The hum of SkyHigh's office was steady, almost meditative. My desk was stacked with folders and tablets from the Marshall meeting this morning. Each email I opened demanded attention: structural revisions, procurement updates, safety compliance checks, revised timelines. Every figure had to be precise. Every approval airtight.
Emma's structural calculations appeared first. I scrolled through the updated load-bearing analysis, noting the redistribution of beams, reinforced columns, and adjustments to the rooftop recreational deck. I highlighted points of concern, cross-referenced timelines, and annotated potential conflicts. Precision was my weapon.
"this is neat" i told myself before moving onto the next.
Michael's procurement report followed. The composite stone panels cut cost without sacrificing quality. I checked supplier timelines, costs, and contingencies. Everything had to line up; mistakes weren't an option.
Sophie's email on safety compliance demanded careful attention. The revised staircases, dual-access points, and evacuation timelines had to meet the Lagos Building Regulation Board's requirements. I made minor tweaks and requested Jonathan confirm flood-risk mitigation.
And then, for just a heartbeat, my mind flickered to Alex.
The apology from an hour ago. His restrained gaze. The faint warmth behind his tone when he said your time matters. I shook my head, forcing the thought away. Professional first. Always.
A knock at the door drew my attention.
"Hey, boss," Liam said, stepping in with his usual lopsided grin and a cup of coffee. "Thought you could use a little break from all the doom and spreadsheets."
I raised an eyebrow, masking my small smile. "Doom and spreadsheets? Flattering."
He leaned casually against the edge of my desk, eyes scanning the organized chaos. "Seriously, Zarah, you're a machine. Haven't even seen you blink for an hour."
"I'm thorough," I replied, keeping my eyes on the tablet. "Projects don't manage themselves."
He chuckled, setting the coffee down. "Even machines need fuel. don't forget that it's just your third day"
I let a faint laugh escape and accepted the cup. His presence was a lighter chaos—one I didn't need to control. For a moment, I allowed myself to enjoy it.
He leaned closer, voice dropping slightly. "So... how's it really going? That Marshall meeting from earlier—you handled it like a pro, of course. But, inside? How'd you feel?"
I paused, fingers hovering over the tablet. "Inside?" I echoed softly, then smirked. "Like I was in control. That's the point, isn't it? You can't let nerves—or gossip—dictate your actions."
Liam shook his head, grinning. "I don't think anyone's nervous when they're terrifyingly competent like you. But... you're human, Zarah. Let it out a little. We can't all be statues of perfection."
I let out a slow breath, eyes scanning the floor for a second. "I... like control. Focus. When things are structured, predictable... it's easier to handle everything else."
He nodded, understanding. "Yeah. I get it. But even statues need to breathe sometimes."
I laughed softly, taking a sip of coffee. "Thanks for the reminder, Liam. I needed that more than I realized."
He smirked. "Of course. That's my job. To make sure you remember humans exist outside spreadsheets."
We spent a few more minutes talking—small stuff, light banter, stories from the office. Liam had a way of making the space feel less rigid, less suffocating. By the time he left, my pulse was calmer, the tension in my shoulders eased, and the weight of yesterday's scrutiny had faded slightly.
Two hours later, around three-thirty, a soft knock at my door made my chest tighten.
"Come in," I said, voice neutral.
Alex entered. Calm. Collected. My pulse reacted anyway.
He didn't sit. He didn't linger in the corner. He leaned against the desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. Observing me.
"Zarah," he said softly.
"Alex," I replied, professional and measured. "Everything okay?"
He shook his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "I thought I'd see how my favorite executive strategist and manager is doing."
I gestured to the chair across from me. "Checking in? Or just here to... supervise?"
He smiled, but didn't sit. "Maybe a little of both." His eyes roamed over the files and emails scattered across my tablet. "Impressive," he murmured. "Even more than I expected."
I felt a flicker of warmth—unwelcome, uninvited—but I stayed focused. "Marshall emails," I said. "This is my priority right now."
He stepped closer, gaze fixed. "I don't doubt that. But I wanted to see you. In action."
