Chapter 4: Unspoken Contracts

Emma sat on the edge of her bathtub that night, knees pulled up to her chest, her phone face-down beside her. The city pulsed outside her window—horns, lights, the endless rhythm of a place that didn’t care whether your heart was intact or shredded.

She had no one to blame but herself.

She let it happen.

The warmth of Jamie’s skin still lingered on hers. His hands. His voice. The way he had said her name—not just once, but like it was a prayer he hadn’t dared speak in years.

And the worst part?

She hadn’t hated it.

Her phone buzzed.

Jamie Torres.

She didn’t answer. Not yet.

Instead, she crawled into bed, tucked the covers up to her neck, and closed her eyes, praying for sleep. But sleep didn’t come. Only memory did.

---

The next morning, Emma arrived at the office at 8:02, two minutes later than her usual. It was stupid to think anyone would notice—but Jamie did.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched her as she set down her things and opened her laptop, fingers trembling slightly.

She could feel his gaze through the glass, but when she glanced up, he was already looking at a file, jaw tight.

By 10:00 AM, the office was humming.

Emails. Meetings. Coffee orders. No one suspected that anything had changed between the boss and the secretary. And Emma intended to keep it that way.

At exactly 10:07, she stepped into Jamie’s office with a report from the marketing team.

“Set it on the desk,” he said without looking up.

She did. Then turned to leave.

“Emma,” he said.

She froze.

Jamie rose from his chair and walked around the desk slowly, hands in his pockets. “You didn’t reply to my message last night.”

“I didn’t think it needed a reply.”

His eyes narrowed. “After everything that happened?”

“That was a mistake,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor.

Jamie was quiet for a moment.

“You didn’t say that last night.”

“I’m saying it now.”

He exhaled slowly, like someone trying to stay calm during a storm. “You regret it?”

She finally looked up, her expression unreadable. “I regret the complication.”

Jamie took another step toward her. “Is that what I am now? A complication?”

“Yes.”

The air between them stretched tight.

“You didn’t look like you were regretting anything when you had your hands in my hair,” he said, voice low.

Emma flushed but didn’t flinch. “That doesn’t mean it should’ve happened.”

Jamie ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not going to apologize for wanting you.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to stop.”

“Emma—”

“No,” she cut in. “We work together. People talk. We can’t do this, Jamie.”

He stared at her. His lips parted like he wanted to argue, but then he nodded once.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll be... professional.”

Emma didn’t trust the way he said it.

But she nodded anyway and left his office, pulse thundering in her ears.

---

For the next week, Jamie kept his word.

He didn’t touch her.

He didn’t message her.

He barely looked at her.

It should’ve made things easier.

It didn’t.

Emma found herself hyper-aware of everything he did. The way he brushed his hair back during meetings. The way he rolled his sleeves up by noon, revealing strong forearms that should not be interesting but were. The way he said her name during briefings, cool and clipped, like it didn’t mean anything at all.

But it did.

She felt it.

And she hated herself for it.

One afternoon, while she was compiling notes from the regional directors, the elevator dinged and a man stepped into the office.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Brown hair and soft blue eyes that sparked when they saw her.

“Emma Rivers?” he asked.

She blinked. “Yes?”

“I’m Lucas Torres. Jamie’s brother.”

Her breath hitched.

He smiled, warm and easy. “I’m helping restructure the company’s HR department. We’ll be working together on the quarterly report.”

She shook his hand. His grip was firm, but not overpowering.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Torres.”

“Lucas,” he corrected gently. “Please.”

Jamie stepped out of his office just then, his expression hardening the second he saw them talking.

“Lucas,” he said curtly. “You’re early.”

“I wanted to get a head start,” Lucas replied, still smiling. “Emma was just welcoming me.”

Jamie’s jaw clenched.

Emma turned back to her desk, focusing on the spreadsheet in front of her like it was a life raft.

Lucas followed Jamie into the office, and the door closed behind them with a soft click.

She shouldn’t have listened.

But she couldn’t help it.

Their voices were muffled behind the glass, but she heard Jamie’s tone—sharp, irritated. Lucas’s voice was calmer, curious. Then there was silence.

When the door opened again, Lucas stepped out with a friendly nod to Emma.

Jamie didn’t look at her once.

---

That evening, Claire poured wine into Emma’s glass while music played softly in the background.

“You hooked up with Jamie and met his brother in the same week?” she asked, wide-eyed. “Girl. That’s not a triangle. That’s a fire hazard.”

Emma groaned. “I’m not trying to start anything with Lucas.”

“Do you like Lucas?”

“I don’t know him.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “But he’s hot.”

Emma sighed. “He’s kind.”

“Which is dangerous when you’re emotionally confused.”

Emma stared into her wine. “I told Jamie it was a mistake. That we should be professional. But then I met Lucas and... it’s like Jamie flipped a switch.”

Claire leaned back on the couch. “He’s obsessed with you.”

Emma laughed dryly. “He doesn’t know what to do with me. I don’t think he ever did.”

Claire looked at her gently. “What do you want?”

Emma hesitated. “I want my life back.”

But even as she said it, she wasn’t sure what that meant anymore.

Because something inside her had already changed. And she didn’t know how to undo it.

---

Back at the office the next morning, Emma found a note on her desk.

Just a sticky note in Jamie’s handwriting.

Meeting. 9 PM. My condo. Strictly business.

No greeting. No explanation. Just control. Clean. Intentional.

She stared at it for a long time before tucking it into her drawer.

At 8:55 PM, she stood in front of Jamie’s condo again, heart a mess of warning signs.

She knocked.

The door opened.

Jamie stood there in a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar open. His eyes flicked over her face, then down to the folder in her hand.

“Come in.”

She stepped inside.

“Kitchen,” he said.

She followed him in, set the folder on the counter, and crossed her arms.

“I thought this was business.”

“It is,” he said. But his eyes betrayed him.

“Then say what you have to say.”

Jamie walked toward her, every step deliberate.

When he stopped just in front of her, he said, “I said we’d keep things professional. But I lied.”

Emma’s breath caught.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t walk past you without wanting to touch you. And I sure as hell can’t watch my brother flirt with you and pretend it doesn’t make me insane.”

She stared at him. “Then what do you want?”

“I want you,” he said. “Even if it’s just here. Even if we have to keep it secret. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me.”

Emma’s hands trembled at her sides.

This was dangerous. Reckless.

But so was the way he was looking at her now—like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

And maybe, just maybe, she wanted that, too.

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