he had memorized but refused to trust. Two weeks of preparation, a weekend buried in renewal calls with old clients, and more late-night revisions to the Delacroix proposal than he cared to count. But progress have been made, and he was feeling cautiously optimistic.

The office floor was still mostly empty. A few early analysts hunched over monitors, the glow of spreadsheets reflecting off tired faces. He walked straight to his office planning on going over the proposal one more time for good measure.

Marina’s desk sat just outside his door, neat and organized. It had been empty for two days, or at least every time he stepped out of his office long enough to notice. The small cactus she kept beside her monitor was still alive, which meant someone had watered it.

They had slipped back into their earlier pattern of interaction, emails over conversations, but with less bite to their exchanges. It felt strangely empty without her presence close by, although he had caught sight of her a couple of times across the floor, always in passing. And once or twice he had lingered when he caught the faint trace of her perfume in the air, drawing in a deep breath before forcing himself to move on.

Monday she had spent the day reviewing documents with Accounting for the Delacroix meeting. Yesterday she had been across town working with the real estate consulting team, gathering preliminary data for potential flagship locations. Wednesday had been consumed by coordination with Marketing and PR, reviewing launch strategies and preparing briefing materials to ensure every client-facing detail was aligned for their new client.

Practical reasons.

Perfectly normal.

Still.

‎

By eleven o’clock the conference room had filled.

The European delegation arrived precisely on time, three people in tailored suits that looked as though they had stepped directly out of a Milan showroom. Their presence alone shifted the energy in the room. Luxury brands carried their own gravity.

Nathaniel shook hands across the polished table.

„Mr. Delacroix.”

The man was older than Nathaniel expected, late fifties, perhaps, but there was a practiced command in the way he held himself, as if the room bent to his words by habit. Silver threaded his dark hair at the temples, and his smile had the practiced warmth of someone who negotiated for a living. Now Nathaniel had to find a way to convince him that this contract was worth every penny he would invest.

„Nathaniel Marcus,” Delacroix said, eyeing him with a glint of curiosity. „Your father spoke highly of you.”

„I appreciate that, Mr. Delacroix. I’ll do my best to make it worth your time.”

Nathaniel straightened his jacket and tapped the tablet in his hands, sending the presentation to the projector across the room. Charts, projections, and timelines lit up the screen, visible to everyone at the table. He could control every slide from the tablet, keeping the discussion flowing exactly how he intended.

„Based on our market analysis and post-COVID projections, we recommend a phased entry into the U.S. market. Three flagship stores initially, New York, Los Angeles and Miami, followed by selective expansion in Chicago and other strategic locations over the next three to five years. This allows time for regulatory approvals, prime retail negotiations, and supply chain stabilization. Our projections suggest this approach maximizes profitability while minimizing risk.”

Delacroix’s fingers tapped lightly on the table. „Three stores?” he interrupted, his brow arching, a faint, sharp smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, anything but warmth. „I came here expecting Marcus & Sons Consulting to understand urgency. We don’t have the luxury of ‘phased’ entry. I want ten flagship stores within eighteen months. Manhattan, LA, Miami, prime locations, no compromises. Duty-free channels restored simultaneously. Profitability guaranteed within two years. You made it happen for Armand Group a couple of years back, I don’t see why this wouldn’t work the same.”

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. He had anticipated pushback, but the sheer scale of what Delacroix demanded still made his mind race. The Armand Group deal had been struck seven years ago, long before the pandemic upended global markets, and under far more favorable conditions. What Delacroix wanted now wasn’t just ambitious; it was operating in a landscape that made even the best-laid plans precarious.

„Mr. Delacroix,” Nathaniel said carefully, „logistically, that pace would require securing leases, construction, and staffing across multiple cities simultaneously, not to mention regulatory compliance and supply chain setup. Even in an ideal market, the risks are substantial. We can guarantee a strong, profitable launch if we proceed in phases, but the timeline you propose carries a significant chance of operational failure.”

Delacroix leaned back, eyes narrowing. „Son, it’s your job to ensure things run smoothly. But I don’t hire advisors to tell me what can’t be done. I hire them to make it happen.” He let the words hang for a moment, then added, almost casually, „Your father set a high bar; It would be unfortunate if you weren’t able to meet the level of execution your father once commanded. You should know Halberg & Shaw Global approached me with their pitch as well. If you can’t deliver what I want, I’m confident they will.”

Nathaniel ground his molars, the sudden ache in his jaw a sharp reminder of his rising frustration and the sting of embarrassment. He was painfully aware of the veiled threat, how the air seemed to vanish from the room, and worst of all, her gaze on him, which somehow irritated him more than anything else. He needed this win, this fucking silver lining, or he would break the promise he’d made to his father. And after how everything went down, the thought was unbearable.

