Page 12 of Strings Attached

As I drift off to sleep, my last thoughts are of Evander's intense blue eyes, the feel of his hand on my back, and the way he said he cared about me as more than just an employee.

Tomorrow, I'll try to figure out what's really going on between us. And maybe, just maybe, I'll find the courage to do something about it.

Chapter 6

Evander

I barely slept last night,my mind racing with thoughts of Mireille. The image of her sprawled on the office floor, cradling her injured arm, keeps replaying in my head. The fear I felt in that moment was... unexpected. Intense.

I've never been one to form close attachments to my employees. I've always believed in maintaining a professional distance. But with Mireille, that distance seems to be shrinking day by day.

As I drive to the office, earlier than usual, I can't shake the memory of standing at her apartment door last night. For a moment, I had let my guard down, admitted that I cared for her as more than just an employee. The look in her eyes... I think she was about to say something important. And I ran. Like a coward.

I shake my head, trying to clear these thoughts as I park my car. I need to focus. I have a company to run, after all.

The office is quiet when I arrive, most of the staff are not due for another hour. I make my way to my office, already planning out my day. With Mireille out, I'll need to rearrange some meetings, maybe get a temp assistant to help with?—

I stop short as I round the corner to my office. There, sitting at her desk as if it's any other day, is Mireille.

She looks up as I approach, a sheepish smile on her face. "Good morning, Evander."

For a moment, I'm too stunned to speak. Then, "Mireille, what are you doing here? I told you to take the day off."

She shrugs, wincing slightly at the movement. "I know, but I couldn't just sit at home doing nothing. And I'm a terrible patient, ask anyone who knows me. I figured I could at least come in and get some work done."

I frown, taking in her appearance. She looks tired, dark circles under her eyes barely concealed by makeup. Her injured arm is cradled carefully in her lap, the compression bandage clear to see.

"Mireille," I say, my voice softer than I intended. "You need to rest. Your health is more important than any work that needs to be done here."

She looks up at me, her green eyes filled with a mixture of stubbornness and something else I can't quite identify. "I know, but I... I just didn't want to be alone with my thoughts today."

Her honesty catches me off guard. Before I can stop myself, I'm moving closer, perching on the edge of her desk. "What thoughts?"

Mireille bites her lip, a gesture I find inexplicably distracting. "Just... everything that happened yesterday. The accident, the hospital..." she pauses, her eyes meeting mine, "...what you said at my apartment."

I feel my heart rate pick up. "Mireille, I..." I trail off, unsure how to respond. Part of me wants to brush it off, to retreat behind my professional facade. But another part, a part that's growing stronger by the day, wants to be honest with her.

"I meant what I said," I finally manage, my voice low. "I do care about you, Mireille. More than I should, perhaps."

Her eyes widen slightly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Evander, I?—"

But before she can finish, the elevator dings, announcing the arrival of my first client for the day. I straighten up quickly, putting some distance between us.

"We should talk about this later," I say, my voice returning to its usual businesslike tone. "For now, if you insist on staying, please take it easy. No heavy lifting, and if your arm starts bothering you, I want you to go home immediately. Understood?"

Mireille nods, a mix of emotions flashing across her face. "Understood. Thank you, Evander."

I give her a curt nod before retreating to my office, my heart pounding in my chest. What am I doing? This is dangerous territory we're treading into. I'm her boss, for God's sake. I can't be having these feelings for her.

But as I settle at my desk, I can't help but glance out at Mireille through the glass walls of my office. She's typing away one-handed, her brow furrowed in concentration. Even injured and clearly tired, she's still here, still working hard. Her dedication is just one of the many things I admire about her.

I force myself to look away, focusing on my computer screen. I have work to do, a company to run. I can't afford to be distracted by my feelings for Mireille, no matter how strong they might be.

But as the day wears on, I find my eyes constantly drawn to her. Every time she winces or shifts uncomfortably, I have to resist the urge to go out there and send her home. When lunchtime rolls around, I watch as she struggles to open her salad container one-handed.

Before I can think better of it, I'm out of my chair and striding towards her desk.

"Come on," I say, causing her to look up in surprise. "We're going to lunch."

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