~ 5 ~

LILA'S POV

"You're thirteen minutes late, Lila."

The deep, smooth voice sent a shiver down my spine.

I wasn’t sure if it was because of the casual way he said it, or the fact that hearing it after three years still had the same effect on me.

Slowly, I turned toward my desk, and there he was.

Dressed in a black tailored suit that fit his frame like a second skin, his broad shoulders filling out the material with effortless precision. A sleek, black Rolex rested against his wrist, the silver accents glinting under the soft office light as he nonchalantly checked the time.

He was leaning on my desk—my desk—as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

I had spent the last three years convincing myself that whatever I felt back then was temporary, an illusion that had burned itself out long before dawn broke that night.

But standing here, with him looking at me like I was just another person in his company—like we didn’t share a past—made me realize how foolish that thought had been.

I clenched my jaw, forcing my body to move.

With a measured inhale, I pushed the door shut behind me, keeping my posture straight. The weight of his gaze was almost suffocating, but I refused to show even a hint of weakness.

I wasn’t the same girl from back then.

"Good morning, sir," I said, my tone crisp, professional, void of familiarity.

Not Lucas. Not even Mr. Crawford.

Just sir.

Something flickered across his face, but it was gone before I could place it.

His lips quirked in a barely-there smirk as he shifted, straightening just enough to shove his hands into his pockets. "No excuses?"

"I wasn't aware I owed one," I replied smoothly.

His brow lifted slightly. "I see you haven't lost your attitude."

"And I see you haven't lost your habit of dropping in unannounced."

A slow, amused hum rumbled from his chest, but there was something detached about it, something almost... calculated.

And yet, despite the coolness in his demeanor, I caught the way his gaze swept over me, taking in every little detail—from the way my blouse was perfectly tucked into my tailored pants, to the way my heels gave me just enough height to meet his sharp, piercing stare without having to crane my neck.

"You look different," he finally said.

"So do you."

Silence. Thick, heavy, suffocating.

He exhaled through his nose before shifting gears entirely. "Theo was supposed to handle this," he said, reaching into his suit pocket. "But I insisted on doing it myself."

Only then did I notice the sleek, black velvet box in his hands.

I frowned, but he was already flipping it open, revealing a small yet sophisticated glass plaque.

Best Improved Staff of the Quarter – Lila Ophelia Grayson

A slow, stunned breath left my lips.

"For your performance and efficiency," he explained. "We’ve seen a significant rise in customer retention and revenue since your arrival."

My fingers hesitated as I reached for it. "Thank you, sir."

He didn't respond right away.

Instead, he extended the award a little further, forcing me to close the distance between us.

The moment my fingers brushed against his—it happened.

A jolt. A flicker of something raw and electric.

For a fraction of a second, his grip tightened.

I felt it.

And I knew he felt it too.

But then, just as quickly as it happened, he pulled back.

His expression was unreadable, his body language composed, as if the moment had never existed at all.

I, on the other hand, could still feel the lingering heat on my skin.

He stepped back, clearing his throat lightly. "It’s important for my employees to feel valued. Contrary to what people assume, I’m not an unapproachable boss."

I swallowed, pushing down the unwelcome warmth spreading through my chest. "I appreciate the recognition."

He tilted his head slightly, as if studying me. "You don’t seem very surprised."

"Should I be?"

"I suppose not."

The corners of his lips curved—not quite a smile, but not completely devoid of amusement either. It was dangerous, the way he did that. It made me remember things I shouldn’t.

I needed to redirect this.

"Since you’re here, sir," I said, "would you like a rundown of our latest inventory?"

His smirk twitched, just barely. "That won’t be necessary."

Right. Of course not.

He was Lucas Becker Crawford, CEO of KAI Group. He didn’t need a rundown of anything.

I opened my mouth to speak again, but before I could, a knock sounded on the door.

Jordan.

He peeked in hesitantly, his eyes flickering between me and Lucas before settling on me. "Apologies for the interruption, Lila, but your presence is needed. We have a VVIP customer requesting assistance."

A spark of relief surged through me.

Perfect timing.

I turned back to Lucas, offering a polite smile. "Thank you again for the award, sir."

His gaze was steady, unreadable. "Of course."

And just like that, I turned on my heel and left.

I didn’t stop to look back.

I didn’t need to.

Because even as I walked away, I could feel his eyes following me.

---

The first thing I notice when I step out onto the main floor is how effortlessly composed the woman looks.

Dressed in an elegant emerald-green dress that screams understated wealth, Madeline Arlingford has the kind of presence that commands attention without demanding it. She’s been a regular at Kai Apparel for as long as I’ve been here, always arriving for her customized selections—a phrase that really just means our best pieces are pulled aside for her monthly shopping spree.

Today, however, she isn’t alone.

Standing beside her is a man—presumably her son.

He looks nothing like the spoiled, arrogant heirs that frequent high-end stores with their mothers, expecting the world to cater to their every whim. No, Elijah Arlingford is quiet, observing everything around him with sharp, calculating eyes. His well-fitted navy suit suggests he doesn’t take his style lightly, and the subtle silver watch on his wrist tells me he appreciates quality without flaunting it.

He’s polite, too, chiming in only when necessary as his mother moves through the selections. Not intrusive, not overly involved—just present.

It’s fine.

Until it isn’t.

"Miss Grayson, tell me," Madeline begins, setting down a silk blouse she’d been admiring, "do you have a partner?"

I blink, caught off guard by the abrupt shift in conversation. "Excuse me?"

"A boyfriend, fiancé, husband—anyone significant?" she clarifies smoothly, looking at me with an unreadable expression.

I hesitate. "No, I don’t."

Her lips curve slightly, as if she’s pleased with the answer. "Good. Then you can go on a date with my son."

It takes me a moment to register what she just said.

Then another to convince myself I didn’t mishear.

Beside her, Elijah exhales sharply. "Mother—"

"Oh, hush, darling," she says, waving him off before looking at me expectantly. "Well?"

I school my expression, carefully weighing my next words. "Mrs. Arlingford, I—"

"Madeline," she corrects me with a smile.

"Madeline," I amend, inhaling slowly. "I appreciate the offer, truly, but I don’t think—"

"Do you find him unattractive?"

I freeze.

Because what the hell am I supposed to say to that?

Elijah groans. "Mother, for God’s sake—"

"This is a simple question, Lila," she says, completely ignoring her son. "If it’s a no, I’ll drop the subject."

I chance a glance at Elijah, who looks like he wants to disappear into the floor. He may be calm and composed, but right now, I can see the flicker of discomfort behind his carefully neutral gaze.

This is awkward.

Painfully so.

But it’s also dangerous.

Because Madeline Arlingford is a woman of status, and an outright rejection—especially in front of others—could easily be taken as an insult.

So, instead of outright refusal, I do the only thing I can think of.

I compromise.

"I’d be honored to have dinner with your son," I say smoothly, keeping my tone light.

It works.

Madeline’s expression shifts into one of satisfaction. "Wonderful."

Elijah, on the other hand, looks like he’s barely holding back a sigh.

I steal another glance at him, offering a small, apologetic smile. He gives me a subtle nod in return, his gaze unreadable.

This isn’t ideal.

Not by a long shot.

But at least I avoided insulting one of our most valued customers.

And if this means I can get through the rest of the day without any more surprises—

Well, I’ll take the win.

For now.