He knew this was insane, that the costs and workload would double, but he rationalized that the payoff would be far better than the alternative. Inhaling slowly, het let his gaze sweep the charts and figures projected before them, then leveled his expression on the other man. „We can meet your objectives,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. „We’ll restructure the expansion strategy, adjust the implementation plan, and deliver a revised proposal on your desk within the next week.”

Delacroix’s lips curved into a faint, approving smile. „Excellent. It seems the reputation was not entirely misplaced.”

Nathaniel allowed himself a fraction of relief, but only just. He already knew the promise he had made carried risks, risks that would land squarely on his desk… and on Marina’s. He didn’t dare look her way, yet he could feel her disapproval in his bones. All the more reason he was trying to protect her job, though she didn’t need to know that.

– Chapter 8 –

By the time Marina gathered her things, the office was nearly empty. Friday had stretched longer than she expected, a last-minute client meeting reschedule, a check-in with PR on some paperwork, and a stack of client notes she refused to leave unfinished.

She could almost taste the weekend, eager to be home.

Marina slung her bag over one shoulder with more haste than grace, glancing toward Nathaniel’s office. At this hour, only he and two others remained on the floor. He hadn’t stepped out once since his meeting with Accounting nearly two hours ago, the glass walls of his office had gone opaque halfway through, a silent signal that the meeting wasn’t meant for an audience.

She stepped toward his open door to say goodbye and to remind him that Mr. Delacroix would be flying in next week for their contract renegotiation. But she hesitated just outside, lingering on his silhouette, the way the warm glow of the late-afternoon sunlight slanted through the blinds, catching the sharp planes of his face.

His jacket was draped over the back of his chair. Papers from what had clearly been a long discussion were scattered across his desk, a half-finished espresso gone cold. His tie was loosened, collar open, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his brow furrowed in concentration as he scribbled on his tablet.

He looked… younger. A little untethered. Dangerous in a way that made her shift her weight.

She lifted her hand and knocked lightly against the doorframe.

He looked up, surprise flickering across his features.

„Marina?” he said, letting her name slip. There was a softness to it that made her feel unexpectedly light.

He realized it immediately, clearing his throat and tugging at his tie, but he didn’t correct himself.

„I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

„You’re not.”, his gaze drifted briefly to the time on his desk monitor, then back to her. „I didn’t realize you were still here.”

She gave a small shrug. “I wanted to finalize the Delacroix notes ahead of next week’s meeting. Legal sent over revisions and I thought it’d be easier to consolidate everything now instead of Monday morning chaos.”

He studied her for a long beat, something akin to gratitude in his expression. Then he glanced toward the windows behind her, where the city lights beginning to blink on one by one.

„You really should get out of here. It’s late.”

„Yeah,” she said noncommittally, her attention drawn to the set of his shoulders, the faint traces of fatigue at the corners of his eyes. For reasons she couldn’t name, the pull that made her want to leave had… softened.

He leaned back slightly, fingers threading through his hair in a quick, frustrated tug, his gaze never leaving hers.

„I know being back in the office full time isn’t…” He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “…I realize this first week hasn’t been……particularly easy.”

She gave a small nod, „It’s… an adjustment.”

„I know we started on the wrong foot… all things considered,” he said, voice low, measured. „But I can see why my father insisted on keeping you.”

Marina’s hand froze on the strap of her bag. She swallowed, the faint warmth in her chest catching her off guard. She had spent months bracing for every word he might throw her way, every thinly veiled criticism. They had been avoiding each other this past week, mostly because every time he was around, her traitorous body refused to cooperate into stillness. And that will simply not do.

„I…thank you,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

They regarded each other for a half-beat. „I’ll see you Monday,” her words trailing off before anything else could follow.

He hummed in acknowledgment returning to his work, the faint scrape of pen on screen the only sound in the office.

By the time she made it to the train, her emergency bag tucked at her feet, Marina let herself sink against the window, the city slipping past in blurred streaks of neon and streetlight.

She couldn’t stop her mind from drifting. He had seemed smaller somehow in the quiet of the office, the usual authority she associated with him muted by the hours he had spent alone. The lines at his temples and the weight in his shoulders gave him an unfamiliar vulnerability, a stillness that made the space around him feel emptier than it should have. That made him seem… human, and it unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. She needed to remind herself of her priorities.

She tried to push the thought aside, picturing the life waiting for her once she stepped inside her home: the full house alive with people, music, and the smell of dinner spilling from the kitchen, laughter echoing off the walls. A world brimming with warmth, chaos, and light.

And yet, she wondered what his hours outside work looked like, what he went home to. Did he cook for himself after a week like this, or just order in? Did he have a space of his own, quiet and tidy, or was it cluttered like his desk? Did he read, watch TV, or simply close the door behind him and let the day dissolve into quiet?

