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A knock at the office door yanks me from my thoughts and we jolt apart as if suddenly realizing we’re sharing a far too intimate moment.
The door opens with a soft, feminine, “Hello?”
“I’m in here,” I say, acknowledging her greeting.
A woman stands, framed in the doorway, and I feel Isla stiffen up beside me. I glance at my phone, surprised that it’s already one. Cara’s presence is like a cold splash of water, sobering my senses that were drunk on Isla's little breaths, blushes, and touches.
“Excuse me, Mr. Stone, am I interrupting?” Cara's voice is smooth as silk, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders like a midnight waterfall.
“Not at all,” I say, my gaze flickering to Isla, who’s still seated across from me. “We were just wrapping up.”
Isla’s eyes dart toward Cara, taking in the graceful figure clad in a form-fitting dress that accentuates all the right curves before looking down at her more modest attire. Then she looks at me, a hint of something flickering behind those doe eyes before she masks it with indifference. Jealousy? It's a new shade on her, one that fits surprisingly well, and I make a mental note to revisit it later.
“Thank you for your ideas, Isla,” I say to her, standing to signal the end of our meeting. My tone is appreciative, but there's an undertone of something else—something meant for only her to hear, a whisper of the stirring she's caused within me.
“Of course, Mr. Stone.” Isla rises, her movements stiff as she avoids eye contact with Cara and skirts around the woman.
Cara walks into the room with the sway and confidence of a woman used to getting whatever she wants. The door closes behind her with a soft click, and I find myself wishing Isla was still here and Cara wasn’t. She perches on the chair Isla vacated; a tad too close to seem professional. Her leg brushes against mine, an intentional move brushed off as a coincidence. It’s a test.
I immediately shift away, creating a respectful distance. “Let's get started.” My focus narrows to the interview, determined to keep things strictly business. My mind, however, betrays me with fleeting images of flushed cheeks and shy smiles that belong to another.
“Of course, Mr. Stone. I’m really excited about this opportunity,” Cara says, her smile warm, her posture exuding confidence.
“Call me Walker,” I say.
“Will do, Walker,” she says, my name rolling off her tongue a bit too sensually.
“Let's talk about your experience.” I steer the conversation to safer grounds. But even as we discuss her qualifications, my thoughts stray to Isla —the nervous energy, the way she trembles when I come close, how she affects me without even trying.
Cara answers my questions with practiced ease, but there's no denying the flirtatious undertones in her responses. Maybe that’s just who she is and how she behaves with everyone, or maybe she's playing the game she thinks will win her favor. Either way, her actions and beauty don’t hold a candle to the genuine intensity that surrounds Isla.
“Thanks for coming in, Cara,” I say, wrapping up the interview quicker than usual. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” She stands with that same confident set to her slim shoulders, adjusting her black hair to fall down her back. Her blue eyes give me a quick up and down look that I pretend not to notice. After she leaves, I sit back and exhale, unsure whether it's relief or worry that weighs heavier on my chest.
In the silence of the office, I'm left with the echo of Isla's laughter, the ghost of her warmth, and the undeniable truth that my world has tilted on its axis—and she is at the center of the shift.
*
The next day…
“Alright, Cara, welcome to the team,” I say with a nod that feels more like a formality than anything else. A flicker of excitement lights up her blue eyes as she rises from her seat, her movements all grace and perfectly practiced seduction.
“Thank you… boss.” The title rolls off her tongue in a way that's meant to tease. “I can't wait to get started.”
“Go on then, introduce yourself to the others,” I say, ready to shift my focus away from the unwanted attention she’s leveling at me. As she walks out, my mind instinctively circles back to Isla, her genuine smile bringing me relief from Cara's polished charm.
Sinking into my chair with a heavy sigh, I pull out my phone, craving a dose of something real. There it is—a notification for Isla's latest video. My thumb hovers, then presses play, and suddenly, I'm transported from my little office to the cozy warmth of her kitchen.
“Today, we're making the lightest, fluffiest buttercream frosting you've ever tasted.” Isla 's voice soothes the beast within me. She's dressed casually, but every movement is captivating, but not in the same calculated manner as Cara’s had been. Mixing the ingredients together, her hands work with a practiced ease that speaks of countless hours refining her craft.
But it's not just her expertise that has me entranced; it's the way she looks directly into the camera, as if she's speaking only to me. Her cheeks are tinted with a natural blush, and her eyes sparkle with the joy of sharing her passion. The corners of her lips turn up in a sweet smile that leaves me wanting to taste her mouth.
“Perfect for topping cupcakes, cakes, or just eating with a spoon,” she says with a giggle. “I mean, if you spend your Tuesday nights like I do, anyway.” Her refreshing humor and ability to poke fun at herself warms me up inside, and I can almost taste the sugary goodness.
I imagine myself there, standing behind her, arms encircling her waist as I lower my lips to the tender skin of her neck. The fantasy sends a jolt of heat through me. The thought alone is enough to stir a primal desire deep within my core.
A low grunt escapes my throat, unintended, and I lean forward abruptly, elbows on my desk, head bowed to conceal the evidence of my body's reaction. The cool surface beneath my palms does little to quench the heat that Isla kindles within me.
