The door of Denisse's apartment clicked shut behind her with a soft, final sound. The quiet that followed felt almost sacred.
For two full seconds, she simply stood there.
Then the smile broke free.
It spread slowly at first, tugging at the corners of her mouth, then widening until her cheeks hurt. She pressed her back against the door and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding since the car ride home.
Her boss had dropped her off.
Her boss.
Denisse pressed her fingers to her lips as if to physically contain the grin threatening to split her face in two. The image replayed instantly: Lesley behind the wheel, composed and effortlessly elegant, the late afternoon sun painting her profile in gold. The way she'd said, "Text me when you get inside," as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
As if Denisse's safety mattered.
Her heart flipped.
She walked toward her bedroom in a daze, kicked off her shoes without care, and threw herself onto the bed. The mattress bounced beneath her, and she rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling.
The smile grew wider.
A giddy warmth bubbled inside her chest, rising up her throat until she couldn't contain it anymore. She grabbed the nearest pillow, buried her face into it, and screamed.
A muffled, high-pitched, utterly undignified scream.
"Oh my God!" she groaned into the fabric.
She rolled onto her stomach and kicked her legs against the mattress like an actual teenager. This was humiliating. Completely humiliating.
But she couldn't stop.
Because every time she closed her eyes, she felt it again.
Lesley stepping closer.
Lesley removing her glove.
Lesley taking her hand.
Denisse's stomach flipped violently.
The memory replayed in slow motion. The careful way Lesley had slid the glove over her fingers. The way her thumb had brushed against her wrist while fastening the strap. The warmth of her body behind her when she corrected her posture. The low murmur near her ear. The faint scent of her perfume mixed with grass and sunlight.
And that moment.
That suspended, breathless moment when they had swung the club together.
Denisse groaned again into the pillow. "This is ridiculous," she muttered, flipping onto her back. "What am I? A teenager who just saw her crush for the first time?"
Her heart betrayed her by thudding harder.
She slapped the pillow over her face dramatically. "Get it together. She's your boss. Your boss."
Enemies, she reminded herself.
Corporate rivals. Power clashes. Tension in boardrooms.
Not… this.
Not warm hands and soft voices and almost-hugs.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the wall, attempting to summon professionalism. It lasted approximately three seconds before her lips curved again.
She couldn't control it.
She looked insane.
A knock suddenly echoed through her apartment.
Denisse bolted upright, heart still racing for entirely different reasons. She smoothed her hair, patted her cheeks as if she could erase the visible glow from her face, and walked to the door.
The smile was still there. Traitor.
She opened it.
Gigi stood outside holding a plastic takeout bag, eyebrows immediately lifting.
"Wow," Gigi said slowly. "Are you that delighted to see me? Because that smile was already there before you opened the door."
"What?" Denisse replied far too quickly. "No. I was just watching a funny video on my phone."
Lie.
A terrible one.
Gigi narrowed her eyes. "Right. Just watching."
She stepped inside anyway, placing the takeout containers on the dining table. The scent of stir-fry and garlic filled the small apartment.
"I ordered food for us," Gigi continued. "I know you haven't eaten yet."
Denisse hesitated.
Actually, she had. Dinner after golf. Across from Lesley. Candlelight reflecting faintly on polished cutlery. The way Lesley had listened when she spoke.
"I already ate," Denisse admitted.
Gigi froze mid-motion. "You already did?"
"Yes," Denisse said, trying to sound casual. "I ate outside."
Gigi turned slowly. "And you didn't invite me? I was alone in my apartment. Betrayed. Starving."
"Actually…" Denisse sat down carefully. "I was with company."
Gigi's eyes widened. "Wait. Did you go on a date and not inform me?"
"What? God, no!" Denisse sputtered. "It wasn't like that. I was with Lesley."
Gigi choked on air. "Lesley? As in Lesley Nicole Ashford? Our extremely intimidating and unfairly attractive CEO?"
Denisse felt heat creep up her neck. "Yes."
Gigi leaned forward dramatically. "Wait. Are you two—"
"No!" Denisse nearly shrieked. "We weren't alone. Her friends were there. They invited me to play golf. And then we had dinner after."
Silence.
Gigi studied her with exaggerated scrutiny.
"What?" Denisse demanded, defensive.
"I understand now," Gigi said slowly, a grin spreading across her face. "I understand why you look like you just won the lottery."
"I do not."
"You do."
"I do not."
"You do. You walked in here glowing. Glowing, Denisse. Your cheeks are pink. You're smiling at the wall."
Denisse's brain short-circuited.
"Hey! No. It's not like that," she insisted. "We're enemies. Remember? Workplace tension. Cold stares. Strategic disagreements."
Gigi shoveled food into her mouth, unconvinced. "Yeah. Sure. Enemies."
Denisse glared at her.
Gigi chewed thoughtfully, eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. "So what did your so-called enemy do, huh? Smile at you a little too long?"
Denisse froze. "What are you talking about?"
Gigi pointed her fork at her. "Please. You're glowing, Denisse."
Denisse rolled her eyes, though the heat rising to her cheeks betrayed her. "Stop reading into it," she muttered.
"I don't have to read into anything. Your face is narrating a full romance novel."
Denisse groaned.
She picked up a fork and stabbed at the food even though she wasn't hungry at all. She stared down at the plate, pretending to concentrate intensely on rice grains, trying desperately to hide the smile threatening to reappear.
But the memory betrayed her again.
Lesley's voice near her ear.
"Relax your shoulders."
The warmth at her waist.
The shared swing.
Her lips curved.
Gigi gasped dramatically. "There! It's back!"
Denisse quickly shoved a forkful of food into her mouth to hide it, chewing too quickly.
"Enemies," she mumbled stubbornly.
"Sure," Gigi replied, grinning. "And I'm the Queen of England."
Denisse tried to scowl, but it dissolved into another smile.
Because no matter how much she denied it, no matter how much she tried to label it rivalry or tension or workplace complication, one undeniable truth pulsed in her chest like a secret.
She had never smiled like this after a dinner out.
And that terrified her almost as much as it thrilled her.