Her stop came over the train’s speakers, pulling her back from the spiral of her thoughts. Marina pressed her lips together and let her gaze drift to her folded hands, berating herself for indulging in questions that weren’t hers to ask.

– Chapter 7 –

By Friday afternoon, Nathaniel had learned three things.

Marina Reyes did not crumble under pressure. She did not miss details. And she did not scare easily.

The last one irritated him most.

He stood at the glass wall of his office, watching the bullpen without appearing to watch it. The office had that particular end-of-week energy, looser conversations, muted laughter, keyboards tapping at half-speed.

She sat two rows down, sleeves rolled, hair twisted up in a way that had not survived the full workday. A few loose strands framed her face as she leaned over Daniela’s desk, explaining something on a spreadsheet with a crease between her brows. He had the irrational urge to cross the room and smooth his thumb over that crease, just to see if it would disappear under his touch. Then he’d trace the line of her temple, feel the warmth of her skin, tip her head back, and maybe she’ll look at him like she had that night.

That night, that he had no right thinking about. But all he did was think about. The memory of her laugh had lodged somewhere beneath his ribs, bright and reckless, nothing like the cool, guarded woman who now looked at him across the floor as if she’d happily set him on fire. Since then, her eyes had turned into slits whenever they landed on him, all challenge and defiance. Her mouth, once soft against his, now pressed into a thin line of disapproval whenever he entered a room.

She carried herself like armor these days.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his tie. This was precisely why he needed distance.

Because distance made decisions cleaner.

He turned away from the glass wall and walked back to his desk, that still carried the faint scent of his father’s cologne if he thought about it long enough. The office had been his father’s for fifteen years. Built on handshakes and long lunches and promises that outlived profit margins.

And nearly bankrupt because of it.

Nathaniel sat down, opened the bottom drawer, and studied the folder again. He didn’t need to, every figure, every projection, was already burned into his memory. But he did it anyway, as if staring long enough could somehow make the numbers improve overnight.

Columns of numbers printed from accounting, cross-referenced with HR projections. Revenue decline. International contracts frozen, only now slowly restarting and in need of renegotiation. Government infrastructure bids postponed “until further notice.” Three European market entries stalled. Two South American expansions canceled outright.

Borders had officially reopened, but budgets were still slashed. Marcus & Sons had survived on reputation alone for eighteen months. But reputation didn’t cover payroll forever.

Their company specialized in guiding corporations into foreign markets, regulatory strategy, political risk assessment, operational restructuring. When borders shut down, so did expansion. When governments froze spending, so did advisory contracts. And when expansion stopped, so did them.

He pulled out the list of names, he’d gotten a few weeks ago. People who, on paper, did not justify their cost in a firm that had lost forty percent of its active international portfolio.

His father had refused to even look at the list.

„We don’t abandon our people,” he’d said.

Nathaniel wanted to agree. But numbers didn’t bend for sentiment. Unless he secured a major account within the month, a cross-border expansion large enough to stabilize cash flow for at least two quarters, those names would move from projection to action. And there will be more to follow.

Marcus & Sons wasn’t the largest firm on the market, but it had never needed to be. It had built its reputation on precision, on delivering where others hesitated. His father had made sure of that. Now, that same reputation was the only thing keeping them in rooms like the one he had just walked out of.

He ran his eyes down the page, chasing her name. His jaw tightened.

His father had insisted on keeping her three years ago when not hiring her would have been simpler. “She sees the gaps before they widen,” he’d said. “You’ll need someone like that.”

Nathaniel had disagreed at the time. But now…. It didn’t matter.

Spencer would have known what to do. He was always so good at reading a room, knowing exactly who to speak to and when, and charming people into giving him what he wanted without them ever realizing it. Everything came naturally to him. He had a knack for this, for steering chaos into order, the kind of instinct Nathaniel had never fully possessed. Spencer moved through life like a carefully plotted blueprint; Nathaniel stumbled into it, learning on the fly.

They had been close, as close as a ten-year gap could allow, sharing the occasional secret, the occasional laugh, the occasional challenge. But as time passed, Nathaniel had fallen into his own path, and their interactions became fewer, polite and amicable rather than familiar. He was rarely home, hopping from city to city, diving into architecture projects, chasing opportunities that kept him constantly on the move. That was a regret he carried more heavily than any other.

He let out a long breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting toward the bullpen. Marina was typing something furiously, fingers flying over the keys, unaware that he was watching, unaware that every move she made was quietly folding itself into the equation he couldn’t let anyone else see.

A corner of his mouth lifted, almost involuntarily. The fire in her eyes was infuriating. And yet… necessary.

He tapped a pen against the desk. The week was winding down, but the work had just begun. And somewhere deep beneath the spreadsheets, projections, and looming deadlines, Nathaniel knew that keeping her close wasn’t just about the numbers.

– Chapter 6 –

By the time Marina made it back to her hotel room, her feet were throbbing and her brain felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry.