I made a small noise of acknowledgment, returning to my tablet. "They've requested minor adjustments to the procurement timeline. Michael's report suggests a supplier delay of two days. I've already drafted contingency options."
He crouched slightly, studying the screen over my shoulder. "You're... meticulous."
"Necessary," I said without looking up.
"Smart," he corrected, voice low. "And... beautiful when focused like this."
I felt heat creep up my neck but ignored it. I couldn't afford distraction. Not now.
I scrolled through Emma's revised calculations. "The revised load-bearing analysis suggests a 6.5% increase in material cost. Long-term stability outweighs short-term expense. Marshall's team questioned it but... I've prepared a memo explaining the cost-benefit ratio."
Alex didn't comment. He simply watched. Quiet. Calm. Dangerous.
Sophie's safety compliance email pinged. I opened it. "Dual-access emergency staircases reduce evacuation time by 37%. Approved by the board. No objections likely."
He leaned in slightly. "You anticipate every challenge."
"Yes," I replied curtly. "That's my job."
"Yours and mine," he murmured. "I should be proud you're leading these projects without me hovering. But I can't deny... I miss this—us. The chaos. The energy. The way you handle everything."
I swallowed, fingers hovering over the tablet. "I manage what needs managing. That doesn't leave much space for... distraction. you forget we only met three days ago".
"Not true," he said softly. "You're always distracted. By me, by me being here, even by the briefest moments you don't realize you notice me."
I froze, caught in his gaze. There was no teasing this time. Only a sharp, clear observation. He'd noticed. Always.
"I... focus," I said carefully. "Always."
He smiled faintly, stepping closer, hands brushing lightly on the desk near mine. "I know. But I like watching you work. Seeing that fire. That intensity. That... control."
I felt my pulse tighten, unbidden, but I refused to flinch. "Then keep watching. But remember... control isn't optional."
"dear lord, please tell me Liam has exited the office" i thought closing my eyes.
"Neither is me," he whispered. Then, finally, he let himself sit across from me, leaning forward, elbows resting lightly on the desk. "I won't leave. Not while you're here. Not while you're doing this. I want to be part of your world again. Even if I don't speak for half the time."
I glanced at him, conflicted—but the warmth in my chest was undeniable. Alex Sinclair was still a storm. But now... maybe a storm I could watch carefully, maybe even... tolerate.
I returned my attention to the Marshall emails, fingers flying across the tablet. "Let's focus on deadlines. Michael's supplier adjustments, Emma's structural revisions, Sophie's compliance notes. Everything else can wait."
He leaned back, watching me, not pressing, not intruding. Just... observing.
For the first time in a long time, I allowed the pulse of anticipation to stay. He wasn't leaving. And neither was the quiet acknowledgment that perhaps, for once, Alex Sinclair's presence wasn't a threat—it was... wanted.
Work first. Professional. Controlled. Precise.
But now, a small, dangerous beat of expectation lingered, reminding me that the storm wasn't over. It was just... closer.
His eyes stayed on me far too intently for someone who claimed he just wanted to observe. Every time I scrolled, every time I typed a note, I felt it—his gaze tracing the movement of my fingers, my jaw, the small lines of focus on my forehead.
I ignored him.
Or... I tried.
After five minutes of silence, Alex broke it.
"You know," he murmured, voice warm enough to drag heat straight into my spine, "you bite your lip when you concentrate."
I froze. My tongue almost clicked against my teeth.
Of all the things to notice—
"I don't," I muttered, forcing my eyes back on the report.
"Mm," he hummed, leaning slightly to the side to get a better view of my face. "You do. Every time you're analyzing something—or trying not to look at me."
I felt my body betray me before my brain did—my throat tightened, fingers pausing mid-scroll.
"I'm analyzing Marshall's supplier timelines," I said sharply. "Not... you."
"Oh?" he said, a playful tilt lifting the corner of his mouth. "So the lip-biting is for them?"
I glared at him. "Alex."
"Yes?" he answered smoothly, enjoying himself too much.
"You're disturbing my work."
He raised a brow. "I'm sitting. Quietly."
