Ethan didn't think it was possible, but by the end of the second week, the job was starting to feel less like a storm and more like a steady, unpredictable rain. He wasn't exactly thriving, but he wasn't drowning either. He figured that was progress.
Lila, of course, was as exacting as ever. Each day brought new tasks, each more demanding than the last. Yet, every time he managed to deliver—sometimes just barely—he saw the faintest flicker of approval in her sharp gaze. Not that she'd ever say it aloud.
That Friday evening, he found himself once again alone in the office long after everyone else had left. The glow of the city lights spilled through the windows, casting long shadows across the room.
He was neck-deep in spreadsheets when her voice cut through the quiet.
"You work late."
Ethan looked up, startled. Lila stood a few feet away, a glass of whiskey in her hand. She was dressed down again—just like the last time. No blazer, no towering heels, just the tailored slacks and a silk blouse that looked softer, somehow.
"Trying to keep up," Ethan said, gesturing to the computer screen.
She took a slow sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of the glass. "You've done better than I expected."
"Careful," he teased, leaning back in his chair. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think that was a compliment."
Lila smirked, but it didn't hide the glint of amusement in her eyes. "Don't let it go to your head, Blake."
She moved closer, setting the glass down on his desk. For a moment, they were both silent, the hum of the city beyond the windows the only sound.
Ethan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Do you ever slow down?"
Lila raised an eyebrow. "You've asked me that before."
"And you still haven't answered."
She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. "No. I don't."
Ethan tilted his head, holding her gaze. "Maybe you should."
Her laugh was soft, almost bitter. "And what would that accomplish? The moment you stop, someone else takes your place. That's the way it works."
"That's the way you work," Ethan countered, his voice low. "But it doesn't have to be."
Something in her expression shifted, the faintest crack in her carefully controlled facade. She looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment, Ethan thought she might say something real, something honest.
But then she stepped back, her mask slipping firmly back into place.
"You should go home," she said, her voice cool again. "It's late."
Ethan didn't move. "What about you?"
"I have work to finish."
Her tone left no room for argument, but Ethan didn't miss the flicker of exhaustion in her eyes. She looked like she was carrying the weight of the world, and for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he wanted to take some of it from her.
As she turned to leave, Ethan's voice stopped her.
"Lila."
She paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
"You don't always have to carry it alone," he said softly.
For a moment, she didn't respond. Then, without another word, she walked away, the click of her heels echoing in the empty office.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, staring at the glass of whiskey she'd left behind. He wasn't sure what was happening between them—if anything was happening at all. But one thing was clear: Lila Devereaux was more complicated than he'd ever imagined.
And, for better or worse, he was starting to care.