She dropped her bag on the small armchair and kicked off her heels mid-step, not caring where they landed. The room was quiet, too quiet after the constant hum of printers, phones and voices that blurred into one endless workday.

She had survived.

Barely.

She wasn’t a stranger to office work; she’d done her time in fluorescent-lit buildings before, but after three pandemic years and two of them spent working from her bedroom desk, being surrounded by so many strangers again felt…overwhelming.

All day, she’d been reintroduced to people she technically already knew. Faces that once lived in email signatures now had expressions, voices, height, posture. There was Daniela from finance, who laughed too loudly but seemed kind. Omar from legal, who had the tired eyes of someone permanently overworked. And Elise, the executive assistant who’d given Marina a once-over that said so you’re the one without speaking a word, an assessment she totally filed away in a neat little box to revisit later.

And she’d very much managed to keep her composure every time Nathaniel appeared nearby. Which, admittedly, was often. Yet another thing she wasn’t too keen to dissect just yet.

Her stomach growled viciously, snapping her out of her reverie.

She hadn’t eaten since a rushed coffee and half a protein bar that morning. She’d been invited to lunch, but she hadn’t quite had the stomach for more polite conversations.

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed in oversized sleep shorts, devouring slices from the pizza place a couple of blocks away. The cardboard box sat open beside her, grease staining the thin paper lining.

Halfway through her third slice, her phone lit up.

She swallowed quickly and answered. „Hola, Ma.”

„Mi amor. Cómo te fue?” Her mother’s voice wrapped around her instantly, relaxing the stiffness in her shoulders. „Sobreviviste?”

Marina laughed softly. „Sí mama. I am well and alive.”

„Bueno. Y qué tal la oficina? La gente?”

„It was fine. Everyone’s… nice. Professional.” She grabbed another slice. „A little intense.”

There was a pause. „Te dio problemas?”

Marina choked on a bite of pizza. “Mamá.”

„Qué?” Her mother’s voice was light, teasing. „You sound guilty.”

Marina’s cheeks warmed, relieved that her mother couldn’t see her reaction up close. She flopped against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “He’s… fair. Strict. Very focused. Very…” She hesitated. “Annoyingly competent.”

For a split second, she saw those gold-flecked green eyes again. She shoved the memory aside with a frown.

Her mother voice softened: „Escúchame, mija. Just do your job. Show them who you are. No te dejes intimidar por nadie. And eat something that isn’t just pizza.”

Marina glanced down at the box. “Too late.”

A sigh. “Te quiero.”

“Te quiero más.”

When the call ended, the room felt quiet again.

She looked down at her phone, then toward the window, city lights blinking in the distance.

She had survived her first day.

She would survive the commute.

The real challenge wasn’t the work or the distance. It was the man waiting at the other end of it.

– Chapter 5 –

The door to Nathaniel’s office closed behind them with a soft click that did nothing to match the steady drum of her heart.

He moved toward his desk; a broad slab of dark walnut, its surface lined with neat stacks of briefing folders. But instead of taking his seat, he stopped in front of it and leaned back against the edge, arms crossed over his broad chest, assessing her.

His expression gave nothing away. So she remained silent, lips pressed into a tight line, afraid she might make things worse if she spoke first.

After a moment, he tilted his head slightly.

„I feel like I should apologize for something, „he said, dragging a hand slowly along his jaw, thumb brushing the edge of his neatly trimmed beard. „I just can’t quite figure out what.”

Her gaze narrowed a fraction.

„Seeing that I’m not the one who sneaked out in the middle of the night,” he continued with a twitch to his lips, „without as much as a polite goodbye.”

There it was.

A flush of heat crept up her neck, and she forced her hands to relax.

„You were asleep,” she replied evenly. „It seemed inefficient to wake you.”

„Inconvenient, you mean.”

„No,” she corrected calmly. „I meant inefficient.”

Were they really having this conversation?

„Did you know?” she asked, wincing at the hint of accusation in her voice.

There was a dip in his eyebrows, a flash of disbelief he masked almost instantly. She might not have noticed it if she hadn’t been paying attention, but she did; before he answered with a low hum.

„Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?”

She let out a dry laugh.

„You tell me its been over three months since you took over, and it never once crossed your mind to check on your employees?”

He tilted his head, eyes scanning her carefully. „I suppose that question could go both ways, no?”

With that damned photo in mind, she searched his face again, looking for a smirk, the flicker of calculation.

Nothing.

She drew in a slow breath, forcing her voice steady. „Then we agree. There’s nothing happening between us. It was a lapse in judgment, and we never speak of it again.”

For a split second, Nathaniel’s eyes flared, a fleeting spark of recognition passing through them. Liar, they seemed to say, as if he could read the pull she was desperately shoving into the back of her mind, forcing her shoulders to ease and her jaw to unclench.

