She spent a year pretending her billionaire boss didn’t affect her—until she kissed his face on a Forbes poster and heard his real voice say, “Interesting feedback technique, Miss Summers.”

By eight o'clock that evening, the rest of the executive floor was dark. The storm that had been brewing over the Hudson River all afternoon had finally broken, sheeting the glass walls of Whitmore Tower in silver rain.

Emma sat at her new desk—a sleek minimalist setup positioned directly outside Daniel's floor-to-ceiling glass doors. She had spent the last ten hours knee-deep in financial statements, cross-referencing Apex Logistics’ offshore assets.

Suddenly, the glass door swung open. Daniel stood there, his coat off, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, vein-delineated forearms. His tie was loosened—the exact visual that Emma had spent a year trying not to stare at.

"My office. Now," he said shorty.

Emma grabbed her tablet and followed him inside.

The low ambient lighting of his office made the city below look like a galaxy of fallen stars. Daniel didn't sit at his desk. Instead, he stood near the panoramic window, two glasses of scotch resting on the low marble coffee table near the leather sofa.

"Drink," he said, gesturing to one of the glasses.

"I don't usually drink on the job, Mr. Whitmore."

"It's eight-thirty on a rainy Tuesday, and you've just found a twelve-million-dollar discrepancy in Vance's funding structure," Daniel said, turning to look at her. "You've earned a drink. And call me Daniel. When we're alone, 'Mr. Whitmore' feels like an insult to your intellect."

Emma hesitated, then stepped forward and picked up the crystal glass. The bourbon was smooth, burning pleasantly down her throat.

"How did you know about the discrepancy?" she asked.

"Because I read your memo twenty minutes ago," Daniel said, taking a sip from his own glass. He walked over to her, his movements fluid and predatory. "You're brilliant, Emma. Truly. I spent a year wondering why you kept your head down, why you never spoke up in strategy meetings when I knew you were the smartest person in the room."

"I liked my job," she said softly, looking down at the amber liquid in her glass. "And I didn't want to be noticed for the wrong reasons."

"Like being a woman in a board room full of old men?"

"Like being the woman who looks at her boss like he's something out of a fairy tale," she admitted, the truth slipping out before her filters could stop it. The bourbon gave her a reckless kind of courage.

Daniel went utterly still. The silence between them stretched, heavy and taut as a wire.

"Is that what you think I am?" he asked softly, taking another step closer. "A fairy tale?"

"No," Emma said, looking up into his eyes. "Fairy tales aren't dangerous. You are."

Daniel set his glass down on the side table with a soft clink. He didn't break eye contact for a single second.

"You have no idea how dangerous I can be, Emma," he murmured. "Do you know what it was like for me? Watching you for twelve months? Seeing you walk past my office every morning, looking everywhere except at me? Pretending I didn't exist?"

Emma's breath hitched. "You... noticed me?"

"I noticed every single thing about you," Daniel confessed, his voice dropping into a harsh, dark whisper that vibrated through her core. "I noticed the way you bite your bottom lip when you're reading a difficult report. I noticed the way you take your tea with two drops of milk and no sugar. I noticed how you turned red every time I asked you a direct question."

He closed the remaining distance between them. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"I thought you hated me," he said, reaching out to gently touch a strand of her hair that had fallen near her cheek. His fingers were warm, sending a shiver straight down her spine. "I thought I intimidated you. Until last night."

"Daniel..." she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

Before he could answer, the sharp, shrill chime of his private phone broke the silence.

Daniel didn't move for three agonizing seconds. His eyes stayed glued to her lips. Finally, with a dark curse under his breath, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone. He checked the caller ID, and his jaw tightened instantly.

"What is it, Victoria?" he answered, his tone turning instantly to ice.

Emma stiffened. Victoria Vance. Julian Vance's younger sister, a high-society socialite and the very woman the tabloids had linked Daniel to months ago—the woman he had reportedly rejected.

"I don't care about your brother's gala," Daniel said coldly into the phone. "Tell Julian that if he wants to talk to me about Apex, he can do it across a negotiation table, not over champagne."

He paused, listening to the voice on the other end. His eyes flicked to Emma.

"I am bringing a guest," Daniel said abruptly. "My senior strategic advisor. Have two seats saved at the head table."

He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the couch.

"Change of plans for Thursday night," Daniel said, his eyes burning with a dangerous light. "You're coming with me to the Vance Charity Gala."

"Daniel, that's a shark tank," Emma protested. "The press will be there. Julian Vance will be there. Victoria—"

"Victoria is a distraction," Daniel interrupted, stepping back into her personal space and grabbing her hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around hers. "Julian thinks he can corner me. He thinks I'm unprepared. We're going to walk into his house, use your financial analysis to break his confidence, and shut down his bid before it starts."

Emma looked down at their joined hands. Her pulse was erratic. "And what about us?"