Ice and Innocence

Her desk was a sleek slab of black marble near the elevators, perfectly placed for chaos. Phones ringing, deliveries coming in, employees hustling like bees in a hive built on ambition and caffeine.

Alina sat straight, shoulders tense, answering calls and greeting clients like she'd been born to do it. Her borrowed heels pinched. Her stomach growled more than she did. But she was here. And she was staying.

On her second day, Damien walked past her without a word.

On her third day, he paused.

He didn’t say anything. Just… looked. His gaze swept over her like frost down glass—calculating, unreadable, making her feel naked in the most maddening way.

Alina cleared her throat. “Good morning, Mr. Vale.”

His lips twitched—almost a smile. “You remembered my coffee.”

She blinked. “You didn’t ask for one.”

He raised a brow. “I didn’t have to.”

She slid the cup across the desk. “Two shots espresso, one sugar. Stirred, not shaken.”

He took it, fingers brushing hers briefly.

Cold skin. Warm eyes.

He walked away.

---

Days passed.

Little things happened.

He’d stop by her desk, asking for files he didn’t need just to hear her voice. She caught him watching her once through the glass walls of his office, his expression unreadable. When she smiled at a coworker too brightly, his jaw ticked. And every time he spoke her name, it came out like a secret he wasn’t supposed to say.

Then came the day she spilled water on her skirt just before a big client came in. She was frantically blotting the fabric with paper towels in the restroom when a soft knock sounded on the door.

A sleek black folder slid in beneath it.

Inside was a new pencil skirt. Tag still on.

No note.

But she knew.

The next morning, she left a sticky note on his desk:

“Thanks for the rescue, Mr. Vale. You’re not as icy as you pretend to be.”

She didn’t expect a reply.

But the next day, she found a note on her desk in clean, masculine handwriting:

“Careful, Miss Rivera. Fire melts ice… but it also burns.”

Her cheeks flushed. Her heart skipped.

And just like that, the game had begun.

Mondays were the worst.

Especially when the coffee machine broke, the phones wouldn’t stop ringing, and someone thought it was a brilliant idea to bring their screaming toddler to a client meeting.

Alina’s nerves were fraying. Her fingers ached. Her throat was dry.

And then Damien walked out of his office—impeccable, infuriating, intimidating—and froze mid-step when he saw her.

Something in her posture must’ve cracked, because for the first time… he looked concerned.

“Miss Rivera,” he said, voice low and sharp like he didn’t like what he saw. “Have you eaten today?”

She blinked up at him, surprised. “Um… I had a granola bar.”

He stared.

She stared back.

“…Half of one,” she added, sheepish.

Without another word, he turned and disappeared into his office.

Ten minutes later, his assistant brought her a neatly packed meal from the expensive café two floors up.

“Mr. Vale’s orders,” she said with a faint smirk.

Alina hesitated. Then unwrapped it and took a bite.

It tasted like warmth. Like care. Like… someone saw her.

---

Later that day, she caught him near the elevator.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He didn’t look at her. “You’re a liability when you’re fainting at your desk.”

She tilted her head. “So… not because you care?”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Rivera.”

But she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. The way his eyes lingered a little too long. And when he stepped inside the elevator, he didn’t press a button right away.

He just watched her through the narrowing gap of the doors.

“Eat tomorrow,” he said quietly, just before they closed.

---

They never touched.

Never flirted—not really.

But oh, the space between them was alive.

Every time she brushed past him in the hallway.

Every time he said her name like a secret in his throat.

Every time she dared to tease him, and he couldn’t stop the ghost of a smirk.

It was all building. Quietly. Deliciously.

And neither of them could stop it.

---