The meeting wrapped up, papers shuffled, and voices faded into the hum of closing deals. But the tension between Lexy and James lingered, unspoken yet thick in the air.

She stood, smoothing the front of her blouse as she collected her folder. The others filed out, murmuring polite goodbyes, leaving only the two of them in the conference room.

James leaned back in his chair, watching her.

"You handled that well," he said, his voice low, appreciative.

Lexy let out a soft laugh, avoiding his gaze as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "It's what I do."

His lips quirked up at the corner, a ghost of a smirk. "I remember."

Her breath hitched. That simple statement carried weight memories of fleeting moments, of unsaid things, of a chemistry that had always been there but never touched.

She should leave. She should turn on her heel and walk away.

Instead, she glanced at him. "Good to see you again, James."

His jaw tensed, his fingers tapping absently against the table. "You too, Lexy."

But neither of them moved.

The silence stretched between them, charged, dangerous. Lexy felt the heat of his stare, the way it traced the curve of her hips before snapping back to her face, as if he caught himself.

She should break the moment. She should say something neutral, something safe.

But James did it first.

"How have you been?" His voice had a rough edge now, not quite as controlled as before.

Lexy hesitated. She could lie. Say she was fine, that life had been predictable, steady.

Or she could tell the truth.

"Tired," she admitted. "Routine can be exhausting."

A beat of silence. Then, something dark flickered in his eyes.

"Yeah," James said quietly. "I get that."

For the briefest second, she wondered if he meant more than just the words. If he felt it too, this restlessness, this slow-burning frustration of a life that looked perfect on paper but felt hollow beneath the surface.

A step too close, and they'd fall.

And yet, neither of them moved.

Not yet