Like He Never Forgot

Emma’s first official day at Torres & Co. began with coffee, silence, and too many glances she tried to ignore.

She arrived fifteen minutes early, wearing a sleek black blouse and fitted trousers—professional, sharp, invisible. That’s how she wanted to be: invisible.

Jamie didn’t make it easy.

“Miss Rivers,” he said as he walked past her desk outside his office, stopping only long enough to hand her his phone. “Can you sync my calendar to this? Remove all recurring calls except those with Madison and the board.”

Madison.

The name hit like a glass of cold water. She didn’t react—just nodded and took the phone.

He paused.

Then added, more softly, “You look well.”

Emma didn’t look up. “Thank you, sir.”

She thought she saw him smirk as he went inside.

Don’t fall for it, she told herself. Don’t mistake old familiarity for kindness.

But all day, she felt the tension. In the way he stood a little too close when giving instructions. In how his voice dipped low when they were alone. In the subtle pauses when he said her name.

“Emma,” he said once, calling her into his office.

Just her name. No ‘Miss Rivers.’ No title.

And it wasn’t accidental.

She stepped in, notebook in hand. “Yes?”

He leaned back in his chair, his tie loosened slightly. “How long are we going to pretend we don’t know each other?”

She froze.

He continued, voice slow. “You were twelve. I was thirteen. You wrote me a letter I never answered. But I kept it.”

Emma stared at him. “You kept it?”

Jamie opened a drawer. Pulled out a folded piece of lined paper. Her handwriting—still slanted, still young.

Her breath caught.

“You said,” he read quietly, “‘I think I love you, but I don’t know what that means yet. Maybe one day we’ll find out.’”

He set the paper down and looked up at her.

“Well, Emma. It's one day.”

Her heart raced.

She stepped back. “We work together now. That was... a lifetime ago.”

He rose from his chair. “Do you feel nothing?”

“I feel smart enough not to get involved with my boss,” she snapped, backing away. “That’s what I feel.”

He moved toward her. Not touching—just watching.

“You always had fire,” he said softly. “Even then.”

“Then you know I’ll walk away if I have to,” she said, holding his gaze.

A slow smile curved on his lips, but it wasn’t mocking.

It was hungry.

“I’m counting on you not to,” he said.

Emma turned and walked out of his office, head held high, heart pounding.

As the glass door closed behind her, Jamie sat down slowly.

She was stronger than he remembered.

And that only made him want her more.

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