Chapter 4 Crossing Lines

The day started like any other: emails, and deadlines, but the energy between us was strong and too much to handle.

Every glance across the room, every brush of his hand against mine while passing files, made my pulse spike.

"Harper, we need to finalize the proposal by noon," Evan said, leaning over my desk. His proximity made my stomach twist in ways I tried and failed not to notice.

"Right," I said, my voice tighter than intended. "I've almost got it ready."

He didn't step back, and I didn't want him to. There was a charged silence as we both worked, fingers tapping keyboards in tandem. The old rhythm flowed back, effortless, yet pulsing with danger.

The client called with a last-minute request with a revision that required us to spend the afternoon together reviewing every detail.

"Looks like it's just you and me for a while," Evan said, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips.

I groaned internally but nodded. "Fine. Let's get it over with."

We moved into the conference room, laptops, papers, and coffee cups scattered around and hours passed in a flurry of edits, discussions, and occasional heated debates.

And all the while, the proximity, the brushing of our arms, the accidental touches, the soft laughs shared over absurd client notes kept drawing us closer.

At one point, I looked up from my notes to find him watching me. His gaze wasn't just focused it was intent, personal, and almost too intimate. I felt heat rise to my cheeks.

"You're distracted," he said softly.

"I'm not..." I began, but stopped. Truth was, I couldn't stop thinking about the night in the alley, about his words, his touch, the promise that lingered between us.

Evan's expression softened, and he leaned just a little closer. "I'm still here, Harper. I'm not going anywhere."

I wanted to tell him I felt the same, wanted to bridge the gap that had grown between us, wanted to risk it all for a chance at something real. But the professional part, the part that remembered heartbreak and office politics held back.

"Let's just finish this proposal," I said, focusing back on the spreadsheets and graphs in front of me.

He nodded, but his hand brushed mine just a touch, almost accidental. And in that moment, the professional walls between us cracked. Just a little.

The client approved the revisions, it was late afternoon. We packed up feeling tired, yet charged with unspoken tension. As we walked back toward our desks, our shoulders brushed. Again. This time, neither of us moved away.

"Tomorrow," he said, quietly. "We tackle the next phase."

I nodded, heart hammering. "Tomorrow."

And I realized that the lines between professional and personal were blurring faster than I could handle or resist.

The next morning, the office was unusually quiet, the calm before another storm of deadlines. I was buried in client emails when Evan appeared at my desk, holding two cups of coffee.

"Thought you could use a refill," he said, sliding one toward me. His fingers brushed mine, and a jolt ran up my arm-electric and entirely unwelcome... and yet impossible to ignore.

"Thanks," I muttered, keeping my eyes on the screen.

He leaned against the desk, watching me work. "You've been tense all morning," he said. "Something on your mind?"

"Just the usual chaos," I replied, though my tone lacked conviction.

He smirked knowingly. "Uh-huh. Chaos with a side of avoiding me?"

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "No. Definitely not avoiding you," I said quickly, though the words were half-truths.

The day progressed, and soon we were summoned to a conference call with a demanding client. An urgent redesign that needed both our approvals before the end of the day.

"Guess we're stuck together," Evan said flashing a grin that made my stomach flip.

"Looks like it," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral even though I was anxious about the long hours of being close to each other.

We worked side by side in the conference room, laptops were open, and papers were scattered across the table. Every accidental brush of his hand against mine, every shared glance over a spreadsheet, made it harder to focus. My heart raced, and I had to remind myself that we were here for work not to rekindle old feelings.

Hours went by. We went from arguing about fonts and layouts to laughing at silly client comments, and somehow, even though things were tense, we fell back into a good flow again.

At one point he leaned over to point something out on my screen. His hand touched mine, and I felt it. He noticed.

"You're distracted," he said softly, almost teasing, almost serious.

"I'm not..." I started, then stopped. Truthfully, I was distracted. By him. By the way, he still made my heart race after two years, by the memory of that night in the alley, by the pull I couldn't and didn't want to resist.

He leaned just slightly closer, and the room seemed to shrink around us. "We can take it slow," he murmured. "But I'm not letting go again."

I swallowed hard, trying to focus, but the tension between us was palpable, a tight wire we were both tiptoeing around.

By the time the client finally approved the revisions, it was late afternoon. We packed up, exhausted but charged with the unspoken energy lingering in the air. As we walked back toward our desks, our shoulders brushed. Neither of us moved away.

"Tomorrow," he said quietly. "Next phase."

"Tomorrow," I repeated, my voice soft, heart hammering.

And I realized, as the day ended and the office emptied, that the line between professional and personal was vanishing faster than I could control.

The office was nearly empty when we finally packed up. The hum of computers powering down and the distant footsteps of the cleaning staff made the world feel quiet-almost private.

"Need a ride home?" Evan asked as we stepped outside. The cool evening air smelled like rain from earlier.

"I... sure," I said, surprised with how easily the words came.

We walked to his car in silence he opened the door for me, and I slid in, my heart was racing. The interior smelled faintly of his cologne, a familiar, comforting scent I hadn't realized I'd missed.

The drive started quietly, and we were lost in our own thoughts. But after a few minutes, he cleared his throat.

"Harper..." he began, voice low. "About yesterday... and today... I know it's messy. But I want to try. With you. No pretending. No running."

I glanced at him, caught in the golden glow of the dashboard lights, feeling exposed and alive all at once. "I want to believe that," I admitted, voice soft. "I just... I don't know if I can trust myself not to get hurt again."

His eyes softened, and he reached over, lightly brushing his fingers against mine. The contact was small, almost accidental but enough to make my heart leap.

"We'll figure it out," he said gently. "One step at a time. No rush."

I nodded, leaning back in my seat, feeling the tension of the day slowly ease but leaving behind a new, dangerous pull. A pull I knew neither of us could ignore for long.

By the time he dropped me off, the night sky was dark, stars barely visible above the city lights. He didn't kiss me goodbye, didn't cross a line but his lingering gaze said more than words ever could.

"See you tomorrow?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," I whispered, already counting the hours.

As I watched him drive away, I realized something both exhilarating and terrifying, the past wasn't gone. It had only been waiting... for this moment, for us, to start again.