The elevator doors closed behind her with a hush of finality.
Lila didn't breathe until the numbers began descending.
20… 19… 18…
And then, she exhaled.
Her back gently hit the mirrored wall as the weight of the past twenty minutes crashed over her like a wave. Her legs didn't tremble—but they wanted to. Her heart hadn't slowed—not since she'd walked into that fortress of steel and glass and perfection.
"Holy hell," she whispered.
Rowan Vale had been everything she expected and nothing she could have prepared for. He was composed, unreadable, absurdly attractive in a way that felt... unfair. But it wasn't just that. It was the way his energy filled the space. Quiet power. Measured confidence. Like he didn't need to raise his voice to command the world.
The scent. The voice. The damn way he said her name.
Focus, she told herself. It was just an interview. He was just another CEO. A very attractive, maddeningly calm, gold-skinned, suit-wearing—
The elevator pinged. Ground floor.
She walked out, heels clicking faster than usual on the marble floor of the lobby. Fresh air greeted her like a blessing as the revolving door spit her back out onto the sidewalk.
She fished out her phone, thumb trembling only slightly as she called Piper.
It rang once.
"Tell me everything," Piper answered immediately.
"I think…" Lila started, then paused, eyes wide as a black SUV slid past, reflecting the building's mirrored glass behind her. "I think I just had an interview with a man I might be irrationally in love with."
"Oh no. Is he hot?"
"Hot is an understatement."
Piper cackled. "Do we need a nickname for him? Or are we just calling him 'CEO Daddy' from now on?"
"Piper."
"Fine. What happened?"
"He was polite. Focused. All business," Lila muttered, walking down the street now. "And I kept daydreaming like I was in a perfume commercial."
"Oh, baby. You've got it bad."
Lila sighed. "I don't even know if I got the job."
"Then you wait. And if you didn't get it, you find another scent to stalk," Piper teased.
But Lila wasn't laughing. Not really.
Because somewhere between the top floor and the pavement… her life had shifted.
She just didn't know how yet.
---
As Lila stepped out of Rowan's office, adjusting the strap of her black shoulder bag, her thoughts were still tangled in the scent, the silence, and the perfectly sculpted enigma she'd just left behind.
She was halfway down the hall when the elevator pinged again.
And then he appeared.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a navy suit that looked like it had been custom-stitched to every flex of his lean, athletic frame. Nico Hart moved like a man who owned the world and had fun doing it. His caramel-toned skin gleamed under the corridor lights, short chestnut curls perfectly tousled like he hadn't tried—and yet clearly had.
His eyes, warm gold-brown and impossibly mischievous, scanned the hallway like a lion eyeing a room full of open doors.
Then they landed on her.
And he smiled.
Not a polite, passing smile. Not a business nod.
No.
A slow, simmering, full-faced grin that practically purred: well, hello.
Lila blinked.
He took a step toward her, cocking his head as he passed. "Now that's not a face I expected to see this early in the week."
She gave him a quick, confused smile, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"
"Apologies," he said smoothly, his voice deep and rich, like aged bourbon. "Just not used to beauty walking past me before I've had my espresso."
Lila's brows lifted slightly, but she kept walking—her heels suddenly sounding louder than before.
He let her pass, turning just enough to watch her go, clearly amused.
"Have a good day, Miss...?"
"Penrose," she said without turning, though she felt the smirk forming on her own lips.
He chuckled. "Noted."
As she disappeared into the elevator, Nico stepped up to Rowan's door, that grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Inside, Rowan looked up from a contract and raised one brow.
"You're late."
"I brought caffeine. Forgive me." Nico set two coffees down, then added with a little tilt of his head, "Also—who was the goddess who just walked out of your office?"
Rowan didn't look up again. "Candidate."
"Mmhmm," Nico muttered, dropping into the chair across from him, "If that's your new assistant, I give you two weeks before you lose every ounce of control you pretend to have."
