The elevator doors slid shut with a heavy clang.
Elena exhaled slowly, clutching the folder of reports against her chest. She hadn't expected Alexander to step in at the last second, his presence filling the small space with sharp energy.
He didn't speak. He rarely did when others were around. But here, in the confined hum of the elevator, there was no one else.
The silence was thick. Too thick.
Elena kept her eyes on the glowing numbers above the doors, but every nerve in her body was aware of him—his broad shoulders, his steady breathing, the faint scent of his cologne.
Halfway down, the elevator jolted. Hard.
Elena gasped, stumbling. The folder slipped from her hands, papers scattering like snow.
Before she could bend to grab them, Alexander's hand closed around her arm, steadying her. His grip was firm, his body close. Too close.
For one suspended moment, she was pressed against him, her face inches from his chest, her pulse thrumming in her ears.
"Careful," he murmured, his voice rougher than usual.
She tilted her head back, meeting his eyes. The storm in them nearly stole her breath.
Her lips parted. Just a breath more, and—
The elevator shuddered again, then resumed its descent. Alexander released her as though burned, stepping back, mask sliding into place.
Elena knelt quickly, gathering the scattered papers with trembling fingers.
When she stood, he was already composed, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the doors.
But when the elevator chimed and the doors opened, he waited for her to step out first. A small thing. Yet enough to make her chest ache.
---
Later, at her desk, she overheard two executives whispering near the glass wall.
"…Bennett is circling the London deal again. She wants in—badly."
"She always did have history with Frost. Dangerous history."
Elena's pen stilled on the page.
Sophia again. Always Sophia.
And yet, even as questions swirled, one thought blazed brighter than the rest:
For the briefest moment in that elevator, Alexander Frost had almost kissed her.
Again.