Page 25 of Silver Fox's Christmas Scandal
How was I supposed to look him in the eye after all of that? After the way he'd made me feel?
Last week was difficult and I'd managed, but this morning, I found it hard to concentrate.
The arrangement we'd agreed upon seemed so clear in the heat of the moment, but I was beginning to question it.
The elevator chimed at eight fifteen, and my breath caught as Lucian stepped out, impeccably dressed, with hungry eyes sweeping over me.
His silver hair was perfectly styled, his expression neutral as his pale gray eyes swept the reception area. When his gaze returned to mine, the hungry, almost predatory way he looked for that split second was gone.
Nothing.
Now only his professional, plastic smile remained. "Good morning, Miss Wynn." He kept walking past me like any other morning, and for some reason, part of me wilted. "I'll need the Henderson files on my desk in ten minutes, and please confirm my two o'clock with the Morgan team."
"Of course, Mr. Cross." The formality felt foreign after the way he'd said my name last night as he came so hard his body twitched for two full minutes. "Your coffee is on your desk, and I've pulled the quarterly reports you requested."
He nodded and disappeared into his office without a backward glance. I stood frozen for a moment, my hands trembling as I reached for the Henderson files.
Had I imagined the connection between us? The way he'd looked at me with such intensity, as if I were the only woman in the world?
And if I hadn't, how on Earth was he so good at putting all of that connection into a box and packing it away for work hours?
I wasn't going to survive this.
The morning crawled by as painfully normal as it could be. Lucian emerged for meetings, dictated correspondence, and handled phone calls the way he'd done the past few years of my working for him.
Not once did his eyes linger on mine longer than necessary.
Not once did his fingers brush against mine when I handed him documents.
By noon, frustration and confusion warred in my chest. I'd been foolish to think things could be simple between us.
The professional distance felt jarring after the intimacy we'd shared, even if it was the way it was supposed to be.
This was the exact messy situation I'd hoped to avoid by refraining from intimate relationships and doing IVF on my own.
The intercom buzzed and startled me, and Lucian's voice rumbled out of the speaker at me. "Miss Wynn, please come to my office."
I smoothed my pencil skirt as I stood and walked toward his office, then knocked on his door. "Come in," he called, and I felt my pulse flutter.
Lucian stood behind his desk, reviewing a contract. When I entered, he glanced up briefly before moving to close the door behind me, which made my heart race.
"Sit." His voice had changed, becoming warmer, more personal. The transformation was subtle but after the agonizing day I'd had, I recognized the shift.
I took the chair across from his desk, watching as he rounded it to lean against the edge. This close, I could smell his cologne, could see the way his shirt pulled across his chest.
"I want to be clear about expectations," he began, his gray eyes finally meeting mine with the intensity I'd been craving all morning. "When we're in the office, we maintain complete professionalism. No one can suspect anything beyond a normal working relationship."
Relief flooded through me. So he hadn't forgotten or dismissed what was growing between us.
"I understand," I managed, but he had to have noticed the glimmer of hope I felt. I had a horrible poker face.
"However," he continued, "I've been thinking about our conversation regarding your career development. You're wasted in an assistant role, Tessa. You have the intelligence and instincts for much more."
The use of my first name had warmth spreading through me, but in respecting his wishes, I kept my face stoic. "I'd be interested in any opportunity to grow professionally."
"Good. I have a lunch reservation at Le Bernardin at one." He checked his watch, but I already knew how soon that was. "We'll discuss specific ways I can mentor you—bringing you into client meetings as my analyst, having you review investment proposals, teaching you deal-making strategies." He moved closer, his voice dropping. "It's a legitimate business lunch, but it also gives us time together without raising suspicion."
I didn't know why it sent a thrill through me, but I felt my cheeks flush as I stood. "I'll be prepared to leave when you're ready, unless you'd prefer we arrive separately."
