Chapter 4 - Breaking the Glossy Surface
The drive back from the gala was silent,
but the air in the limousine was thick with unspoken words.
We reached my apartment building,
a modest place that looked out of place with his high-end car parked in front.
He didn't just let the driver open the door;
he got out himself and walked me to the entrance.
“Alexia,”
he said,
stopping me under the dim yellow light of the streetlamp.
“About tonight...”
“You shouldn't have said those things to Sienna,”
I interrupted,
my nerves finally getting the better of me.
“People will talk.
They’ll think there’s something going on between us.”
He stepped closer,
trapping me between the brick wall and his tall frame.
“And what if there is?”
he challenged,
his eyes searching mine.
“What if I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out how to be near you without breaking every professional rule I ever made?”
I shook my head,
the fear of being just another conquest surfacing.
“I’m your assistant,
Elliot.
I’m the girl who makes your coffee.
I’m not a model,
or an heiress,
or...”
“You’re the only person who sees me,”
he growled,
his hands coming up to frame my face.
“You see the man behind the Forbes cover,
the one who works until 2:00 a.m. because he’s terrified of failing.
You’re the only one who makes me feel human.”
I looked into his eyes and saw the vulnerability he had been hiding behind his sarcasm and coldness.
He wasn't a poster;
he was a man who was just as lost as I was.
“I wanted to quit yesterday,”
I confessed,
my voice trembling.
“I thought you hated me.”
He let out a dry,
humorless laugh.
“Hate you?
Alexia,
I was so attracted to you that I had to be cold,
otherwise,
I wouldn't have been able to keep my hands off you.”
He leaned in,
his forehead resting against mine.
“The poster was the easy part,”
he whispered.
“The real thing is much more complicated.”
“I’m not a simple girl,”
I warned,
even as my heart pleaded for him to stay.
“I know,”
he said,
his thumb tracing my lower lip.
“That’s why I want you.”
I reached up,
my fingers tangling in his hair,
pulling him down.
This time,
when our lips met,
it wasn't glossy paper or a cold surface.
It was heat,
and hunger,
and a year’s worth of suppressed longing.
It was a kiss that tasted like coffee and expensive wine and a promise of something more.
When he finally pulled back,
he was breathless,
his eyes dark with emotion.
“I’m not letting you quit,”
he said,
May you like
his voice firm.
“But your job description is about to change significantly.”
