Noah arrived early. Again.
Third week on the job and already, the interns were whispering that he was "obsessive." He didn't care. Let them talk. He'd rather be here early, caffeinated, and over-prepared than risk slipping even once. Especially with Julian watching.
Except Julian wasn't watching.
He was avoiding it.
They hadn't spoken since that night in the conference room. Julian was present—but always behind glass. Closed doors. Scheduled meetings. Nothing personal. Like that moment—those words—had been deleted from his memory.
But Noah couldn't delete it. Not when he still burned.
And today, they were being forced into the same space.
Noah had been handpicked to assist on the Royal Archer rebrand—Cross & Cove's crown jewel project. It was big, flashy, and reputation-defining. And guess who the lead client wanted in the pitch room?
Julian Cross.
Of course.
The presentation room was sleek and white, with one long table and zero places to hide.
Noah flipped through his sketches, heart steady but tight. He knew what they had was good. Original. Daring, even. But the second Julian walked in, the room chilled.
He wore navy today. No tie. Still surgical in his calm.
Noah stood. "Morning."
Julian gave a barely-there nod. "Let's begin."
The team trickled in. The lights dimmed. Noah ran the pitch with confidence, voice sure, posture tight. For the to begin with time in a long while, he felt like he was in control of something.
And Julian?
He said nothing.
Just watched. Expression carved from stone.
Noah wrapped up. The room applauded lightly. The client smiled, nodding.
As the others filtered out, Julian remained seated.
Noah hesitated. Then turned to go.
"You did well," Julian said.
Noah stopped.
"Excuse me?"
Julian's eyes were on the table, not him. "Your pitch. It was strong."
Noah blinked. A compliment? From the iceberg himself?
"Whoa," he said. "I'll make an effort to keep my ego from getting too inflated.."
Julian stood. "Keep your ego. Just don't let it cloud your judgment."
"There it is," Noah muttered. "Back to normal."
Julian looked at him sharply. "I'm not your enemy, Mr. Blake."
"No," Noah said, "just the guy who pretended not to know me after f—" He stopped. Swallowed it.
Julian's jaw tensed. "That was a mistake."
Noah stared at him. "Which part? Touching me? Or pretending you didn't?"
Julian stepped closer. Not touching, but close enough that Noah could smell the scent of expensive cologne and memory.
"This is a workplace. You're my employee."
"And that's the only reason you're pulling away?"
Julian didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
Noah exhaled hard, turned, and left.
If Julian wanted distance, fine.
But he didn't get to rewrite the story and erase what mattered.
Julian watched the door close.
He should've let him go.
Should've never hired him.
But every time he saw Noah—eyes fierce, voice sure, body still haunted by that night—something in Julian unravelled. And Julian Cross did not unravel.
He opened his tablet, tapping into the project file, only to find something strange.
An alert.
Unauthorised access.
To the Royal Archer draft file.
Time stamp: 2:14 a.m.
Julian frowned.
Who the hell was in the system that late?
And why?
He flagged it for IT.
But something in his gut twisted.
Noah had the file open yesterday. So did three others.
Too many hands.
Too many dangers.
He stared at the television for a longer time than was appropriate.
Then he closed the file.
Locked it.
And deleted the access logs.
Just in case.
That night, Noah stayed late. Again.
He needed to be better than good. He needed to be undeniable. Not just to keep the job, but to prove—mostly to himself—that he belonged here.
He didn't hear Julian approach until his reflection flickered in the office glass behind him.
"You're working late."
Noah didn't turn. "Some of us don't get to coast on reputation."
"I don't coast."
Noah looked over his shoulder. "You erase. Same thing."
Julian stepped inside. The tension was different this time. Less ice, more heat.
"You think this is easy for me?" Julian asked.
"I think you don't let anyone close enough to find out."
A beat. Then Julian said, "You think I didn't feel it? That night?"
Noah didn't answer.
"I did," Julian said. Quiet. Raw. "But I've also seen what happens when desire outweighs judgment."
Noah stood. "You're not the only one who's been hurt."
Julian stepped forward.
Noah didn't move.
"You want me to stay away?" Julian asked.
Noah didn't breathe.
Julian's voice dropped. "Say it. Say the word, and I'll walk out."
Noah's voice was low. Steady. "You already did."
That landed.
Julian looked at him like he was something he didn't know how to want without breaking.
At that point, fair as all of a sudden, he disappeared.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But this—us—can't happen."
Noah didn't respond.
Because he as of now knew.
But the other morning, when Noah arrived at work, something was off.
The receptionist avoided eye contact. HR sent him a message. He was needed upstairs.
In the boardroom.
Now.
Noah's chest tightened.
He walked in—and froze.
The room was full.
The board. Legal. PR.
And Julian. At the head of the table. Silent.
A woman from the legal team stood.
"Mr. Blake," she said. "We need to ask you about your access to the Royal Archer campaign files."
Noah blinked. "What? Why?"
"There's been a breach," she said. "And your account was flagged last night."
Noah's blood ran cold.
"I didn't—"
She held up a printout.
"You were the last one in the file."
Noah looked at Julian.
His face gave away nothing.
Not fury.
Not a belief.
Just silence.
And in that silence, something inside Noah shattered.