He didn’t respond immediately, which made her stomach churn in knots. She couldn’t afford to think about last night. About how he made her feel. This was not entirely her fault, but it was her job on the line. She would not go down without a fight. Now more than ever, she couldn’t afford to get fired.

„You’re the one who holds my contract,” she said, forcing the words out through her teeth.

„Are you’re implying that I’d weaponize it, Miss Reyes?” he replied, his voice laced with disdain. „I know we had our differences, but I didn’t think you’d think so little of me.”

She stilled, letting his words hang in the air, her pulse quickening despite her best efforts at control.

„I think between the two of us, I have more to lose if this – she gestured subtly with her hand, the space between them – ever came to light. I like my job, Mr. Marcus, and I’m damn good at it. I’d rather you let me prove my worth before making up your mind about me, after what transpired last night.”

Nathaniel’s eyes softened slightly, but the intensity didn’t fade.

„Then let’s consider this a clean slate. I value the work you’ve done for my father and the contributions you’ve made over the past three years. But moving forward, things are going to change, and I need someone I can trust to hold their own and be present in the office. The pandemic changed the way we all work, but our clients still value face-to-face interaction. Being here allows us to reestablish trust, read the room, be better prepared, and maintain the level of professionalism and connection they expect.”

Marina let his words settle, her thoughts spinning. She could do this. She’d endure the commute, miss some of the weekly family dinners she cherished, and still keep her father’s medical bills paid and her brother in college.

She stepped forward, holding out her hand, a gesture meant for truce.

„Then… let’s start fresh,” she said, even-toned, though her blood hummed with adrenaline.

Nathaniel stared at her hand for a heartbeat, the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth softening the sharpness in his features. He reached out slowly, letting his fingers close over hers. The warmth of his hand was immediate, sending a shiver up her spine she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Her chest tightened, and for a moment, the room seemed impossibly small, every sound muted except the quickening of her own pulse. He held her gaze a beat longer than necessary, long enough for her to catch the flecks of gold dancing in the green of his eyes, before releasing his hand and letting it fall to her side. Trouble, her traitorous heart whispered.

– Chapter 4 –

Marina’s alarm had gone off three times, and she’d hit snooze twice more, but at 7 a.m., she finally dragged herself out of bed.

Her body was still humming with the memories of last night; his hands, his lips, the way he’d made her come three times before she’d even had a chance to think. Even now, heat lingered low in her stomach, a slow ache that pulsed every time she remembered the way his mouth teased just a second longer than necessary, as if he enjoyed the anticipation as much as the reward. It was really a shame, they way they fitted against each other.

But she knew better than daydream about stormy green eyes and reverent touches. In her real life, things were steady. Predictable. Accounted for. You dated someone who’s name your tías could pronounce without hesitation, someone who showed up to Sunday dinner with dessert already in hand and shook your father’s hand like it meant something. A face her abuela evaluated over coffee, a presence woven into birthdays and baptisms and arguments about politics over arroz. Someone steady. Safe. Someone who didn’t look at you like you were inevitable rather than simply compatible.

She had slipped out around two, when his breathing finally deepened. Back in the hotel room she’d collapsed onto her sheets with a grin and a shiver. Sleep had been shallow, fragmented, but she didn’t care. Not one bit. She was still buzzing.

Now, she rode the elevator, the glass walls giving her a dizzying view of the city below. Manhattan stretched out like a glittering grid beneath her, taxis and pedestrians moving like tiny figures on a stage. The elevator ascended, each floor pinging like a countdown, each ding a reminder that she was stepping deeper into the lion’s den. The polished steel and glass reflected her tired but determined expression back at her, and for a moment she caught herself straightening her blouse, tightening her grip on her bag. The devil himself. That was who she was about to meet.

The elevator doors slid open, and Marina stepped out onto the 11th floor. She took a steady breath, as she crossed the short distance to the reception desk. Behind it, the company’s name gleamed in large, tasteful letters on the wall – Marcus & Sons Consulting – done in brushed metal that caught the light just enough to look imposing without feeling ostentatious.

The receptionist looked up and smiled warmly. „Hi! You must be Marina. I’m Jamie. It’s so nice to finally meet you in person! Let me show you to Mr. Marcus’s office and get you settled.”

Marina returned the smile with a small nod. „Thank you.”

As they walked around the floor, Jamie chatted easily, pointing out conference rooms and coffee stations, explaining where each department was. Her tone was light, welcoming, the kind of easy friendliness that made new people feel like they belonged. Marina nodded, trying to adjust to seeing so many faces in person. She recognized many from virtual calls, but most were strangers moving with quiet efficiency, heads down, laptops open, phones pressed to ears.

She took it all in, the soft hum of conversations, the quiet clatter of keyboards, the faint scent of espresso from the nearby café corner. Everything smelled of polished ambition, of carefully curated professionalism. Her own heels clicked a steady rhythm against the stone floor, a metronome to steady the buzz in her veins.

