Author's Preface
[Cont.]
[Annie]
Oliver's approach changes slowly, but I notice it.
Over the next two weeks, he texts regularly with ideas for dinner, gallery openings, or coffee.
Yet the demands of our mid-quarter marketing push keep my schedule packed, and Oliver's client meetings are just as relentless.
Three of the four dates fall through, each one ending with a polite apology over text.
The constant delays are strangely relieving.
They give me more time before I have to make a decision I'm still trying to process.
At the office, Kai goes right back to being himself.
Whatever happened at Northeast City disappears the moment we're back at work.
In meetings, he goes through my reports with his usual precision.
In the corridors, he offers polite nods without slowing his stride.
It drives me out of my mind.
He keeps such strict boundaries at work that I'm starting to wonder if I hallucinated the whole night at the lounge—the music, his hands on my waist, how close we came to kissing, and the way he pulled away because I was drunk.
He went right back to normal, while I'm the one left carrying the embarrassment, second-guessing myself every time he walks into a room.
Still, his clinical distance gives me space to focus on my campaign decks, to stop staring at his office door, and to try—unsuccessfully—to stop looking for meaning in every change in his expression.
[ *** ]
When I unlock my apartment door on Thursday evening, the living room smells faintly of sugar and fresh floral perfume.
My grandmother sits on the velvet armchair, a small porcelain plate resting in her lap.
She holds a thick, ripe wedge of a peach, taking a deliberate bite as I drop my laptop bag onto the entryway bench.
"You're back late, Annie," my grandmother says, dabbing her lips with a cloth napkin.
I walk over, kicking off my heels to inspect the fruit bowl on the coffee table.
Inside a polished wooden crate lined with tissue paper are half a dozen large pink peaches, perfect despite being completely out of season.
"Where did those come from?" I ask, leaning down to touch the wooden edge. "Imports aren't even coming in right now. How much did these cost?"
Mom steps out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
"We didn't buy them. A courier dropped the crate off two hours ago. Your boss sent them over."
My hand stops over the crate. "My boss?"
"Mr. Sterlings," my mother clarifies, setting a glass of water on the table. "The note was addressed to your grandmother, thanking her for her hospitality when he called the apartment last week. He had them shipped directly from an orchard import vendor."
My grandmother chews thoughtfully, looking up over her gold-rimmed glasses.
"He has exquisite taste. Polite, generous, and pays attention to detail. A man like that knows how to provide. Honestly, Annie, I think he would be a far better match for you than Oliver."
My mother lets out a sharp breath, waving her hand.
"Mom, please. Don't start. Mr. Sterlings is her senior executive, not a suitor. Oliver is from a respectable family, he's steady, and he treats Annie with complete respect. Let's not encourage ridiculous ideas."
"I'm making an observation," Grandma murmurs, taking another bite. "Respect is fine, but authority and initiative matter."
"Neither of you needs to analyze my love life over fruit," I say, setting a peach back into the crate.
My pulse jumps, my chest tightening with resentment.
He acts like a stranger at work, but sends expensive peaches to my family?
It's a polite gesture. Nothing more.
[ *** ]
By midnight, the apartment is quiet.
I sit at the dining table with my laptop open when a low groan echoes from the guest bedroom.
I stand up immediately, stepping into the dark hallway just as grandma slowly opens her door, clutching her right knee with a wince.
"Grandma? Are you okay?" I whisper, rushing over to support her arm.
"My joint pain is acting up again," she murmurs, leaning against my shoulder. "The damp air tonight... I forgot to pack my relief ointment."
"Stay right here," I say softly, guiding her back onto the edge of the bed. "I'll run down to the 24-hour pharmacy down the block and grab it for you."
I slip into flat slides, grab my keys, and step out into the quiet eighth-floor corridor.
As I approach the elevator bank, the door across the hall opens.
Kai steps out into the hallway, dressed down in a soft gray crewneck and dark trousers, his hair falling over his forehead.
He finishes locking his door, turns toward the elevator, and freezes when his eyes land on my oversized t-shirt and messy hair.
My breath catches in my throat.
The hallway suddenly feels too narrow, the memory of the club pressing in—the way my fingers had clung to his collar, the heat of his breath against my lips, and the sudden sting when he pulled away.
"Annie?" he asks, his voice low in the quiet space.
I pull my shoulders back, clearing my throat to hide the sudden flurry of nerves.
"Mr. Sterlings. I wanted to thank you for sending those peaches to my grandmother."
Kai tilts his head, key ring resting in his palm. "She enjoyed them?"
"She did," I say, keeping a cautious distance. "But please stop sending expensive things like that. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I already feel burdened enough with the clothes from the North City trip, and now this... I really need to repay you for all of it."
Kai pauses, then smiles.
He tucks his keys into his pocket and steps toward the elevator call button. "You don't owe me anything, Annie. I didn't send them expecting a return on investment."
"I know you didn't," I insist, standing my ground, though I'm suddenly aware of every inch of space between us. "But I don't like feeling indebted to my boss."
The call button lights up softly between us.
He turns his head and looks at me for a long second.
