Zoe's heart was still pounding by the time she stepped into the elevator, the metal doors sliding shut like the lid on a secret. She stared at her reflection in the mirror-polished walls—eyes bright, cheeks still flushed, hair doing whatever it wanted despite her best efforts.
What the hell was that?
She clutched the empty coffee tray tighter, suddenly aware of how warm her palms were. She hadn't planned to walk into Dominic Wolfe's office. That was suicide, professionally speaking. But something about the flicker of light still glowing beneath his door, the weight of silence in the hallway—it had pulled her in.
Like a moth to a very dangerous flame.
By the time the elevator reached the ground floor, she'd convinced herself she was overthinking. He probably wouldn't even remember her name tomorrow. Billionaire CEOs didn't lose sleep over coffee girls. And anyway, she wasn't here to impress anyone—especially not a man like him.
Except… there was something about the way he'd looked at her. Not surprised. Not angry. Just watchful.
Like a storm holding its breath.
Dominic didn't sleep that night.
He told himself it was the merger. He told himself it was the numbers. He told himself it was nothing.
But it was a lie.
Zoe Adair had walked into his office like a flicker of light, and now she wouldn't leave his mind. She didn't fit the mold—she wasn't calculating, curated, or careful. She wasn't anything he'd built his world around. And that was exactly the problem.
She didn't ask for permission.
And he didn't know how to deal with people who ignored boundaries.
By morning, he had her file pulled again. He didn't usually handle anything below director level, but curiosity was a powerful thing, especially when it crept under your skin like heat.
Zoe Adair. Age 26. Junior assistant, marketing department. Graduated magna cum laude. Clean record. No connections.
Nothing alarming. Nothing extraordinary.
Except something about her didn't make sense.
The next week passed in a blur of numbers, meetings, and the hum of glass-walled ambition. Dominic went about his business like always, commanding rooms, slicing through boardroom egos with sharp words and sharper instincts.
But he noticed her.
A flash of curls in the hallway. A quick smile in the elevator. Her voice once, drifting from the break room—low, warm, laughing.
He didn't speak to her. Didn't even acknowledge her. But every time their paths almost crossed, he felt the spark again.
And it was starting to burn.
Zoe, on the other hand, tried to forget.
She buried herself in work—scheduling campaigns, coordinating design briefs, and ducking the constant politics of office life. But it was hard to ignore the fact that something had shifted.
Her team lead started treating her a little differently—more watchful. IT mysteriously upgraded her outdated computer. HR asked her if she needed any extra resources. And once, during a late lunch, she caught Dominic passing by the glass cafeteria wall. Their eyes met—just for a second.
It was enough.
She looked away first. But the weight of that glance stayed with her all day.
It wasn't until Friday evening that the second match was struck.
Zoe was heading out late, headphones in, coat draped over her arm, when she noticed a forgotten folder sitting on the reception desk—her manager's pitch notes for Monday's meeting. Without thinking, she turned back to the elevator, determined to drop it off before it vanished into some bureaucratic black hole.
She got off on the wrong floor.
The executive level.
The hall was dim, quiet, sterile. A bad place to be with documents that didn't belong to her. She was about to turn back when she heard footsteps—and then his voice.
"Miss Adair."
She froze.
Dominic stood at the end of the hallway, coat over one shoulder, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. His eyes were darker in the low light, unreadable.
She stepped forward slowly, folder clutched to her chest.
"Mr. Wolfe. I—I didn't mean to be here. I was just returning this to—"
He didn't respond right away. Just looked at her, the weight of his silence thick in the air.
"I remember you," he said finally. "You brought me coffee."
She blinked. "A week ago."
"Yes," he said. "And I haven't stopped thinking about it."
The hallway tilted, just slightly, like reality had shifted on its axis. Zoe didn't move, couldn't speak.
Dominic walked toward her, deliberate and quiet. When he stopped, they were inches apart.
"You're dangerous," he said, almost to himself.
Zoe let out a shaky breath. "Because I brought you espresso?"
"No," he said softly. "Because you make me feel something I don't have time for."
There it was again—that flicker. The one that wasn't supposed to exist.
She didn't step back. Didn't apologize. She just met his gaze.
"Then maybe you should stop thinking about me."
Dominic smiled, slow and sharp. "I've tried."
Then he walked past her, his presence brushing against her like a static current.
Zoe turned and watched him disappear into the elevator, the doors closing behind him like a secret.
And in the quiet he left behind, she realized the truth.
This wasn't just a spark.
It was the start of a wildfire.