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“Thank you, Delcy,” he said smoothly, his voice rolling over me like thunder rumbling in the distance.
As I moved forward to set down the coffee carrier on his desk, my hand trembled slightly, betraying the effect their presence had on me. Their combined scents filled my lungs with each breath I took, making me dizzy and lighting a fire inside me that I struggled to contain.
I couldn't help but glance at Colton's hands as they reached out to take his cup, a small shudder running through me at the sight of his long fingers curling around it. The subtle shift of his tailored suit sleeve revealed a hint of wrist that for some inexplicable reason drew my attention.
“Is everything to your liking?” My voice barely rose above a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the charged silence that followed.
Colton took a slow sip from his cup, his eyes never leaving mine.
“It's perfect,” he said after a moment, and I couldn't tell if he was talking about the coffee or something else entirely.
Jaxon chuckled softly beside him and reached for his own cup.
“You always get it just right,” he said with an easy grin that somehow managed to both ease and amplify the tension coiling within me.
I should leave. I should thank them and turn away from their intoxicating presence. But my feet remained planted firmly on the carpeted floor, my body refusing to obey my mind's frantic commands.
“Do you remember the note you left last time?” Jaxon asked casually as he leaned back against Colton's desk. “It brightened our day.”
I nodded mutely, heat creeping into my cheeks at being reminded of such an intimate gesture. It was nothing more than a doodle, my way of adding a personal touch to an otherwise impersonal delivery.
“The drawing was quite good,” Colton said in that deep timbre that seemed to vibrate through me. “Do you often sketch for customers?”
His question caught me off guard. The idea that Colton Sterling might take an interest in something so trivial about my life was bewildering.
“I... Yes,” I managed to stammer out. “When I have time.”
“There’s talent there,” he stated with certainty, as if he knew anything about art or about me.
I fought back the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm me, the dizzying effect of their scents mixing with an unexpected sense of validation from someone like Colton Sterling. It felt dangerous, like playing with fire.
Jaxon's request echoed in my head, nudging me out of the cocoon of self-consciousness I'd wrapped myself in.
“Could you draw us another note?”
His words weaved a subtle warmth through the office air, and I was torn between wanting to flee and the pull of that simple human connection. The pen on Colton's desk beckoned like a talisman, promising a momentary escape from the weight of their gazes.
I hesitated, glancing between the two of them. Jaxon's eyes held a lighthearted expectancy, while Colton's remained unreadable, his expression an enigmatic sculpture. My fingers itched with the urge to create something, anything, to break this tension.
Finally, I relented.
“Okay,” I said, my voice sounding far away even to my own ears. I reached for the pen with a tentative hand, as if it might bite.
Colton slid a blank piece of paper toward me, his movement deliberate. I noticed his cuff links—simple, silver, exuding quiet power. Everything about him seemed to do that.
My hand steadied as I touched pen to paper. The familiar scratch of ink on smooth surface centered me. A few words first: Enjoy your coffee, followed by my signature beneath, a flourish that felt like parting with a piece of myself. Then came the doodle, a small coffee cup with steam curling into heart shapes above it. It was whimsical, a stark contrast to the austere lines of their world. But it was me—my touch, my art.
Jaxon leaned over to watch as I capped the pen with finality.
“That looks beautiful,” he said genuinely, and that approval stoked something in me, a small ember of pride.
I couldn't help but smile, even as my cheeks burned with shyness.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
Colton took the note from me with careful fingers as if he understood its fragility, the fragility of me, and examined it closely. His lips twitched in what could be the beginnings of a smile, or perhaps I imagined it because I wanted to see it there.
“It's charming,” he said finally, and there was a richness to his voice that made me feel like he was talking about more than just my drawing.