"You don't need to repay me," he says, his voice lowering.
"But if it bothers you that much... you can take me out to dinner."
My breathing falters, a sudden wave of irritation surging through my shock.
Take him to dinner? Is he seriously acting this casual?
I stare at him, completely thrown.
I can't tell if he is deliberately choosing to ignore the elephant in the room—the fact that we almost kissed on a crowded dance floor days ago—or if that night meant so little to him that he didn't even deem it important enough to address.
I remember his hands on my waist, and my skin suddenly feels hot under his steady gaze.
"I don't have time for dinner, Mr. Sterlings," I force out, my voice tighter than intended. "My schedule is completely full with the quarter-end reports."
"I manage the department schedule, Annie," he says smoothly. "If you want the time, I can adjust both of our calendars."
I stare at him for a moment, not believing what I’m hearing.
"Are you asking me to take you out on a date, Mr. Sterlings?"
Kai tilts his head, his tone dripping with quiet irony.
"Well, if that's what you want to call it, then yes—I am asking you to take me out on a date."
A dry, disbelieving laugh escapes my lips.
"What does that even mean? You can't just say something like that. I'm already seeing someone, and you... you're dating Lucy, Mr. Sterlings!"
He stops.
The slight smirk on his lips vanishes, replaced by a sharp stillness. "I am not dating Lucy."
"Right," I mutter, turning my eyes toward the floor indicators, feeling a sudden, burning flush spread across my face.
"Why do you think I'm dating Lucy?" Kai asks, taking half a step sideways, his shadow overlapping mine on the carpet. "And exactly how closely have you been watching me, Ms. Hayes?"
I press my back flat against the wall beside the elevator panel, my pulse quickening under his proximity.
"Did you hit your head?" I force out, my voice trembling slightly as days of frustration boil over.
His mouth twitches, the intensity in his eyes softening into something unreadable.
"Maybe I did."
I swallow and look away, trying to get a grip.
"Fine. I'll take you to dinner after work tomorrow. We can grab a quick bite at that place down the street, and we'll call it even."
Kai cocks an eyebrow, stepping close enough for me to catch the familiar scent of cedar and laundry soap.
"No."
"No?"
"I don't want leftovers of your time, Annie. No after-office rush, no quick bites on the street, and no squeezing me into your leftover hours," he says, his voice low and firm.
"If we do this, it's going to be a proper dinner. We both get ready, we sit down, and we do it right."
"I don't have a free evening for a proper dinner!"
"I can manage the schedules," he says as the elevator doors slide open with a soft ding.
Instead of stepping inside, he reaches out and holds the rubber edge of the frame, keeping the doors open for me.
"I'll let you know. Get your grandmother's medicine, Annie."
I blink at the open elevator cab, then up at his face.
He steps back to give me space to enter.
Before I can formulate a response, I step into the elevator.
He offers a single, calm nod from the corridor as the silver doors slide shut between us, leaving me alone inside.
[ *** ]
By Saturday afternoon, my half-day at the office wraps up, and I walk into the sunlit outdoor café near the square to meet Oliver.
He sits at a corner table in a cream-colored sweater.
The second he spots me, he stands and pulls me into a tight hug before I even reach the table.
I freeze for a fraction of a second at the sudden physical contact, the memory of Sunday night still too fresh, then lift my hands to pat his back gently.
"Hi, Oliver."
"Hey," he says, stepping back with a bright smile as we take our seats.
"I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks. I'm glad we finally made this work, even if it's just for coffee."
"Me too," I say, pulling my iced latte closer to give my hands something to hold.
We talk through the first twenty minutes—he asks about my mother, shares an update about his firm's quarterly project, and checks if I looked over the summit passes he gave me.
"Oh, speaking of work..." I pause, moving my glass slightly to clear a ring of condensation on the wood.
"I won't be free tomorrow evening. I have an official dinner with my boss."
His smile drops instantly.
He sets his coffee cup down onto the porcelain saucer with a sharp clink.
"Your boss? On a Sunday evening?"
"It's a work obligation to clear up department logistics," I say, keeping my tone light.
"Just a professional dinner."
"When? Where?"
"Tomorrow at seven," I say, naming the restaurant Kai texted me about that morning.
Oliver stares directly at me, his jaw tightening.
He clears his throat, his posture stiffening against the chair.
"I can drive you. I'll pick you up after you finish so you don't have to deal with late-night traffic."
"No, it's fine," I say, shaking my head quickly. "I'll drive my own car. It's much easier."
Oliver nods once, looking away toward the street.
The warmth from earlier is gone.
For the remainder of the hour, he offers short, one-word answers, sipping his drink in silence.
When we stand up to leave, I reach out and touch his forearm.
"Oliver... I know our schedules have been messy, but I'll set up our next date properly. My treat."
He looks down at my hand on his sleeve, his face expressionless.
"Sure, Annie," he says, his voice flat. "We'll see."
He turns and walks directly to his car, opening his own door without waiting for me.
I stand on the pavement, watching his car merge into the afternoon traffic, feeling strangely unsettled.