Page 13 of Christmas with My Ruthless CEO
"Good." She rises on her toes, brushing her lips against mine in a kiss so soft it's barely there. "Then we figure it out. Day by day."
We resume walking, hands still linked, the weight on my chest lighter somehow. When we reach her apartment building, she turns to me with a smile that's equal parts hesitation and invitation.
"Would you like to come up? For coffee, or..." she trails off, leaving the question open.
Every part of me wants to say yes. To follow her upstairs, to explore this new dimension of us without the barriers of professional roles or public scrutiny. But something holds me back, not regret, but an awareness that whatever is happeningbetween us deserves more than a rushed decision in the heat of the moment.
"I should get back to HQ," I say reluctantly. "Early meeting with the council tomorrow, and I promised Marcus I'd review the community integration presentation before then."
Understanding flickers in her eyes, mixed with what might be relief. "Always the responsible CEO."
"Someone has to be." I brush a snowflake from her cheek, letting my fingers linger. "Raincheck?"
"Raincheck," she agrees, leaning into my touch. "But Atticus?"
"Yes?"
"Next time you kiss me, don't overthink it first."
With that, she slips inside, leaving me standing in the gently falling snow, already planning when that next time might be.
The walk back to Blackwood HQ gives me time to process the day's developments. The kiss, the unspoken acknowledgment of feelings neither of us had been ready to face until now, the uncertain path ahead. I'm not usually one for uncertainty, I prefer clear objectives, defined parameters, measurable outcomes.
But there's nothing measurable about the way my heart rate increases when Sloane looks at me, nothing quantifiable in the sense of rightness I felt with her in my arms.
By the time I reach the HQ building, I've come to one definitive conclusion: whatever this is between Sloane and me, it matters more than the promotion, more than the board's approval, more than Blackwood Industries' Winter Division itself.
And that realization should terrify me. Instead, as I enter the warmth of the lobby, snow melting from my coat, I feel something I haven't experienced in years, the quiet certaintythat I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, following a path that feels right despite having no roadmap.
The lobby is quiet this late, most of the team still at Skyline or already retired to their temporary accommodations. I make my way to my office, intending to actually review the presentation as promised, but find myself staring out the window instead, watching the snow fall over Hope Peak.
My phone buzzes with a text from Sloane:Made it home safe?
I type back:Just reached the office. Reviewing the presentation as promised.
Liar,comes her instant reply.You're staring out the window at the snow, thinking too much.
I smile at how well she knows me.Guilty as charged.
Stop overthinking and go to bed. Tomorrow's going to be busy.
Yes, ma'am.
I can almost see her smile as she sends one last message:Dream of snowmobiles and victory kisses, Morgan.
I will,I reply, knowing it's true. Then, feeling bold in the safety of digital distance, I add:They'll be the only thing on my mind.
Her response takes longer this time, and when it comes, it sends warmth spreading through me:Mine too. Goodnight, Atticus.
Goodnight, Sloane.
I tuck my phone away, suddenly eager for tomorrow, for council meetings and community events, for snow-plow schedules and marketing reviews, for any excuse to be near her again.
The promotion, the board's approval, my mother's expectations, all of it recedes in importance compared to the promise of seeing Sloane's smile across a conference table, offinding moments alone between meetings, of exploring this new territory between us.
I'm falling for my best friend.
And for once in my carefully controlled life, I have absolutely no idea what happens next.