„Mr. Marcus’s office is this way.” Jamie said, turning down a hallway lined with glass-walled offices.

Marina tried to focus on the practicalities, remembering who sat where, noting the layout, committing the path to memory. She enjoyed having a good feel for the space, the rhythm of movement, the way everything was organized. It made her feel in control, grounded, like she could handle whatever the day threw at her.

Rounding a corner a little too quickly, she collided with something solid. Strong hands closed around her forearms, steadying her just in time to keep her from landing on her ass. Something in her pulse spiked, the scent she inhaled familiar.

„Oh! Sorry…” she began, before registering much of anything. Then, looking up, she froze.

„Hi, Nathaniel! We were just on our way to see you. I was finishing up showing Marina around the floor,” Jamie said brightly.

A sense of shock and dread washed over Marina. Her stomach twisted, her pulse quickened, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe, as her brain scrambled to process what she was seeing.

„There you are,” he said, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, as his eyes roamed her face. „I guess introductions are a little overdue.”

Marina’s lips parted, then snapped shut. Her brain cells had malfunctioned as he was looking at her with a curios gleam in his eyes.

Did he knew? Last night? Who she was? Shocked was quickly replaced by hot fury. Was this some fucked-up game to get her fired? Surely he wouldn’t stoop this low… but then again, what the hell did she really know about him?

She remembered the photo his father had shown her, a family picture, a few years old, pre-pandemic. The man in it had looked slender, almost boyish, his face angled slightly away from the camera, his eyes shadowed.

But this… this was someone else entirely. Broad shoulders, sharper lines, a neatly trimmed beard that emphasized the angles of his jaw, and faint laugh lines etched around his eye; lines that gave him a kind of worn confidence the picture never showed. He looked older, sharper… and somehow more dangerous.

Her fingers unclenched around her bag strap, and she took a small step back, enough to create space, to clear her thoughts. Chin lifted, shoulders squared, she met his gaze head-on, a polite smile plastered on her mouth.

„A pleasure, Mr. Marcus,” she said, raising a steady hand between them, professionalism personified.

He blinked once, just a fraction too slow, a flicker of amusement crossing his gaze, but he said nothing. Instead, he folded his hands behind his back, eyes scanning her as if she were a file he’d only just opened for inspection.

Game on.

– Chapter 3 –

He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her mouth, like he wanted to inhale her as instinctively as his next breath.

The thought surprised him, unsettled him more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t hunger exactly. It was awareness. The sudden, unwelcome sense that she had already occupied space inside his head without asking. The moment he noticed her, there was an urgency that zipped through his veins. He had to make a move before some other asshole beat him to it.

That was the problem.

She stood there like she’d wandered into his evening by mistake and decided to stay out of spite. One hip cocked, a cascade of glossy curls draped over sun-warmed, honey-brown skin, shoulders bare and teasing. Her eyes assessing him, curiosity and a spark he was hoping to to explore, if he played his cards right. She looked like someone who knew how to win arguments and enjoyed doing it. She smelled like lime and heat and something faintly floral he couldn’t place, and every instinct he had said pay attention.

So he did.

His bold little gambit, earned him a slow, teasing smile that hit his chest first… and traveled south fast.

She leaned just enough to catch his shoulder with the slightest motion.

„You’re clearly good at calculated risks,” she said, voice soft, playful. „I like a man who knows what he’s doing… even if he’s a little reckless.”

He shouldn’t have smiled back. He did anyway, and let himself enjoy the way her gaze followed his lips.

„Reckless is such a harsh word,” he said, turning his body fully toward hers, letting his knee angle just close enough to brush hers if she shifted. „I prefer efficient.„

Her laugh was quick, low, and unapologetic. It did something dangerous to him, made him want to earn another one just to prove he could. He tipped his head, studying her like a problem he was already enjoying solving.

„You opened with tequila,” he said. „So now I’m wondering, are we drinking because the night deserves it, or because something needs drowning?”

Her lips twitched. „That’s an interesting theory. You always psychoanalyze strangers at bars?”

„Only the interesting ones.” He paused, then added with a grin, „And for the record, I’m very good at distractions.”

She considered him, her gaze slow as it traced its way down his body before returning to his eyes. „That’s a dangerous thing to say to a woman with tequila in her hand.”

He lifted his glass, clinked it against hers, and downed a third shot, caught by the way the light kissed the curve of her neck, imagining what it would be like if he dared to close the distance. „I’m comfortable with risk.”

„Good,” she said, lifting her chin a fraction. „Because tequila doesn’t play well with hesitation.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his fingers found hers, curling gently around her hand as it rested on the glass. He turned it over, palm up, and let his thumb drift in slow, deliberate circles over the pulse at her wrist, feeling the subtle thrum beneath his touch.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost indulgent.

