Leighton got another interview request two days later. A marketing firm downtown. Better pay than her last job. Actual benefits. Room for growth.

She needed this.

The interview was scheduled for two in the afternoon. She set up in the morning room again, her laptop charged, her notes organized. Professional blazer over a nice top. Hair and makeup perfect. She looked competent. Put together. Like someone you'd want to hire.

She joined the call at 2:30.  

Three people appeared on screen. The creative director, the HR manager, and someone whose title she missed because her internet connection stuttered.

"Can you hear us?" the creative director asked.

"Yes. Sorry. Connection issue."

"No problem. Let's get started."

The first ten minutes went fine. Standard questions about her experience, her design process. She gave good answers. Smiled. Made eye contact with the camera.

Then they asked to see her portfolio.

"Of course." She shared her screen, pulling up her website. "I've worked on branding projects for startups, small businesses, a few nonprofits..."

The page loaded. Sort of. Half the images appeared. The rest were broken links.

Her stomach dropped.

"I'm sorry, let me refresh." She reloaded the page. Same problem. "This was working this morning, I don't..."

"Take your time," the HR manager said, but her smile looked forced.

Leighton's hands shook as she tried her backup portfolio on Behance. That loaded, thank god. She walked them through her projects, trying to sound confident despite the panic clawing at her throat.

"These are nice," the creative director said. "But they're all pretty similar. Safe choices. What about something that pushes boundaries? Shows real creative risk?"

"I have some experimental work..." She clicked to another page. Another broken link. "I'm so sorry. My website is apparently having issues."

"We can look at it later," the creative director said, but his tone said they wouldn't.

The rest of the interview was torture. Her internet kept cutting in and out. She stumbled over answers. At one point, her video froze mid-sentence, and she had to reconnect.

"We'll be in touch," they said at the end.

Translation: don't hold your breath.

The call ended. Leighton stared at her screen, at her stupid broken portfolio, and felt something crack open inside her chest.

She'd been so careful. Had checked everything this morning. Had prepared for days.

And she'd still failed.

The tears came fast and hot. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to hold them back, but they wouldn't stop.

This was it. The final straw. Getting fired, evicted, living in someone else's house, rejection after rejection, and now this. Now blowing the one good opportunity she'd had because her website decided to implode at the worst possible moment.

She didn't hear footsteps. Didn't know he was there until Noah's voice said, "Leighton?"

She looked up, tears streaming down her face. He stood in the doorway, still in his suit from wherever he'd been. His expression shifted from confusion to something else when he saw her crying.

"Sorry," she choked out. "I'll just... I'll go to my room."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. It's fine."

"It's clearly not fine." He moved into the room, keeping his distance. Like he wasn't sure what to do with a crying woman. "Was it another interview?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"How bad?"

"Terrible. My portfolio site crashed halfway through. My internet kept cutting out. I looked like an idiot." Fresh tears spilled over. "They were my best shot and I blew it."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he pulled out his phone. "What's your website?"

"Why?"

"Just tell me."

She rattled off the URL. He typed something, frowned at his screen, typed more.

"Your hosting service is down. Not your fault. Their whole server cluster is offline." He showed her his phone. Sure enough, there was a notice about technical difficulties. "You couldn't have known."

"Doesn't matter. They still saw me screw up."

"They saw your hosting service screw up. There's a difference."

"You didn't see their faces. They already decided I wasn't worth hiring."

Noah pocketed his phone and moved closer, sitting in the chair across from her. "Show me your portfolio."

"What?"

"Your portfolio. I want to see it."

"Noah, you don't have to..."

"I'm not asking to be nice. I want to see what you can do."

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, her mascara probably everywhere. "Why?"

"Because you've spent some days in my house, and I don't actually know anything about your work." He nodded at her laptop. "Show me."

She hesitated, then turned the laptop toward him. Pulled up her Behance page. "Most of this is from school or freelance projects. The startup I worked for didn't let me include their stuff in my portfolio. NDA."