"That's the problem," I muttered before thinking.
He laughed—low, quiet, almost intimate. "You prefer when I talk? I can talk, Zarah."
I inhaled slowly. "Please don't."
"Or," he said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "do you prefer when I watch you?"
My stomach flipped. Shit.
I huffed. "Can you not—"
"Not what?" he whispered. "Not tease you? Not notice you? Not enjoy the way you pretend you're unaffected?"
I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But the heat on my neck was not cooperating.
He studied me for a moment, softer this time.
"I like when you're like this," he said quietly. "Focused. Sharp. Pretending I'm not getting under your skin when we both know I am."
I swallowed. Hard.
"And," he added, "I like that you're trying so hard to hide it."
I looked down at the tablet so he wouldn't see the tiny, traitorous smile threatening the corner of my mouth.
"Alex," I said, trying again to sound stern.
He leaned back in his chair, legs spreading slightly—relaxed, comfortable, absolutely dangerous.
"Yes, Zarah?"
"Stop it."
His grin widened—slow, devastating.
"Make me."
I choked on air.
He laughed again, softer this time. "God, you're adorable when you're trying to stay professional."
"Who said I'm trying?" I snapped.
"Oh, you're trying very hard," he replied. "And failing beautifully."
I stared at him. "Do you enjoy tormenting me?"
"Very much," he said, without shame. "But only because you're fun to tease."
I rolled my eyes, mostly to steady myself. "Some of us are working."
"And some of us," he said, placing a hand over his chest in mock sincerity, "are admiring the view."
I froze.
He didn't soften it.
Didn't take it back.
Didn't pretend it wasn't deliberate.
He simply watched the realization settle into me, his gaze holding mine in a way that felt like pressure and warmth and a dare all at once.
"Focus, Zarah," he whispered.
"Don't let me distract you."
The worst part?
I couldn't tell if he meant it as a tease—or a challenge.
My pulse wouldn't sit still. It kept rising, dropping, twisting itself into knots the longer Alex stared at me with that maddening, knowing smirk.
Admiring the view.
Who even says that with a straight face?
I dropped my tablet onto the desk gently, rubbed my temples, and finally let the words slip out—too honest, too raw, too loud.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Alex's eyes darkened in a blink.
Not anger.
Not offense.
Just... interest. Dangerous interest.
He pushed off the chair slightly, leaning forward. "What do you mean?"
"What do I—?" I gestured broadly between us, my voice puffing out in disbelief. "You're here teasing me, staring at me like—like that, saying things that make no sense—"
"They make perfect sense," he said quietly.
I ignored him. "And acting like nothing happened yesterday. Acting like you didn't disappear. Acting like you didn't leave me waiting for a meeting that never—"
He stood straighter. "I apologized."
"I know," I snapped. "But this—" I motioned toward him, my own breath unsteady. "This is... confusing. You're confusing. You can't be cold one minute and then—then—"
"Want you the next?" he finished.
My breath hitched.
Completely froze.
God.
His eyes held mine, no teasing now—just clarity, heat, and something I wasn't ready to name.
"Zarah," he said, voice low, "you're not confused. You're overwhelmed. Because you feel this too and you don't know where to put it."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Nothing came out.
"What the fuck," I whispered again, softer this time, more to myself than to him.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
"If I'm wrong," he murmured, "tell me to stop."
My heart seized.
His hand rose—slowly—stopping just inches from my jaw.
Not touching.
Just hovering.
As if waiting for permission.
My breath got caught somewhere in my chest.
My pulse was a riot.
And for one wild second, I forgot the entire world outside my office existed.
"Alex..." I breathed.
Three knocks slammed into the door.
We both jumped.
"Zarah?" Liam's voice rang from the hallway, too cheerful for the tension suffocating the room. "You alive in there? Or did the spreadsheets finally murder you?"
I shot back from Alex like he was a flame.
Alex straightened immediately, jaw tight, mask slipping back into place—but not before I saw the storm under it.
"Come in," I said, louder than necessary.
Liam cracked the door open, leaning in with a grin—then froze when he saw Alex.