„I’ve been curious about a lot of things tonight,” he said, thumb lingering over her pulse. „But I think you might be my favorite question.”

He noticed the small catch in her breath, the goosebumps rising across the skin of her arms.

„Should we find out how bad you’d like to know the answer to it?” Her lips curved into a slow, teasing smile, one that started at her eyes and traveled down to her mouth, daring him to follow its lead.

He closed the distance, heart racing, as if each step forward was a confession he could never take back. His hand lifted to her face, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against the corner of her mouth. She leaned into the touch, just enough to let him know she welcomed it.

He surrendered to the pull, brushing his lips to the spot his thumb had traced, a promise in the gesture. When he pulled back just enough to let his breath warm her ear, his voice was rougher than he wanted to admit.

„I think a change of scenery is needed. See if the conversation holds up without the noise.”

She tilted her head, eyes hooded and unreadable. Her fingers lingered over his hand as she spoke, tracing a subtle path across his knuckles.

„Alright,” she said. „But if this turns out to be a disappointment…” she gave him a soft smirk, her eyes sparkling with challenge.

„I’ll take full responsibility,” he cut in, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, confident grin. „Efficiency includes accountability.”

That earned him a soft huff of laughter as he guided her toward the door, the night air wrapping around them like a secret waiting to be discovered. She squeezed his hand once, a silent agreement, and followed him without looking back. The bar lights faded behind them, the city opening up ahead, wide, warm, and full of possibility.

– Chapter 2 –

Sunday nights always hurt the most.

Marina stood in her bedroom with her emergency bag open on the bed, black slacks, silk blouse, heels she only wore when she needed to feel sharp. She folded everything with care, like control might keep the ache from spreading.

Downstairs, the house was still loud. Plates clinking. Her tío laughing too hard. Her cousin arguing about a blown referee call from a game earlier that day, insisting it had been rigged, absolutely convinced everyone else was blind. The smell of arroz con gandules and roasted chicken clung to the air, warm and familiar.

She lingered at the doorway to the dining room.

„Ya te vas?” her mother asked, immediately noticing. She always noticed.

„Sí,” Marina said softly. „I want to be close to the office tomorrow. Just for the week.”

Her mother wiped her hands on a towel and crossed the room, cupping Marina’s face like she was still sixteen instead of twenty-nine and holding everything together with sheer will.

„Don’t make yourself small for anyone,” she said in Spanish, firm and gentle all at once. „Especially not men who think they’re powerful because they inherited something.”

Marina laughed, but it wobbled. „It’s just work, Ma.”

Her mother kissed her forehead. „It’s never just work.”

The words followed Marina all the way to the door, all the way into the car, all the way onto the highway as the house disappeared in her rearview mirror.

She turned the music up and drove.

The hotel was decent. Clean lines, soft lighting, nothing flashy. Close enough to the office that she wouldn’t have to rush in the morning. Close enough that exhaustion wouldn’t get the better of her.

She checked in, dropped her bag, and stared at herself in the mirror. She was still buzzing with relentless energy, and she needed a way to burn it off before morning.

You’re not giving him the satisfaction, she thought.

A quick shower. Makeup kept minimal but intentional. Hair left wild. Her curls had never liked being tamed anyway.

Lace corset, black. Blue jeans that hugged her hips and dipped just enough to be dangerous. Black stilettos she didn’t need, but wanted.

She didn’t dress like this for anyone.

She dressed like this because she felt unsteady, and this made her feel grounded.

The bar sat halfway between the hotel and the office, low-lit and humming with quiet conversations. Marina slid onto a stool at the bar, legs crossed and ordered tequila. Real tequila. None of that watered-down nonsense. Just enough liquid courage to take the edge off.

She licked the back of her hand, tasted the salt, downed the shot in one smooth motion, then bit into a lime wedge, the familiar taste settling her nerves. The burn lingered, warm and steady, spreading through her chest.

As she set the glass down, a subtle prickle ran down the back of her neck, and her pulse ticked higher, unprompted. Marina lifted her gaze.

Across the bar, a man sat at a corner table with two others, his body angled toward them, his attention not. His eyes were on her, dark and assessing, lingering a fraction too long to be accidental.

She didn’t look away.

Marina shifted on the stool, crossing her legs the other way. Felt the brush of her heel against the metal rung. Let the movement speak.

His gaze dipped.

Returned.

Held.

His mouth curved. Not quite a smile, more like appreciation.

She turned back to the bar, signaling the bartender for another shot.

When she looked again, the man was standing.

Slipped out of his jacket as he walked, draping it over the back of a chair, when he made his way toward her. His tie disappeared into his pocket. One button undone. Then another. Sleeves rolled up, forearms exposed, veins visible beneath tan skin.