He scrolled slowly, clicking on projects. A logo design for a coffee shop. Branding for a yoga studio. A website mockup for a bookstore.

She watched his face for reactions. Got nothing. His expression stayed neutral, giving nothing away.

"This one," he said, pointing at a restaurant branding project. "Talk me through your process."

"The client wanted something modern but warm. Family-owned Italian place that had been around for decades. They were rebranding to attract younger customers without losing their regulars."

"What did you start with?"

"Research. I ate there three times. Talked to the owners, the staff, and regular customers. Looked at what their competitors were doing. Then I developed a few concepts." She clicked through the mockups. "They chose this one. Classic Italian colors but with a contemporary twist. The typography is modern but approachable."

He studied the screen. "The menu design is good. Clean."

"Thanks."

"These icons for the different sections. Custom?"

"Yeah. I illustrated them specifically for this project."

He clicked on another project. "What about this?"

They went through her entire portfolio. He asked questions about her choices, her process, and why she'd picked certain colors or fonts. Real questions. Not the surface-level stuff interviewers asked.

When they finished, he sat back. "You're better than the place that fired you."

"You're just saying that."

"I don't just say things." He met her eyes. "Your work is good. Really good. That interview didn't fall apart because you're not talented. It fell apart because of tech issues and bad luck."

"Bad luck seems to be my specialty lately."

"Luck changes."

"Does it? Because from where I'm sitting, I'm twenty-three, unemployed, living in your house like a charity case, and watching my life fall apart in real time."

"You're twenty-three," he agreed. "And you're talented. You just need the right opportunity."

"I've applied to forty-seven jobs. I've had three interviews. Zero offers." She closed her laptop. "Maybe I'm just not good enough."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Talking about yourself like you're worthless. You're not."

The intensity in his voice surprised her. She looked up at him. He was leaning forward now, his elbows on his knees.

"I've seen a lot of designers," he said. "My company hires them constantly. Most of them are technically competent but creatively boring. They do what they're told. They don't take risks." He gestured at her laptop. "You're not boring. Your work has personality. That's rare."

"Then why can't I get hired?"

"Because the job market is brutal right now. And because you're so busy doubting yourself that it shows in your interviews."

"I'm not..."

"You are. I can hear it in your voice when you talk about your work. Like you're apologizing for taking up space."

She thought about what he'd said in the kitchen. *Stop apologizing for existing.*

"I don't know how to be any other way."

"Learn."

"That's not helpful advice."

"I know." He stood up. "But it's true."

She watched him move toward the door, then heard herself say, "Thank you."

He paused. "For what?"

"For not just telling me it'll be fine. For actually looking at my work." She managed a small smile. "Even if you did it to stop me from crying all over your furniture."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "The furniture can handle it. I was more worried about you."

The admission hung between them. Soft. Unexpected.

"I'm okay," she said. "Or I will be. Eventually."

"I know you will." He looked like he wanted to say something else. Then he just nodded and left.

Leighton sat in the empty room, her laptop closed in front of her. Her face was probably a disaster. Her interview had been a train wreck. She still had no job prospects.

But Noah Knight thought her work was good. Really good. Not just saying it to be nice, but actually meaning it.

That shouldn't matter as much as it did.

But it mattered anyway.

Her phone buzzed. Noah.

*Send me your resume.*

She stared at the text. Typed back: *Why?*

*Just send it.*

*Noah, I don't want pity.*

*It's not pity. Just send me your damn resume.*

She attached the file and sent it before she could overthink it.

His response came five minutes later.

*You're overqualified for most of the jobs you're applying to. No wonder you're not getting calls. You need to aim higher.*

*Higher doesn't mean more desperate. It means I'm worth more than the places that keep rejecting me.*

*I can't aim higher. I need something. Anything. I can't stay here forever.*

*Why not?*

The question made her heart skip.

