(Khloe's POV)
Xavier.
Seeing him standing at the side of his car… God.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
He was dressed casually — baggy jeans that weren't too baggy, a crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. It shouldn't have been anything special, but on him… on him it looked sinful. Masculine. Effortless. Dangerous.
His muscles shifted beneath the fabric as he crossed his arms, and his shirt stretched just enough for me to see the lines of his chest. His biceps, carved and smooth, caught the early morning light as though they'd been waiting for someone to stare.
And I stared.
His lips — full, plump, not too pink — looked exactly the way they had last night when they were on mine. His hazel eyes, soft but burning, had a hint of grey in them today. A storm behind a calm surface.
Oh God.
I would kiss that again if he let me.
If I let myself.
Every sound faded — the distant honk of a bus, the morning birds, even our neighbor's stubborn sprinkler. It all went silent.
It was just him.
Just Xavier.
And the memories.
Last night rushed through me in a dizzy, breath-stopping wave — his breath warm on my skin, the quiet hum of the car, the rain tapping the roof, the way he touched me like he'd been holding back for too long.
I gripped my bag tighter and swallowed, trying to pull myself together.
"Xavier—" I started, but my voice cracked embarrassingly small.
"What… what am I even thinking?" I muttered under my breath, shaking my head to wipe the memory away — as if I could.
He heard that. Of course he did.
Xavier let out a low "Hmm," then straightened.
"Good morning, Khloe."
That voice. Smooth. Deep. Controlled.
And yet his eyes told another story entirely.
"Good morning, Mr. Rush," I answered quickly, trying to hold onto professionalism like a lifeline.
But the way he looked at me?
Professional wasn't even in his vocabulary right now.
"Um… is Mr. Jayden not coming in today?" I asked, desperate to anchor myself back in normalcy.
"You didn't answer your phone," he said calmly.
Like that explained everything.
But underneath that calm — I saw it.
Something raw. Something tired.
Something that mirrored exactly how I felt after last night.
My throat tightened. "I… I didn't know what to say."
He nodded once, like he understood far too well, then finally answered:
"No. Jayden won't be coming in. As a matter of fact…"
His mouth curled — a subtle, knowing, infuriatingly attractive smile.
"I'll be your chauffeur for the day."
"Chauffeu—r—" I choked on my own words.
"Yeah," he said simply.
Then he moved — slow, confident — opening the passenger door for me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I didn't trust my voice enough to argue, so I slid in, buckled my seatbelt, and stared straight ahead.
He got into the driver's seat, his movements too composed. Too Xavier.
The engine hummed to life, and for a solid two minutes, we drove in complete silence. The kind of silence that said too much.
Then—
"Khloe."
His voice wrapped around my name in a way that made my stomach twist.
"Yes?" I replied, trying to keep steady.
"About the kiss last night…"
His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"It happened."
A beat.
"And I don't regret it."
He kept his eyes on the road, but I felt the weight of every word settle between us, hot and heavy.
I didn't know how to respond.
I didn't even know how to breathe.
Silence filled the car again — thick, tense, trembling with things neither of us dared to say.
But then something else slipped into my awareness.
This wasn't the way to the office.
I frowned. "Mr. Xavier—"
He gave a small hum, acknowledging me.
"This isn't the way to the office," I said carefully.
"I know," he answered easily. "We're not going to the office today."
My heart stumbled. "Okay… so are we going to the construction site?"
"No," he said. "We won't be going to the site either, Khloe."
There was something in the way he said my name.
Something soft. Something deliberate.
It made my pulse jump.
"Okay, Mr. Xavier—"
"Khloe," he interrupted.
"Yes?"
"Xavier," he corrected gently. "Not Mr. Xavier or Mr. Rush. Just Xavier."
He said it right as he took a left turn, like he wanted the shift in my mouth to match the shift in direction.
I swallowed.
"Okay… Xavier."
His name felt intimate on my tongue.
"Good," he said quietly. "We're going to get breakfast."
"I've already eaten," I replied quickly.
"Oh," he murmured, glancing at me with a raised brow. "Then grab a cup of coffee. Don't you want some?"
I hesitated. But the way he looked at me — calm, slightly amused, and expectant — melted my resistance.
"Okay," I breathed.
Three minutes later, we pulled up in front of a small corner shop with warm lights and plants hanging from its awning.
Café Delight.
Written in bold, curved, italic letters above the door.
Xavier got out of the car, and by instinct, I reached for my handle — but he appeared at my side instantly.
"I've got it," he muttered, opening the door for me.
"Thank you," I said softly.
He nodded, gesturing for me to go ahead as we walked in.
The bell chimed gently as the door opened.
Inside, the café smelled like roasted beans and warm pastries.
"Good morning, sir and ma'am," the barista greeted. "What can I get you?"
"I'll have a cup of espresso and some brioche bread," Xavier said.
"And you, ma'am?"
"Just an espresso will do," I replied with a small smile.
She smiled back and went to prepare our order.
Xavier and I chose a small table by the window while we waited.
And suddenly, everything felt… awkward.
He sat directly in front of me.
Full view of his face.
Full view of mine.
Nothing to hide behind.
I kept fidgeting with my fingers, my eyes scanning every part of the café that wasn't him.
"I didn't know you liked espresso," he said suddenly.
"Oh—yeah. I do love it," I replied quietly.
He hummed in response.
Soft. Deep. Understanding.
Maybe—maybe he was getting the hint that this whole thing wasn't… a date.
A date?
God, what was I thinking?
Just then, our drinks came in takeaway cups.
"Thank you," we both said, standing.
We headed out, drinks in hand, walking back toward the car.
But something in the air had changed.
Something I felt before I even saw it.
He stepped closer than before, close enough for me to catch the faint scent of his cologne — something clean, quiet, undeniably masculine.
My heart kicked.
He opened the door for me again, but this time…
our hands brushed.
Just a small touch.
But it sent a shock straight through me — hot, sharp, impossible to ignore.
I froze.
He did too.
His eyes lifted to mine — slow, deliberate — and the look there…
It wasn't confusion.
Or regret.
Or hesitation.
It was pull.
Emotional. Physical.
Undeniable.
The same storm from last night.
The same storm I had tried to escape this morning.
Except now…
he wasn't hiding it.
And I wasn't sure I could, either.
My breath hitched.
"Khloe," he murmured, voice lower than before. "Get in."
I obeyed before my legs betrayed me.
As the door shut behind me, I realized one thing with frightening clarity:
No matter how hard I fought it, no matter how much I tried to stay professional, composed, untouched—
I was in trouble.
Real, emotional, heart-pulling trouble.
Because this wasn't last night's mistake clinging to us.
This was something else entirely.
Something waking.
Something wanting.
Something impossible to undo.
And the way Xavier looked at me when he got back into the driver's seat…
like I was the only thing he wanted to see this morning…
It terrified me.
And thrilled me.
All at once.