The elevator ride was a study in stratification.
At 8:45 AM, the main lift of Blackwood Logistics was packed with employees clutching travel mugs and briefcases, shaking off the weekend. Damon stood at the back, a silent monolith in a navy pinstripe suit. The crowd naturally gave him a six-inch radius of personal space—the invisible forcefield of the CEO.
Leo stood right at the edge of that field.
He was wearing the grey suit again, paired with a crisp blue tie that matched Damon's. He held a leather messenger bag—a congratulations gift from his mom—clutched to his chest. He looked bright-eyed, eager, and painfully young among the tired analysts and seasoned managers.
The elevator dinged at the fourth floor.
"This is me," Leo chirped. He looked back at Damon, flashing a nervous, excited smile. "Wish me luck."
"Good luck, Mr. Sterling," Damon said, his voice professional and cool. He refused to say 'Leo' or 'Son' in front of the staff.
"Thanks, Mr. Blackwood!"
Leo stepped off into the bustling bullpen of the Operations Department. The doors slid shut, sealing him away.
Damon felt a sudden, irrational drop in his stomach. The elevator continued its smooth ascent to the fortieth floor, but the air inside felt thinner, colder.
'It's better this way,' Damon told himself, fixing his gaze on the digital floor numbers ticking upward. 'He's down there, learning the ropes. I'm up here, running the company. Separation is good. Separation is safe.'
By 11:00 AM, Damon had decided that separation was hell.
He couldn't focus. He found himself staring at the internal messaging system on his computer, half-expecting Leo's name to pop up. He wondered who Leo was sitting next to. Was it Johnson? Johnson was a loudmouth. Or maybe Stevens? Stevens was known for hitting on the new hires.
Damon's jaw tightened. He picked up his phone to call the Fourth Floor Manager, just to "check in," but stopped himself. That was helicopter parenting. That was nepotism.
He groaned, tossing the phone onto the desk. He needed coffee.
He buzzed the intercom. "Sarah?"
"Yes, Mr. Blackwood?"
"Can you get me a fresh pot? This one tastes like battery acid."
"I'll see what I can do, sir," Sarah replied. "But the breakroom machine is acting up again."
Damon rubbed his temples. It was going to be a long week.
Ten minutes later, the oak doors opened.
Damon didn't look up from his tablet. "Just set it on the coaster, Sarah. Thanks."
"Sarah is busy yelling at the maintenance guy about the espresso machine," a familiar, melodic voice said. "So I volunteered."
Damon's head snapped up.
Leo walked in, balancing a tray with a single, steaming ceramic mug and a small plate of biscotti. He wasn't wearing his jacket anymore; his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms. His tie was slightly loosened, giving him the look of someone who had been hard at work.
"Leo?" Damon sat back, surprised. "What are you doing up here? The interns aren't supposed to leave the fourth floor without a supervisor."
"I was getting water in the lobby when I heard Sarah complaining that you needed caffeine," Leo explained smoothly. He walked over to the desk, setting the mug down with a soft clink. "I told her I knew exactly how you took it. Two sugars, a dash of hazelnut, black roast."
He pushed the mug forward, his green eyes sparkling.
"I figured I could save her the trip," Leo added. "Consider it my first official act of efficiency."
Damon looked at the mug. The steam carried the distinct, nutty aroma he loved—a specific blend they kept at home, not the generic office swill.
"Where did you get hazelnut creamer?" Damon asked suspiciously. "We don't stock that here."
"I brought it from home," Leo admitted, looking sheepish. "I know how grumpy you get without it."
Damon stared at him. The boy had packed creamer. He had anticipated this moment. It was thoughtful. It was... incredibly intimate.
"You can't just wander up here whenever you want, Leo," Damon scolded, though there was no heat in his voice. He picked up the mug and took a sip. It was perfect. Liquid salvation.
"I know," Leo said, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk—a bold move for an intern on his first day. "But Mrs. Gable has me filing invoices from 2019. It's dusty and boring. I just wanted to see a friendly face."
He looked down at Damon, his expression softening. "And I wanted to make sure you were having a good day. Are you?"
Damon looked up at him over the rim of the mug. The distance between the fourth floor and the fortieth floor had vanished in an instant. Leo was here, smelling of vanilla and hard work, looking at Damon like he was the only person in the building.
"It's better now," Damon admitted, his resolve crumbling under the weight of that gaze.
Leo beamed. "Good."
He reached out, his fingers brushing a speck of dust off Damon's shoulder pad. The touch was quick, proprietary.
"I better get back before Mrs. Gable realizes I'm missing," Leo said. "She runs a tight ship."
"She does," Damon agreed. "Go on. Don't let me catch you slacking off."
"Never, Boss."
Leo winked and turned to leave. At the door, he paused.
"Oh, and Dad?"
"Damon," he corrected automatically.
"Damon," Leo tested the name again, grinning. "Stevens in accounting asked me if I wanted to grab lunch later. Should I go?"
Damon's blood ran cold. Stevens. The office flirt.
"No," Damon said sharply.
Leo raised his eyebrows. "Why not?"
"Because you have work to do," Damon lied, his grip tightening on the mug. "And... I ordered lunch for two. We need to discuss your... orientation."
Leo's smile widened into something cat-like. "Understood. See you at twelve."
He slipped out the door.
Damon sat alone in the silent office, the perfect coffee warming his hands. He knew he had just broken his own rule. He had just invited the intern to lunch in the CEO's office.
'I'm orienting him,' Damon lied to himself. 'That's all.'
In the hallway, Leo walked toward the elevator, checking his watch. 11:15 AM.
"Too easy," he whispered.
He pulled his phone out and deleted the draft text to Stevens that read: Sorry, I'm busy. He hadn't actually been asked to lunch. But Damon didn't need to know that. A little jealousy went a long way.