*Because we both know that's a bad idea.*

*Probably. Doesn't change the fact that you're selling yourself short.*

She didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to explain that aiming high felt like setting herself up for bigger disappointments.

Another text came through.

*Get some sleep. Tomorrow, apply to jobs you actually want. Not just jobs you think might take you.*

*What if nobody wants me?*

*They will. Trust me.*

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that somewhere out there was a job that would actually appreciate what she could do.

But belief was hard when you'd been knocked down this many times.

Still, she found herself smiling at her phone. At Noah's blunt encouragement. The way he'd sat with her and gone through her entire portfolio like it mattered.

Maybe belief was something you built slowly. One small thing at a time.

And maybe, just maybe, Noah Knight was becoming one of those things.

Leighton woke up to an email notification at eight in the morning.

She grabbed her phone, squinting at the screen.

Her heart jumped when she saw the sender: Knight Security Solutions.

Noah's company.

Her stomach dropped.

She opened it.

Dear Ms. Hayes,

We're currently seeking a Senior Brand Designer for our marketing department.

Your portfolio was recommended to us, and we'd like to schedule an interview at your earliest convenience.

The position offers a competitive salary, full benefits, and opportunities for creative leadership.

Best regards,

Jennifer Martinez

Director of Human Resources

Leighton read it three times.

Then she threw off her covers and marched downstairs.

She found Noah in his office, door open, on a phone call.

He glanced up when she appeared in the doorway, his expression neutral.

She held up her phone.

Waited.

He finished his call and pulled off the headset.

"Morning."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

She walked into his office and set her phone on his desk, the email still open.

"This."

He glanced at it.

"Looks like a job offer."

"From your company."

"We're hiring."

"You can't just. You can't do this."

He leaned back in his chair.

"Do what? Have my HR department reach out to a talented designer who's looking for work?"

"You told them to contact me."

"I forwarded your portfolio to Jennifer. She makes her own hiring decisions."

"That's the same thing."

"It's really not."

Leighton grabbed her phone back.

"I'm not taking it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's charity."

"It's a job."

"A job you're giving me because you feel sorry for me."

His jaw tightened.

"I don't feel sorry for you."

"Then why did you do this?"

"Because you're good at what you do, and my company needs someone good."

He stood up, moving around the desk.

"This isn't charity, Leighton. It's business."

"Bullshit."

His eyebrows rose.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. This is bullshit. You saw me crying yesterday and decided to fix it by handing me a job I didn't earn."

"You did earn it. I've seen your work."

"For five minutes. While I was having a breakdown."

She shook her head.

"I'm not taking a job from you just because you feel guilty about being cold to me when I moved in."

"That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?"

"It's me recognizing talent when I see it."

"You're lying."

"I don't lie."

"Everyone lies."

"Not to you."

He moved closer.

"I'm offering you a legitimate position at my company because you're qualified. Better than qualified. You're exactly what we need."

"I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"Because people don't just hand out jobs to people they barely know."

"I've known you for fifteen years."

"You didn't even remember me a week ago."

"I told you I was lying about that."

"Maybe you're lying now."

His eyes flashed.

"I'm not."

"Prove it."

"How?"

"Tell me this isn't about yesterday. Tell me you didn't see me fall apart and decide I needed saving."

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, "I can't tell you that."

Her chest tightened.

"Because it's true."

"Because it's part of it. Not all of it, but part of it."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"Yes, I saw you yesterday. Yes, it bothered me. But I sent your portfolio to Jennifer because after I looked at your work, I spent an hour on the phone with her talking about how we need someone who can rebrand our consumer-facing products. Someone with fresh ideas who isn't going to play it safe. And I kept thinking about your designs. About how they had personality. How they took risks."

"You're just saying that."

"I'm not."

"Do you know how many designers I've looked at in the past six months? Forty-three. Your work is better than most of what I've seen."

She wanted to believe him.

God, she wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.

"I can't take a job from you."

