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.

The interview went well.

Better than well, actually. Jennifer Martinez was sharp and direct, asking questions that made Leighton think. The creative team had loved her portfolio. They'd even asked her to do a mock project on the spot, redesigning their website header.

She'd nailed it.

Jennifer had smiled and said they'd be in touch soon. Very soon.

Leighton floated through the rest of the day on a high she hadn't felt in weeks.

By evening, dark clouds rolled in. The weather forecast had called for storms, but she hadn't paid attention. Now thunder rumbled in the distance, getting closer.

She was in the kitchen making dinner when the first crack of lightning split the sky. The lights flickered.

Then everything went dark.

"Perfect," she muttered.

She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. The glow barely cut through the darkness. She made her way toward the living room, using the phone light to avoid running into furniture.

"Leighton?"

Noah's voice came from somewhere to her right.

"Yeah. I'm here."

A beam of light appeared. He had a flashlight, a real one. The kind that actually illuminated things.

"Power's out across the whole neighborhood," he said. "I just checked the security system. It's running on backup, but everything else is dead."

"For how long?"

"Could be hours. The storm's supposed to be bad."

Thunder cracked overhead, making her jump. Rain started pounding against the windows.

"Great," she said sarcastically."

"There are candles in the pantry. Help me find them."

They worked in the beam of his flashlight, gathering candles and matches. He had a lot of candles. Expensive ones in glass jars that probably cost more than her weekly grocery budget used to.

"Why do you have so many candles?" she asked.

"Power goes out here more than you'd think. Big houses, old wiring, storms. It happens."

They spread the candles throughout the living room, lighting them until the space glowed with warm, flickering light. The effect was almost romantic. Intimate in a way the harsh overhead lights never were.

"I was about to make dinner," Leighton said. "But the stove is electric."

"I have a gas grill outside. But in this rain..." He shook his head. "There's cheese and crackers. Wine. We won't starve."

"Sounds good."

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of red wine, two glasses, a cheese board, and crackers. Set them on the coffee table.

"Fancy," she said.

"It's all I have."

He poured wine into both glasses and handed her one. Their fingers brushed. Just for a second. But the touch sent heat racing up her arm.

She took a sip to hide her reaction. The wine was smooth and rich, probably expensive like everything else in this house.

Thunder rolled overhead. Rain lashed the windows. The candlelight cast dancing shadows across Noah's face as he sat in the chair across from her.

"So," he said. "How did it go?"

"The interview?"

"Yeah."

"Really well, actually. They loved my portfolio. Had me do a design test on the spot."

"And?"

"I think I killed it." She couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Jennifer said they'd be in touch soon. She had this look, like... I don't know. Like she'd already decided."

"Told you." He took a drink of his wine. "You just needed to get out of your own head."

"Maybe."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. The storm raged outside, but in here, surrounded by candlelight, everything felt still. Safe.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Go ahead."

"Why did you really quit? The parties, the women, all of it. Chloe said you just stopped one day. Changed completely."

His jaw tightened. He stared at his wine glass, swirling the liquid.

"You don't have to tell me," she added quickly.

"No, it's fine." He set down his glass. "I woke up one morning in a hotel room. Couldn't remember the name of the woman next to me. Couldn't remember how I'd gotten there. I was supposed to have dinner with my parents that night, and I'd completely forgotten. My mom called, crying, thinking something had happened to me."

Leighton watched him in the candlelight. His expression was hard. Closed off.

"I looked at myself in the mirror that morning and didn't recognize the person looking back. I'd become the kind of man I hated. The kind my father was before he finally grew up." He picked up his wine again. "So I stopped. Quit everything. Started seeing a therapist. Decided to figure out who I actually was without all the noise."

"That must have been hard."

"It was. Still is, some days." He met her eyes. "People expect me to be that guy. The one from the tabloids. The one who doesn't give a damn about anything. When I try to be different, they don't believe it."

"I believe it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. I've seen you. The real you. Not the version everyone else sees."

Something in his expression softened. "What do you see?"

"Someone who works too hard. Who cares more than he wants to admit. Who makes sure there's fresh coffee in the morning and good food in the fridge even though he claims he doesn't notice people." She took another sip of wine. "Someone who's trying really hard to be better than he was."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Your turn."

"My turn for what?"

"Tell me something real. Something you don't usually share."

She thought about deflecting. Making a joke. But the candlelight and wine and storm made everything feel different. Made honesty feel safer.

"I'm terrified," she admitted. "Of failing. Of being invisible again. Of proving everyone right who ever said I wasn't good enough."

"Who said that?"

"Lots of people. Teachers who thought I should be more practical. Boyfriends who didn't understand why I spent so much time on art. My dad, before he left." She picked at the label on the wine bottle. "He said creative types never make real money. That I was wasting my potential."

"He was wrong."

"Maybe. But it stuck. Every time something goes wrong, I hear his voice telling me I should have chosen something safer."

"Safer is boring."

"Safer pays the bills."

"So does talent. You just have to find the right place for it." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What do you actually want? Not what you think you should want. What do you dream about when you let yourself dream?"

No one had ever asked her that before.

"I want to create things that matter. Brands that tell stories. Designs that make people feel something." The words came faster now, tumbling out. "I want to work with companies that are doing good things. Not just selling products, but actually making a difference. And I want to be good enough that people come to me because of my work, not because of who I know."

"You're already that good."

"You don't know that."

"I've seen your portfolio, remember? You're better than you think you are. You just need to start believing it."

Rain hammered against the windows. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room for a split second before plunging back into candlelight.

Leighton reached for a cracker. So did Noah. Their hands collided over the cheese board.

She jerked back. He didn't.

His fingers lingered where they'd touched hers. Warm. Solid.

The air between them changed. Charged with something electric that had nothing to do with the storm.

She looked up at him. He was staring at their hands. At the point where his fingers rested against hers.

"Noah," she whispered.

He turned his hand over. Laced his fingers through hers. The simple touch sent sparks racing up her arm, down her spine, pooling low in her stomach.

"We should talk about last night," he said quietly.

"What about it?"

"About why I stopped."

"You said I had an interview. That I needed to focus."

"That was part of it." His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. Small movements that shouldn't feel as good as they did. "The other part was that once I start, I'm not going to want to stop."

Her breath caught. "Maybe I don't want you to stop."

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying."

"Leighton..." He squeezed her hand. "If we do this, everything changes. Your job. Chloe. Everything."

"It already changed. The second you jumped in that pool."

"I shouldn't have done that."

"But you did."

Thunder shook the house. The candles flickered but held steady.

Noah stood up, still holding her hand. Pulled her to her feet. They were close now. Close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes. Could smell his cologne mixed with rain and wine.

"Tell me this is a bad idea," he said.

"It's a terrible idea."

"Tell me to let go."

"I can't."

His free hand came up to her face. Cupped her jaw. His thumb traced her bottom lip, just like he had in the kitchen days ago.

But this time, he didn't pull away.