"I don't lose control," Rowan replied calmly.
Nico smirked and sipped his coffee. "We'll see."
Rowan returned his attention to the file in front of him, but his pen hovered above the page a second too long.
Nico noticed.
"You didn't answer my question," he said, propping one ankle over his knee like he owned the chair. "Who is she?"
Rowan set the pen down slowly. "Lila Penrose. Final-stage candidate for the new executive liaison position."
"Final-stage?" Nico raised an eyebrow. "She barely looked old enough to order a drink."
"She's twenty-four. UCLA. Top of her class. Efficient résumé."
"And jaw-droppingly beautiful," Nico added unapologetically. "You forgot that part."
Rowan gave him a look. "I didn't hire her for her face."
"Didn't hire her yet," Nico corrected, grinning. "But you're considering it."
Rowan didn't respond.
Nico leaned back with a slow, knowing smirk. "You're usually quick with a decision, Vale. Instant, razor-sharp. So what's got you stalling this time?"
"I'm not stalling," Rowan said smoothly. "I'm weighing the dynamic."
"Dynamic?" Nico echoed. "Big word for attraction."
Rowan's eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't allow distractions in this building."
"Oh, come on," Nico said, rolling his eyes. "The way she looked at you? She practically floated out of here. You could bottle that kind of attention and sell it as stock."
"She looked... distracted," Rowan admitted, almost to himself.
Nico grinned wider. "Exactly. You've got her spinning already."
Rowan paused. "Which makes it all the more important I remain unaffected."
Nico leaned forward slightly, that smirk fading into something more sincere. "Just don't fool yourself into thinking you are."
Rowan met his eyes—sharp, guarded.
And for a second, Nico saw the crack in the armor.
Just a flicker.
He leaned back again, satisfied. "Anyway," he said, grabbing his coffee, "if she doesn't work out here, send her my way. Hart International always has room for talent—and I'm a very hands-on CEO."
Rowan shook his head slightly, returning to his paperwork. "You're impossible."
"Charming," Nico corrected. "And unlike you—I know when a hurricane's about to hit. You might want to invest in emotional flood insurance."
Rowan didn't answer.
But for the second time that morning, his thoughts drifted—uninvited—to Lila Penrose.
And that damn scent she carried in with her.
---
#The Scent That Followed Her Out#
Lila collapsed onto Piper's couch like she'd just survived battle. Her heels were off, one foot curled under her, and her file folder was tossed onto the coffee table without ceremony.
Piper handed her a glass of iced tea. "So… how bad was it?"
Lila took a sip and stared at the ceiling. "It wasn't bad. It was... the opposite of bad. It was too perfect."
Piper blinked. "You're mad the interview went well?"
"I'm mad that I might combust if I ever walk back into that office."
Piper grinned and curled up next to her. "Was it the CEO?"
Lila hesitated.
"It was the cologne," she said instead.
Piper frowned, confused. "The cologne?"
"Yes," Lila groaned, rubbing her temples. "It was the same scent. The one I told you about. From the hallway. From weeks ago. The scent."
Piper's eyes widened. "No."
"Yes."
Piper sat up straighter. "And you're sure it was him?"
"I didn't see anyone else wearing invisible clouds of magnetic heartbreak," Lila snapped, exasperated. "It was him. I walked in and it hit me like a memory I never lived. I almost forgot how to spell my own name."
Piper burst out laughing. "Oh, babe. You're doomed."
"I can't work there."
"Why not? Isn't that the point of applying?"
Lila dropped her head back again. "Because it wasn't the skyscraper that intimidated me, or the sterile, fancy office floors. It wasn't the cold receptionist or even the thirty-page non-disclosure agreement I had to sign. It was him. That man. That scent. The way he looked at me like I was just another document to scan and file."
Piper's smirk softened. "So he was all business."
"Exactly."
"And that bothers you?"
Lila groaned. "It bothers me how much I wanted it to not be all business."