"Why not?"

"Because if I do, everyone will think I only got it because I'm living in your house. Because I'm Chloe's friend. Because you felt sorry for me."

"Who cares what people think?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not going to be the girl who slept her way into a job."

"We haven't slept together."

"Yet."

The word slipped out before she could stop it.

The air between them changed.

Charged.

Dangerous.

"Yet," he repeated quietly.

She swallowed hard.

"That came out wrong."

"Did it?"

"Noah, I just. I can't do this. I appreciate the offer. Really. But I need to find something on my own. Something I earned."

"You would be earning it. You'd have to interview. You'd have to prove yourself to the team. Jennifer doesn't hire people just because I recommend them. She's turned down three of my suggestions in the past year."

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because those people weren't living in your house. Weren't. Whatever this is."

"And what is this?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I. But I know it has nothing to do with this job offer."

"Everything is connected, Noah. You can't separate it."

"Watch me."

He moved closer.

"The job is real. The opportunity is real. Whether you take it or not doesn't change anything between us."

"You can't promise that."

"I just did."

"What if I take the job and I'm terrible at it?"

"Then you'll get better. Or you'll figure out it's not the right fit and you'll find something else. But you won't know unless you try."

"I hate that you're making sense."

"I usually do."

"Take the interview. That's all I'm asking. Talk to Jennifer. Meet the team. See if it's something you actually want. If it's not, walk away. No hard feelings."

"And if I do walk away? You promise it won't be weird?"

"It's already weird."

She couldn't argue with that.

"I need to think about it."

"Fair enough."

He checked his watch.

"You have until five to respond to the email. After that, Jennifer moves on to the next candidate."

"You're giving me a deadline?"

"I'm telling you how my HR department works. If you're interested, you need to say so today."

Leighton looked down at her phone, at the email still open on the screen.

A real job.

With benefits.

At a successful company.

Everything she'd been desperate for a week ago.

"I need coffee," she said.

"There's a fresh pot in the kitchen."

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

"Leighton?"

She looked back.

"For what it's worth, I think you'd be good at it. Great, even. You just need to believe that about yourself."

Something in her chest cracked open.

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and left.

In the kitchen, she poured coffee with shaking hands.

She pulled up the email again.

She thought about yesterday.

About how Noah had looked at her work like it mattered.

He believed in her work.

Maybe it was time she did too.

She grabbed her phone and typed a response before she could change her mind.

Dear Ms. Martinez,

Thank you for reaching out. I'd be very interested in discussing the position. I'm available for an interview at your convenience.

Best regards,

Leighton Hayes

She hit send before her brain could talk her out of it.

Her phone buzzed immediately.

A response from Jennifer.

Wonderful! Are you available tomorrow at 10 AM? We can meet at our downtown office.

Tomorrow.

Less than twenty-four hours to prepare.

She typed back: Yes, that works.

Perfect. I'll send you the address and details. Looking forward to meeting you!

Leighton set her phone down and pressed her hands to her face.

She'd done it.

She'd said yes.

She heard footsteps behind her.

Knew without looking that it was Noah.

"I sent the response," she said without turning around.

"Good."

"I have an interview tomorrow."

"I know. Jennifer just texted me."

Now she did turn.

"You're still watching this whole thing?"

"I like to be informed about what's happening in my company."

"This feels like you're meddling."

"I prefer the term 'staying involved.'"

He moved into the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

"You're going to do great tomorrow."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"How?"

"Because I've seen you work. I've seen how you think. And I've seen how much you care about getting it right."

He took a drink.

"That's what Jennifer looks for. Passion. Drive. Someone who gives a damn."

"What if she asks how I heard about the position?"

"Tell her the truth. That you're staying here temporarily, and I forwarded your portfolio."

"Won't that look bad?"

"Why would it?"

"Because it looks like nepotism."

"It's networking. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"Yes. Nepotism is hiring someone unqualified because of personal connections. Networking is connecting qualified people with opportunities. You're qualified. I'm just making the introduction."

