Damian strode into his office the following morning, his usual confidence radiating from every step. The city was already alive beneath him, the skyline a bustling testament to the power and ambition he thrived on. As he pushed through the glass doors, he prepared himself for another day of distractions, deals, and decisions—everything he excelled at.
But as he walked into his private office suite, something stopped him in his tracks.
Standing by his desk, arranging a stack of files, was Elena Moore. She turned slightly at the sound of his approach, and for a moment, Damian felt his usually unwavering composure falter.
Elena wasn't bad-looking—he had always known that. She was sharp, professional, and carried herself with an elegance that suited her role as his right hand. But today, something was different.
She wasn't wearing her usual tailored pantsuit or conservative blouse. Instead, she was clad in a form-fitting navy dress that hugged her body in all the right places. The curve of her hips, the elegant line of her back, the way the fabric clung to her figure—it was impossible to ignore.
Damian's gaze swept over her before he could stop himself, his mind noting the subtle sway of her movements as she set down the files. Her heels added just enough height to accentuate her posture, her legs crossing with a confidence he hadn't noticed before.
"Good morning, Mr. Cross," Elena said, her voice smooth and professional as she turned to face him. There was no hint of awareness in her tone, no suggestion that she had dressed this way to garner his attention.
But Damian wasn't blind. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus. "Good morning, Elena. Is that the Rawlinson merger update?"
"It is," she replied, stepping closer to hand him the file. As she did, Damian caught the faint scent of her perfume—a subtle, sophisticated blend that lingered just enough to make an impression.
He took the file from her, his fingers brushing against hers for a fraction of a second. "You're... looking different today," he said, his tone measured but curious.
Elena's brows lifted slightly, her expression neutral. "Is that so?" she asked, tilting her head.
Damian leaned back against his desk, his sharp gaze studying her. "Yes," he said simply. "It's not your usual style."
Elena smiled faintly, a flicker of amusement crossing her features. "I thought I'd try something new," she said. "I hope it's not too distracting."
Distracting was an understatement. Damian shifted his stance, forcing himself to look down at the file in his hands. "Not at all," he lied, flipping open the document.
As Elena began discussing the merger details, Damian found himself only half-listening. His eyes kept drifting back to her—her hands gesturing as she spoke, the slight curve of her lips as she explained something, the way her dress moved with her every step.
He caught himself. This wasn't like him. He was Damian Cross, a man who prided himself on control, discipline, and focus. But for some reason, today, Elena was testing all of it.
"She's not bad," he muttered under his breath as he watched her walk toward the cabinet to retrieve another folder.
It wasn't just her appearance; it was the way she carried herself, the quiet confidence that made her stand out. For years, she had been his reliable, no-nonsense assistant—someone he trusted implicitly. But now, for the first time, Damian found himself wondering if he had overlooked something more.
Shaking his head, he forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "Focus," he told himself. "This isn't the time."
But as Elena returned, her gaze meeting his with unwavering calm, Damian couldn't help but feel the slightest crack in his resolve.