"Oh," he said slowly. "You're still... here."
Alex's voice was calm. Too calm. "Yes. I am."
Liam blinked between us, sensing something but not knowing what. "Uh... right. Just checking on my boss before she forgets humans need food."
I forced a smile that felt like it was stapled on. "Thanks, Liam. I'm good."
He nodded, still eyeing Alex suspiciously. "Cool. Just—uh—making sure no one stressed you out."
Alex's eyebrow lifted. "Do I... look like stress?"
"Yes," Liam said immediately.
I choked.
Alex's jaw ticked.
"Okay!" I clapped my hands once. Too loud. Too fake. "Back to work. Everyone back to work."
Liam backed out slowly. "Right... closing the door now... both of you behave..."
The door shut.
Silence.
Heavy, electrified silence.
Alex didn't move.
Didn't speak.
But his eyes—God—his eyes were still on me like we hadn't been interrupted at all.
"Zarah," he said softly, "we're not done talking."
My stomach twisted.
"I—" I swallowed hard. "I need... ten minutes."
He nodded once. "Take them. But I'm not going anywhere."
And he didn't leave.
He just sat back down—quiet, composed, determined—watching me like he already knew the storm wasn't over.
"dang"
I stared at him.
Actually stared.
Because what else was I supposed to do when the most controlled, emotionally unavailable man in Country B was sitting across from me like he owned oxygen—and apparently, my sanity?
He didn't even pretend to look away.
Just leaned back slowly, one hand drumming lightly on the arm of his chair, eyes locked on me like he could read every unspoken word swirling in my head.
The silence pressed against my skin, hot and heavy and ridiculously intimate.
"Dang," I whispered again, quieter this time.
A corner of his mouth lifted. "You're adorable when you're overwhelmed."
I blinked. "Didn't I ask you for ten minutes?"
"You did." He tilted his head. "I'm just enjoying watching you try to take them."
My chest squeezed.
"What is wrong with you?" I breathed.
His smile widened, slow and devastating.
"Where do you want me to start?"
I rubbed my forehead. "Alex—"
"No," he cut in softly. "Your turn. What's going through your head?"
"Oh, you don't want to know."
"Try me."
I laughed once. Sharp. Disbelieving. "Fine. I think— I think..." I exhaled hard. "I think you're ridiculous. Absolutely unhinged. And maybe—maybe kind of—" I waved my hand helplessly in the air, searching for the right word. "—too much."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Accurate."
"And confusing."
"Mhm."
"And annoying."
He smirked. "Definitely."
"And—" I stopped myself before the next word slipped out.
His eyes sharpened. "And what?"
I refused to say it. Not when he was looking at me like that.
Like the room didn't exist.
Like I didn't exist without him watching.
I shook my head. "Nothing."
He leaned forward. "Zarah."
"No."
"Zarah."
"Alex."
His laugh was low, warm, and absolutely illegal. "You're impossible."
"Says the man who practically climbed into my bloodstream ten minutes ago."
His smile vanished—not completely, just softened into something deeper.
"Because you drive me crazy," he said quietly. "And I'm done pretending you don't."
My heart tripped.
Actually skipped.
My fingers curled around the edge of my desk.
"I—"
A light knock hit the door again.
For one insane second, I considered throwing the nearest stapler.
Alex's jaw flexed. "If that's Liam—"
"It's probably the mail guy," I said too quickly.
"Or Liam," he repeated.
"Please don't murder my colleagues," I whispered.
"No promises," he muttered.
I nearly choked on a laugh.
The knock came again—gentler this time.
"Uh... Miss Morgan?" someone mumbled from behind the door.
"See," I whispered. "Mail."
Alex didn't look convinced.
But he didn't get up either.
He stayed exactly where he was—calm, collected, and somehow more intense than he'd been while nearly touching me.
And that was when I realized:
He wasn't backing down.
Not from this.
Not from me.
Not anymore.
He was waiting.
Waiting for me to breathe.
Waiting for me to answer.
Waiting for me to admit what he already knew.
Ten minutes suddenly didn't feel like enough.
Not even close.