She wanted to argue.

Wanted to find a flaw in his logic.

But she couldn't.

"I'm scared," she admitted quietly.

"Of what?"

"That this will ruin everything. Everything like you and me and whatever this is becoming."

He set down his water bottle and moved toward her.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

She didn't step back.

He stopped close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice low.

"The job has nothing to do with us. Whether you work for my company or not doesn't change what I feel when I look at you. Doesn't change the fact that I can't stop thinking about you in my shirt. In my kitchen. In my space."

Her breath hitched.

"Noah."

"You want to keep things separate? Fine. At the office, you're an employee. Here, you're..."

He trailed off, his eyes searching hers.

"You're whatever we decide you are."

"And what do we decide?"

"I don't know yet. But I know I'm tired of pretending there's nothing here."

"So am I."

His hand came up, catching her chin.

His thumb brushed across her bottom lip.

"Take the damn job, Leighton."

It wasn't a request.

She nodded, unable to form words.

He held her gaze for another long moment, then stepped back.

"I have meetings all afternoon," he said, his voice back to normal. Professional.

"But if you need anything before tomorrow, let me know."

"Okay."

He grabbed his water bottle and walked out, leaving her standing in the kitchen with her heart pounding and her whole body trembling.

She touched her lip where his thumb had been.

She could still feel the pressure.

The promise.

Tomorrow she had an interview.

Tomorrow she'd have to be professional and competent and prove she deserved this opportunity.

But tonight, all she could think about was the way Noah had looked at her.

Like she was something he wanted but was trying not to take.

And god help her, she wanted him to stop trying.

Leighton could not stop staring at her laptop. 

She had been preparing for tomorrow's interview for hours. She read everything she could find about Knight Security Solutions until her eyes burned. She memorized product names, company values, and all the things she was supposed to say to sound impressive. She practiced answers to common questions until the words blurred together. 

But no matter how hard she tried, all she could think about was Noah's thumb on her lip from the night before in the kitchen. The memory played on repeat. The way his skin had felt against hers. The intensity in his eyes. 

At eleven thirty, she closed the laptop and pressed her palms against her eyes. 

She needed to clear her head. She needed to stop replaying that moment over and over. 

The pool. She could go to the pool. 

Noah had mentioned it on her first day. He said she was welcome to use it anytime. He had been locked in his office for hours. He probably was still working. He worked late every night. 

She changed into her black one-piece swimsuit and grabbed a towel. 

The house was dark and quiet as she made her way downstairs. No light came from under Noah's office door. Good. He was probably asleep. 

The back doors led to a stone deck. The pool glowed blue in the darkness. Underwater lights made the water look magical. City lights twinkled beyond the fence. A gentle breeze carried the scent of flowers. 

Leighton set down her towel and tested the water with her toe. The temperature was perfect. 

She dove in. 

The water closed over her head and blocked out everything. She surfaced and started swimming with steady strokes. One lap. Two. Three. Four. The rhythm calmed her racing thoughts and released the tension in her body. 

She had been so tense all day about the interview, the job possibility, and Noah. But here everything felt simpler. 

She flipped onto her back and floated. Stars filled the sky above her. The water held her gently. She heard only her breathing and the lap of water against the pool edge. 

This was exactly what she needed. 

She closed her eyes and let herself drift. 

Movement caught her eye. A shadow shifted on an upper balcony. 

She righted herself and treaded water. 

Noah stood on his bedroom balcony. He gripped the railing and looked down at her. 

Her heart jumped into her throat. 

How long had he been watching? 

They stared at each other across the distance. She felt his gaze like a physical touch. Heavy and intense. 

She should get out and leave. But her body would not move. 

He did not move either. The seconds stretched into minutes. 

Her skin prickled. The swimsuit felt too thin. Too revealing. She was hyperaware of the wet fabric clinging to her body. 