Piper was quiet for a moment, then nudged her shoulder. "You haven't even gotten the job yet."
"I know."
"But you want it."
"Yes."
"And you're scared not of failing at it... but of losing your mind every time he walks past you wearing that damn cologne."
Lila closed her eyes and whispered, "Exactly."
Piper reached for the remote and clicked on something light, letting the room fill with easy sitcom laughter.
"Well," she said, "if nothing else, maybe this job will give you the closure you need. You'll get used to the scent. Desensitized. Maybe he'll switch brands."
Lila didn't respond.
Because deep down, a dangerous little voice whispered:
God, I hope not.
---
The Waiting Game
The smell of cinnamon and butter should've comforted her by now.
It usually did.
But as Lila stood behind the bakery counter that Thursday morning, tying a pale pink ribbon around a pastry box, all she could think about was how quiet her inbox was.
No email. No call. Not even a polite "thank you for your time."
Just silence.
She passed the box to a grateful customer, smiled automatically, then turned to restock the blueberry scones—her thoughts chasing themselves in circles.
Maybe I flopped.
She'd said all the right things, hadn't she? Sat up straight. Answered confidently. Wore her best "I'm totally not overwhelmed" face.
But what if I came off nervous? What if he saw right through me?
Lila paused by the espresso machine, watching the milk swirl into the coffee she was making.
"But I did well," she muttered under her breath. "Didn't I?"
No one answered. The coffee didn't encourage her.
She slid it across the counter to the next customer with another automatic smile, then wiped her hands on her apron and stared at the wall clock like it owed her answers.
It wasn't just the job—it was the possibility of it. The fact that the air had changed the moment she walked into that office. That something strange and sharp and unforgettable had locked into her memory and refused to let go.
Rowan Vale.
His voice. His scent. That look in his eyes that didn't quite linger—but didn't quite pass either.
She shook her head, laughing softly to herself. "Get over it, Lila. You probably won't even hear from them."
But deep down… she was still hoping.
Still holding onto the image of herself standing in that glass tower—not just as a visitor, but as someone who belonged.
The bell over the bakery door jingled again, and she plastered her customer-service smile back on.
But behind her eyes, doubt still danced with determination.
Maybe I flopped.
But maybe I didn't.
---
The door clicked shut behind her with the softest thud.
Lila dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl on the side table, kicked off her sneakers, and stood still for a moment in the dim light of her apartment. Her one-bedroom wasn't much—cool-toned walls, secondhand furniture, a candle that had burned halfway down without ever being replaced—but it was hers.
She wandered into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on, craving nothing but herbal tea and maybe a miracle.
Her mind hadn't stopped replaying the interview. Each blink, each pause, every word she may or may not have stumbled over.
She opened her laptop on the kitchen counter for the hundredth time that week.
No new emails.
Not from Vale Capital. Not even a rejection.
Her heart sank, just a little.
She made her tea, wrapped both hands around the mug, and walked barefoot to the small couch that doubled as a bed when Piper occasionally crashed over. The city hummed outside her window—Los Angeles in all its restless, glittering, indifferent glory.
She curled up, tucking the blanket under her legs.
Maybe I flopped.
Or maybe I wasn't enough.
She hated how easily those thoughts came.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her dad.
"Rooting for you, peanut. Whether you get it or not, we're proud."
She smiled faintly, eyes watering just slightly from exhaustion, not emotion—or so she told herself.
You're being dramatic, she scolded. You didn't fall in love. It was just an interview. With a man who wears cologne like a secret. That's all.
Still… something about that office—about him—refused to let go.
She stared at the ceiling for a while. Then at the clock. Midnight.
And just before she turned off the lamp, her gaze flicked to her bag.
To the neatly folded copy of her resume she hadn't taken out since the interview.
She reached for it.
Held it in her hands.
And for the first time all day, she whispered to the silence:
"I did well. He saw it. I know he did."
The kettle clicked again in the background, long gone cold.