When he took the stool beside her, space and sound seemed to bend around them; the background noise dulled to a low hum, and his green eyes crinkled in a way that made her pulse hitch.

Instead of speaking, he caught the bartender’s eye and lifted four fingers.

For a second, she wondered if she’d misread it. All of it. The look, the smile of approval, the intention. You didn’t flirt with a man and then get politely sidelined like a barstool. Her brows knit almost imperceptibly, fingers tightening around her empty glass as she debated retreat.

Four tequila shots arrived in a neat row between them, the salt and lime untouched. He glanced at her then, a corner of his mouth lifting, like this was an inside joke she had yet to catch up with.

„Fair’s fair,” he said quietly.

He took the first shot without breaking eye contact. The second followed just as smoothly, his throat working as he swallowed, a controlled breath slipping out afterward.

„Now that I’ve caught up with you,” he continued, turning fully toward her with a lethal, amused smile, that made her thoughts stumble over themselves. „I feel properly introduced.”

She hadn’t been looking for trouble when she ventured into the city for a drink, but she had a sinking feeling trouble had found her anyway.

– Chapter 1 –

For three years, Marina Reyes had been a ghost.

Not the spooky kind. More the efficient, invisible, keeps-the-machine-running kind. She was the virtual assistant to the founder of Marcus & Sons Consulting, and she knew the firm better than half the executives whose signatures sat at the bottom of the org chart. Calendars, contracts, crises, she handled them all from her childhood bedroom in New Jersey, with her mother yelling in Spanish about rice burning in the kitchen.

Edward Marcus knew this too. That’s why he gave her a shot, when she’d been only twenty-six, and trusted her with access authority, and decisions most people twice her age never touched.

They made it work, remarkably well.

That was why he never called her „assistant”.

„You make my life easier,” he’d said once, during a late-night call when a merger nearly imploded. His voice had been tired then. A bit too tired for Marina’s liking. „And I don’t say that lightly.”

Three years of trust built across screens and met deadlines.

Three years of being indispensable without ever stepping foot inside headquarters.

And then the world reopened.

When the pandemic ended and the world lurched back into offices and flights and handshakes, everything changed.

Mr. Marcus Senior retired quietly. His son took over loudly.

That was how Marina Reyes was inherited.

Because Nathaniel Marcus didn’t ask for her.

He didn’t choose her systems, her workflows, her color-coded calendars or meticulous notes. He took over the firm because his father’s heart couldn’t take another year of seventy-hour weeks, because legacy mattered, because the name on the door was also his burden to carry.

And Marina? She was part of the infrastructure now. Too embedded to remove. Too valuable to dismiss.

At least at first.

The email that came two weeks later was polite. Non-negotiable.

If you wish to continue your employment, you will be required to work on-site at our headquarters in New York City starting May1st. Please make the necessary arrangements to comply with this policy.

Marina sat back in her chair, staring at the email as if it might change if she looked hard enough. Her chest tightened, a slow ache that made her fingers tingle. Two hours. Each way. Four hours lost to traffic and trains, to the blur of highways and concrete stations, to a commute that would scrape the edges of every week day, every late-night call with her mother, every quiet moment she’d carved out for herself.

Sunday dinners were sacred in the Reyes family. Abuelas, tíos, cousins stacked on top of cousins. Noise. Laughter. Arguments about politics and fútbol and who was dating who. Marina didn’t just love those nights, she anchored to them.

But she didn’t have a choice.

Her father’s medical bills hadn’t magically disappeared after the pandemic. Her younger brother was halfway through college, and Marina’s paycheck – steady, reliable, well-paid – was what kept him there. Marcus & Sons also provided something she couldn’t afford to lose: top-tier health insurance.

She stayed because responsibility isn’t romantic, but it is binding.

What she hadn’t planned on surviving was him.

Because from the moment the new boss took over, their emails turned… sharp.

He questioned her systems. She corrected his assumptions.

He pushed deadlines. She pushed back harder.

He signed messages curtly. She replied professionally, but with enough of a bite to let him know she wasn’t deterred or easily intimidated.

She got the notice in early April, giving her a few weeks before she had to start on-site in May. As the days bled into one another, their interaction remained entirely virtual: mostly emails, with the occasional call when necessary. Even while sitting in meetings on her laptop, updating agendas, drafting notes, coordinating clients behind the scenes, she felt his presence like a low hum she couldn’t shake, like he was watching every move, which was impossible, because not once had they even seen each other on screen. He never asked, and she didn’t offer.

His tone grated against her nerves in the inbox: clipped and insistent. Yet on the rare calls, his voice – deep, gravelly, and controlled – caught her off guard, making her stomach tighten, a subtle reminder that annoyance and attraction could live side by side.

By the time she finally needed to be on-site for a full week, Marina was already convinced her boss was an arrogant, entitled prick.

And she was absolutely convinced she hated him.