She could not look away. 

Then he turned and went back inside. The balcony door closed. 

Leighton released a breath she did not know she had been holding. 

Of course. He was just checking who was in his pool. Nothing more. 

She turned toward the steps. 

The back door opened. 

She froze. 

Noah walked onto the deck wearing only dark swim trunks. His chest was bare. She could see the definition of his muscles and the scar on his left shoulder. 

He dove in without hesitation. 

The water splashed and rippled outward where he entered. He surfaced a few feet away, pushed his wet hair back, and looked at her. 

"Hey," he said. 

"Hey." Her mouth felt dry. 

"Could not sleep?" 

"Too much on my mind." 

"The interview?" 

"Among other things." 

He moved closer, walking along the pool floor. The water reached his chest. 

"You will do fine tomorrow," he told her. 

"You do not know that." 

"Yeah, I do. I have seen your work. I know what you are capable of." 

"That is different from an interview." 

"Not that different." 

She wanted to believe him, but doubt still bothered her. 

"What if I freeze up? What if I say something stupid?" 

"Then you say something stupid. It happens. You recover and keep going." 

"Easy for you to say. You probably never say anything stupid." 

The corner of his mouth twitched. "You would be surprised." 

The space between them felt charged. Electric. 

"I should get out," she said. "Let you swim." 

"You do not have to leave." 

"I have been in for a while. I am getting pruney." 

"Leighton." 

The way he said her name stopped her. 

He moved closer until he stood right in front of her. Close enough to touch. 

"I cannot stop thinking about earlier in the kitchen," he said quietly. 

Her breath caught. "Noah..." 

"I know I should not have touched you. But I cannot take it back." 

"I am not asking you to take it back." 

His hand moved underwater and brushed her hip lightly. 

Her skin ignited at the contact. 

"This is dangerous," he said. 

"I know." 

"If Chloe finds out..." 

"I know." 

But neither moved away. 

His other hand rose from the water. His cold fingers traced her jaw. 

"You have an interview tomorrow. You should focus on that." 

"I can focus on both." 

"Can you?" 

"I do not know. But I am tired of pretending there is nothing here." 

"There is definitely something here." 

His thumb brushed her cheekbone. She leaned into it. 

"Tell me to stop," he said. 

"Why?" 

"Because if you do not, I am going to kiss you right now. And everything changes." 

Her heart hammered. "What if I want things to change?" 

"Do you even know what you are asking for?" 

"Maybe not. But I want to find out." 

He searched her eyes. Water dripped down his face. 

His hand slid to the back of her neck. He pulled her closer inch by inch. 

She did not pull away. 

Their bodies nearly touched. She felt his heat through the water. 

"Last chance. Tell me to stop." 

Her hands pressed against his chest. His heart pounded under her palm. 

"I am not going to tell you to stop." 

He made a low sound and pulled her firmly against him. Their bodies pressed together. His forehead rested on hers. Both breathed hard. 

But he did not kiss her. 

"Noah?" she whispered. 

"I cannot." 

"I want to. God, I want to. But you have an interview tomorrow. You need to be sharp." 

"I am already thinking about this." 

"I know. So am I." He stepped back slightly. "But you deserve better than me acting without thinking about the consequences." 

"What if I do not care about consequences?" 

"You should. There will be consequences for both of us." 

He let go. The loss of his warmth hurt. 

"Go inside. Get some sleep. Ace the interview." 

"And then what?" 

"Then we figure out what this is." 

"Noah..." 

"Go, Leighton. Before I change my mind." 

She wanted to argue but his expression stopped her. 

She climbed out, grabbed her towel, and looked back. 

He stood in the middle of the pool watching her with burning intensity. 

"Good night," she said. 

"Good night." 

She walked back inside on shaking legs. Her skin still tingled from his touch. Her lips ached for the kiss that never came. 

He had stopped himself. 

But the way he looked at her said this was not over. 

Not even close.