Page 62 of The Boss

Zac and I rarely crossed paths from then on. I asked him for space, and he gave it to me. Sometimes I caught glimpses of him—striding through the hallways, standing in the break room pouring coffee, his sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to tempt. His presence filled the place even when he wasn’t near, and yet he never looked at me. I told myself I didn’t care.

On the rare occasions we did meet, we were polite. Cordial. Strangers dressed in familiar faces. That should have been the worst part—how easily we played our roles. But it wasn’t. It was the way my chest clenched every time I saw him. The way my stomach twisted when he looked past me like I wasn’t there. The way I still felt the ghost of his hands on my skin, the press of his body against mine, like a phantom bruise that refused to fade. The wound he left behind wasn’t healing. It was fresh. Aching. A hollow where he used to be.

But I kept going. Because that’s what you did when your world fell apart. You picked up the shards, even when they cut you. And you kept moving forward.

* * *

The elevator was crowded when I stepped inside one morning, packed shoulder to shoulder with people rushing to their floors. I didn’t pay attention, lost in my own head, until I looked up and saw him. Zac.

A jolt ran through me, sharp and electric, like a live wire sparking in my chest. Our eyes locked and wouldn’t break contact, and for a brief second, I forgot how to breathe. But then the rush of bodies shifted, pressing me forward—right into him.

I collided with his chest, solid and warm.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, my voice catching slightly.

“Never mind,” he muttered. But his body stiffened against mine, his breath just a little too sharp. “How—how have you been?”

“Good. You?”

“Good.”

“That’s… good.”

“Yeah.”

I felt it then—the unmistakable hardness against my hip. My stomach clenched. Heat flared low in my spine.

He went rigid, jaw tight, staring somewhere above my head as if sheer force of will could erase the way his cock was straining against me. An embarrassed flush crept up his cheeks, and something about that—about how affected he still was—sent a perverse thrill through me.

“How are things with your new assistant?” I asked, trying to act normal.

“Fine,” he almost growled. “She’s… adequate.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Thanks.”

I tried to move, to put some space between us. But with with so many people around, I barely had room to shift—and endedup with my ass pressed against him. A sharp inhale hissed past his teeth.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, so soft I wouldn’t have caught it if his lips weren’t just above my ear. His hips jerked forward, only for a second, like his body was moving before his mind could stop it.

A reckless rush of heat shot through me, but before my own arousal could betray me, I forced myself to step away as the crowd thinned. He exhaled roughly, a sound close to frustration. I turned my head slightly, just enough to see the way his hands curled into fists, the tension rippling through his body.

The doors opened onto my floor.

“Well… see you around,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” he grunted.

I should have walked out without looking back. Should have left him standing there, hard and frustrated, a reminder of what we’d been and what we could never be again. But I couldn’t help myself. I glanced over my shoulder.

Zac was staring at me. Not smiling. Not moving. Just watching, his eyes burning.

For a split second, the pull between us was unbearable. The same gravity that had drawn me into his orbit in the first place, that had held me there, reckless and weightless, like I belonged to him.

But I didn’t. Not anymore. Maybe I never did.

The doors slid shut, cutting him from view, and something inside me cracked wide open. No, I wasn’t over him. Not even close. But I had to be. Because this was the end. And no matter how much my body still craved his, no matter how much I ached for what we had, all I had left was the hope that someday, I wouldn’t anymore. That someday, I’d stop looking back.

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