chapter 2

"Yes."

And that’s all I said. What more should I have said? Hi? Hey?? Oh gosh, this is so embarrassing.

Both Ducky and my boss stared at me. I just stood there like a lost intern who forgot how words work. My face felt like it was on fire.

"I'm Rocky," said my boss, calm as ever. "And you're… Lily, is it?"

"Yes."

Yep. That again. Super original.

"Take the papers on my desk and submit them to me tomorrow morning."

I rushed over, grabbed the papers like they were mission-critical, and slipped out of the room as fast as I could. No tripping. No looking back. Just go.

His tasks weren’t as hard as I expected. Organizing files, editing some layouts, scheduling a few calls—basic stuff. Kind of satisfying, actually.

Now it was night. The office was quiet. Everyone had gone home, but I was still near my boss’s office, finishing things up. The light from my desk lamp made everything feel extra dramatic, like I was the lead in some office drama. But with less scandal and more… formatting.

“Ahhhh, what a hectic day!!” I flopped back in my chair, stretching dramatically. I deserved an award for staying awake.

Just as I was about to recheck the final set of papers, someone placed a juice bottle on my desk. Quiet. Smooth.

My eyes immediately went to his hand—those hands were way too pretty. Masculine, clean, confident. The sleeve looked familiar too…

Wait. No. Oh my God.

I slowly traced my eyes up from his wrist, to his forearm, to his jawline—

And boom. Eye contact.

Rocky.

I flushed instantly, like someone had just turned the heater on max. “Here—take your juice—I mean, I’m not the juice, it’s… it’s on the table,” I stammered, internally begging the floor to open and eat me whole.

He said nothing. Just pulled out a chair next to mine and sat down, eyes scanning my half-finished work like it was his job. (Okay, technically, it kinda was.)

"T-thank you," I mumbled. That was all I could say. Again. Ugh.

He didn’t even blink. Just stayed quiet, calm. Like always.

I cleared my throat. “W-what are you doing here? Aren’t you going home?”

That came out too fast. Too loud. I immediately regretted opening my mouth.

“I’m checking your progress,” he said plainly, eyes still on my screen.

“Oh.”

I nodded like that made total sense. Of course. Why else would a boss sit next to his very sweaty, very overwhelmed assistant at 9:43 p.m.?

He reached over and adjusted the spacing on a title in my document without asking.

“That’s misaligned.”

“Ah—right! I was just about to fix that. Totally noticed it.” (I didn’t.)

He leaned back, still watching.

I could feel my heart thudding. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, pretending I wasn’t panicking about every pixel on the screen.

“Do you… stay this late often?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Sometimes.”

“Oh. Cool. Same. I mean—not always, but—today. Just today. I don’t always stay late, unless there’s like, late things. And this is one of those days. I guess.”

With the silence still lingering, I continued my work. It was almost done anyway, and right before I could overthink again, he said quietly,

“Just imagine I’m not here. I’ll wait.”

So… I did exactly that. Well, I tried. I mean, how do you pretend your boss isn’t sitting next to you, watching your every click?

Still, I finished. Papers neat. Files saved. Desk cleared.

When I headed to the garage, he followed. I didn’t think much of it—until he stopped by his car and said,

“Come. I’ll drop you.”

“Wha—no, you don’t have to—” I started, waving my hands like a windmill. But he just interrupted, flat and firm:

“Let me, milady.”

Milady??

Oh wow. Oh okay. Sir Rocky’s in his chivalrous era now?

I blinked, then nodded like I wasn’t internally screaming. I slid into the passenger seat (yes, like a lady), and he got into the driver’s side. Click. Seatbelts on.

And then… silence. Again.

The engine purred to life. The dashboard glowed softly. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. Hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. Completely unreadable. Seriously, how does one person contain that much calm?

“So… do you always say ‘milady’? Or was that just a one-time limited edition moment?” I asked, grinning at him.

“No,” he replied, eyes straight ahead.

Wait—no what? No he always says it? No it was a one-time thing? No I should stop talking?

“Uh—cool,” I said, nodding at nothing.

A beat passed. I looked out the window.

“I really thought I’d mess everything up today,” I added softly. “But your tasks were… manageable. Surprisingly not scary. Except the part where you’re watching over my shoulder like a bossy ghost.”

His lip twitched. Barely.

“You type loudly,” he said.

I blinked. “Wha—excuse me?! My typing is... passionate.”

He said nothing. Just kept driving.

“I feel judged.”

Still nothing. This man was built from silence.

So I huffed a little and crossed my arms. “You know, most people say things like ‘good job today’ or ‘thanks for not burning the office down.’ Just saying.”

The car slowed at a red light.

He glanced at me. Eyes calm. Voice even.

“You didn’t burn it down. That’s a start.”

Oh.

OH.

Was that a compliment? From him?

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