And across the city, in an office still lit by the soft glow of desk lamps and late decisions, Rowan Vale stared at the same resume—and paused before setting it aside.
---
The city disappeared when she slept.
No honking cars. No espresso machines. No ticking clocks.
Only velvet silence and dim, golden light—like sunset suspended in time.
Lila stood in a hallway that felt familiar and foreign all at once. Marble floors beneath her bare feet. Tall glass walls to either side, reflecting silhouettes that flickered like memories. She wasn't sure where she was. Only that she'd been here before.
Or maybe dreamed of it.
Then she smelled it.
That scent—warm, smoky, magnetic. The same one that had unraveled her breath the first time it brushed past her. Not overpowering. Not sharp. Just... there. Like a secret pressed gently against her skin.
She turned.
No one.
She moved forward, heart pacing faster. Every step echoed louder than it should have. She wasn't wearing heels. She wasn't even dressed for a meeting. Just a silk slip that whispered around her knees like it had been made from shadow.
The cologne was stronger now.
She could feel him behind her. Not touching—but close.
So close.
She turned again—fast this time.
Still no one.
"Hello?" her voice came out hushed, like even the walls might shatter if she was too loud.
No answer.
But the air moved. Whispered.
And she felt it—his presence. His quiet confidence. That unspoken pull that made no sense but felt like gravity finding its favorite object.
"Are you real?" she asked, voice trembling.
Still, silence.
Still... the scent.
It wrapped around her like a memory that never happened, like a conversation left half-finished. Her breath caught in her throat.
Then—
A whisper. Low. Close to her ear.
"Do you still want this?"
She turned a third time.
And this time, she saw him.
Only the back of him—dark suit, broad shoulders, that familiar tilt of the head like he'd heard her before she even spoke.
But before she could reach out—
She woke up.
Room dark. Tea cold. Laptop light blinking softly in the corner.
Lila sat up, hand to her chest, heart racing.
It was just a dream.
But the scent—
She could still smell it.
And she didn't know if she wanted it to fade.
---
#The Detail He Couldn't Unsee#
The city blinked below like it always did—cold, sprawling, magnificent.
Rowan leaned back in his chair, sleeves rolled to the elbow, his tie long discarded somewhere on the corner of the couch. His office had long since emptied, but he remained, the only light coming from the desk lamp and the quiet hum of his computer screen.
Lila Penrose's resume was still open.
He didn't know why.
He'd read a hundred like it this week. Better degrees. More experience. Sharper, colder ambition.
But none of those applicants had lingered like her.
Rowan exhaled slowly, his hand resting on the corner of the desk where she'd once laid her file. His fingers brushed over the spot without realizing it.
It wasn't attraction, he told himself again. He'd dealt with beauty before—navigated charm, filtered flirtation. He knew the difference.
It was something else.
That brief moment when she walked in—her posture composed, her outfit polished, her confidence steady—but her eyes?
They gave her away.
Aqua blue. Too observant. Too raw. She'd scanned the room like it held more meaning than she was ready to admit. And when their eyes met... something had shifted. Not between them—within her.
Rowan remembered the way she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear mid-answer. Not nervously—but as though steadying herself from being pulled off course.
It was the smallest thing.
But it stuck with him.
And then there was the scent.
His own.
He wore the same cologne every day—expensive, understated, complex. Chosen not for attention, but for the calm it offered him. The control.
But when she'd walked in, he'd noticed it for the first time in years.
Not on himself.
On her.
Or maybe it was just the way her presence pulled it into focus—like she was holding onto something he couldn't see.
Rowan rubbed his jaw, his faded beard coarse beneath his palm. He glanced again at her resume. His cursor hovered over the approval tab.
He could just click. Send it to HR. Move on.
But he paused.
And let the silence stretch a little longer than necessary.
Then finally, quietly—
He clicked "Approve."
And murmured to the empty room,
"Let's see what you're really here for, Miss Penrose."
---