“You’re very handsome,” she repeated, as if clarifying her earlier point. “And tall. I like tall. So you should be my dad.”
I nearly walked straight out of the building.
Instead, I stepped forward. “Lily.”
She turned, beaming. “Mom! I made a friend.”
“I can see that.”
“I think he needs help,” she added, whispering loudly. “He looks lonely.”
I wanted the floor to open and swallow me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said quickly, addressing him. “She wasn’t supposed to—”
“It’s fine,” Alexander said.
His voice was calm, but his eyes… were different. Softer.
He looked at Lily again, studying her like she was something unexpected and rare.
“She’s… direct,” he said.
“That’s one word for it.”
He almost smiled again.
That should have been the end of it.
It wasn’t.
Part 2
Three weeks later, a cup of coffee appeared on my desk.
Exactly how I liked it.
Black. Splash of oat milk. No sugar.
I stared at it suspiciously.
My assistant, Claire, leaned against the doorway, trying—and failing—to hide a grin.
“You didn’t order that?”
“No.”
She raised a brow. “Interesting.”
Attached to the cup was a sticky note.
You skipped breakfast again.
—A.H.
I stared at it.
“Claire,” I said slowly, “why does my boss know my eating habits?”
She lit up. “Oh my God, this is happening.”
“This is not happening.”
“This is absolutely happening.”
It didn’t stop there.
He started noticing things.
When I worked too late.
When I forgot lunch.
When I was stressed.
At first, it was subtle. Then… less subtle.
One evening, he appeared in my office doorway.
“You haven’t eaten,” he said.
I looked up. “Are you monitoring me now?”
“If I were, you’d be more consistent.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m busy.”
“So is everyone else. They still manage basic survival.”
I should have been annoyed.
Instead, I was… flustered.
He stepped closer, glancing at my screen. “That campaign needs restructuring.”
“It needs a miracle.”
“Close enough.”
For the next fifteen minutes, he helped me fix it.
Not hovering. Not taking over.
Just… working with me.
And he was brilliant.
Sharp. Efficient. Clear.
At one point, our shoulders brushed.
Neither of us moved right away.
That was new.
Later that night, he said, almost casually:
“There’s a restaurant nearby. My dinner plans were canceled.”
I looked at him. “Are you asking me out?”
“I’m offering food. And conversation.”
“That’s not a denial.”
A pause.
Then, “No.”
I should have said no.
I didn’t.
Part 3
It wasn’t supposed to turn into something.
But it did.
Slowly.
Quietly.