Arielle had never thought that silence could be this loud.
The low hum of the elevator as it rose toward the top floor of Cross Enterprises echoed through the space like a heartbeat—steady, intrusive, and impossible to ignore. She stood a few feet away from Damien Cross, her arms folded tightly over her chest, as if that could somehow keep her thoughts from spilling out.
Why did he have to smell like cedar and something disturbingly expensive?
Damien, for his part, seemed completely unaffected. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, tall and unreadable in his sleek charcoal suit. His presence filled the confined space—not just physically, but with an intensity that Arielle could feel on her skin, like static before a storm.
He hadn't spoken a word since they entered the elevator. But she could feel his eyes on her.
"I'm only doing this because your assistant begged me," Arielle muttered, finally breaking the silence.
Damien's brow arched, just barely. "Doing what, exactly?"
"Delivering these reports. I'm not your secretary."
A smirk curved one corner of his lips. "No. You're far too mouthy to be a secretary."
Arielle's eyes narrowed. "And you're too smug to be a real person."
The smirk grew.
Before she could think of a better insult, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Damien didn't wait—he stepped out with the kind of effortless confidence that annoyed her almost as much as it fascinated her. She followed behind him, her sneakers squeaking slightly against the polished marble floor.
His office was absurd. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline like a painting. Modern furniture that probably cost more than her college tuition was arranged in a way that screamed power and taste. And there, at the center of it all, was his desk—massive, sleek, and far too clean.
Damien turned, leaning slightly against the desk as he watched her. "You always talk this much?"
"Only when I'm around people who irritate me."
"Interesting. You seem to spend a lot of time around me, then."
She gave him a tight-lipped smile and held out the folder of reports. "Here. Your precious numbers."
He didn't take them right away. Instead, his eyes dropped to her hands—small, ink-smudged, the nails short and uneven. Then up to her face. Arielle's heart gave a stupid little stutter.
"What?" she snapped.
"You're not what I expected," he said, voice low and calm. "The daughter of a cleaner, working odd jobs between art classes and temp work. And yet you keep ending up in my path."
"I didn't ask to end up in your path."
"No," he agreed. "But it's... curious."
Arielle stepped back. She hated the way his gaze made her feel—as if he was peeling back layers she didn't even know she had. "Look, if you're done playing the bored billionaire, I'd like to go. Some of us have real work to do."
"You don't like me," Damien said.
It wasn't a question.
Arielle lifted her chin. "You're arrogant, cold, and clearly used to people jumping when you blink. So no, I don't."
He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. "And yet... you look at me like you want to figure me out."
Her cheeks flushed. "Excuse me?"
"That curiosity in your eyes—it's not hatred, Miss Hayes."
She swallowed hard, unsure if she wanted to slap him or run. "You don't know anything about me."
"Not yet."
Silence stretched between them again, but this time it felt heavier—charged.
Arielle dropped the folder onto his desk with more force than necessary. "You know what? Believe what you want. I don't have time for this mind game."
She turned to leave.
"Wait."
She stopped. Against her better judgment.
Damien's voice had dropped a degree. It was no longer teasing. "You're right. I don't know you. But I want to."
Arielle turned slowly, skepticism all over her face. "Why? Because you're bored? Because I don't fall at your feet like the rest of your staff?"
"No." He pushed off the desk and walked toward her, every movement deliberate. "Because you're honest. And I find that... rare."
Honest? She hadn't expected that.
"You barely know me," she said again, softer this time.
"I know enough to want to."
He stopped in front of her—close enough that she had to tilt her head to look him in the eye. She could see the flicker of something human in his expression now. Not just the powerful CEO with a face that could ruin lives, but a man with layers hidden beneath his cool surface.
And worse, she could feel herself wanting to know those layers.
Unlikely attraction. That's what this was. A ridiculous, completely impractical spark between two people from opposite ends of the world. He wore designer watches. She couldn't even afford one.
But the spark was there. Undeniable.
"I have to go," she whispered, but she didn't move.
"I won't stop you."
Still, she didn't move.
Then, for just a second, Damien's fingers brushed hers. Barely a touch. But enough.
Enough to confirm that yes—this wasn't one-sided.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Arielle pulled her hand away like she'd been burned. "Don't," she said, voice shaking slightly.
Damien didn't apologize. He just nodded once. "Understood."
Arielle turned and walked away, heart thudding far too loudly in her chest. She didn't look back, didn't dare. But as the elevator doors closed behind her, she leaned against the wall and exhaled shakily.
Unlikely. Unexpected. Unwelcome.
But there it was.
The attraction.
And now, she wasn't sure how to ignore it.