MONDAY
9:00 AM
The elevator doors opened on the 18th floor.
Noah stepped out.
Different from the executive suites. Quieter. Fewer people.
A hallway stretched ahead. Glass-walled offices on either side, most of them empty.
One door at the end stood open.
Light spilling out.
He walked toward it.
Atlas's voice drifted through—on the phone.
"—told you Wednesday. Yes. I'll handle it."
Pause.
"Fine. Reschedule for Friday."
Noah stopped at the doorway. Knocked twice on the frame.
Atlas looked up, phone still to his ear.
Gestured him in.
Noah walked in.
The new office was smaller than the penthouse study but still nice—floor-to-ceiling windows, city view, clean desk. Two chairs facing each other across a small table. Laptop already open.
Atlas hung up. Set his phone down.
"Noah."
"Morning."
"Sit."
Noah pulled out the chair and sat.
Atlas didn't move from behind his desk. Just watched him.
Suit today—charcoal gray, crisp white shirt, no tie yet. Like he'd just gotten here.
Same cologne. Different from Friday's.
Noah set his laptop on the table. Opened it.
"Coffee?" Atlas asked.
"I'm good."
"Sure?"
"Yeah."
Atlas stood. Walked over. Pulled out the other chair.
Sat across from Noah.
Close.
Their knees almost touched under the small table.
Almost.
Noah shifted slightly. Created an inch more space.
Atlas noticed. Didn't comment.
"Market analysis first," Atlas said. "Then projections."
"Got it."
Noah pulled up the file, turned his screen.
Atlas leaned forward to look.
His shoulder brushed Noah's.
Brief.
Noah's breath caught.
He didn't blink. Didn't pull away.
Atlas scrolled through the document in silence.
Noah watched the screen. Not Atlas.
"Who compiled this?" Atlas asked.
"I did. Used CFO's team data."
"It's thorough."
"Thanks."
Atlas leaned back. Their shoulders separated.
Noah exhaled quietly.
"Pull up the revenue model," Atlas said.
Noah switched files.
Atlas stood up, walked around to Noah's side.
Leaned over his shoulder to see the screen better.
Heat radiated off him. That cologne filled Noah's space.
Too close.
Way too close.
Noah's hands stilled on the keyboard.
Atlas's arm came down next to Noah's, finger pointing at the screen.
"This section. Break it down by quarter."
His voice was right by Noah's ear.
Noah's pulse jumped.
Calm. Just work. Nothing else.
"Sure," Noah said. Voice steady.
He pulled up the quarterly breakdown.
Atlas stayed there—leaning over, arm still next to Noah's on the table.
Warm.
Solid.
"Good," Atlas said finally.
Straightened up.
Walked back to his chair.
Noah's shoulders dropped slightly. Relief.
They went through three more reports.
Atlas moved his chair closer at some point. To see better, he said.
Their knees touched.
Just barely.
Noah let it pass. Moving would be too obvious.
His leg burned where they connected.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Atlas's phone went off.
He checked it. "Give me a sec."
Stood up, walked to the window. Answered.
"Yeah... No, that won't work... Because I said so."
His jaw was tight.
Noah looked down at his laptop. Pretended to work.
Tried not to think about how Atlas's shoulder had felt against his. How close they'd been. How his cologne made Noah's head fuzzy.
Stop.
Atlas hung up. Came back.
Sat down closer than before.
Picked up a folder, flipped it open.
"Risk mitigation report," he said. "You have it?"
"Yeah."
Noah pulled it up.
Went to hand Atlas his laptop.
Their fingers touched when Atlas took it.
Longer than necessary.
Atlas's thumb brushed Noah's knuckle.
Deliberate.
The room felt smaller.
Noah's whole hand tingled.
He pulled back, clasped his hands in his lap.
Atlas read through the report, face neutral.
Set the laptop down between them.
"This section needs more detail," he said. Pointed at the screen.
Noah leaned in to look.
So did Atlas.
Their heads close.
Too close.
Noah could feel Atlas's breath.
His heart hammered.
Focus. Just focus.
"I can expand it," Noah said.
"By tomorrow."
"Okay."
Atlas leaned back.
Checked his watch.
"We'll run through the full presentation Wednesday. Two PM. Here."
"Got it."
"Bring the updated reports."
"I will."
Silence.
Noah started packing his laptop.
"Noah."
He looked up.
Atlas was watching him—eyes dark, unreadable.
"Thursday's important. High stakes."
"I know."
"You ready?"
"Yeah."
Atlas held his gaze. Too long.
Noah looked away first.
Stood up. Grabbed his bag.
"See you Wednesday," he said.
"Wednesday."
Noah walked out.
Didn't look back.
Took the stairs instead of the elevator.
Needed to move. Needed air.
His hands shook when he pushed open the stairwell door.
What the fuck.
---
WEDNESDAY
2:00 PM
Noah stood outside the same office.
Door open.
Atlas at his desk, typing.
Noah knocked.
Atlas looked up.
"Come in."
Noah walked in and set his bag down.
"You have the reports?" Atlas asked.
"Yeah. All updated."
"Let's see them."
Noah pulled out his laptop, sat in the same chair as Monday.
Atlas came around and stood behind Noah's chair this time.
Leaned down to look at the screen.
His hand landed on the back of Noah's chair.
Knuckles brushing Noah's shoulder blade.
Light. Barely there.
Noah went very still.
Atlas scrolled with his other hand. Read.
His breath stirred Noah's hair.
Noah's neck prickled. Heat crawling up.
Don't react. Don't move.
"This is better," Atlas said.
"Thanks."
"Expand this part too."
"Which part?"
Atlas leaned closer. Pointed.
His chest pressed against Noah's shoulder.
Warm. Solid.
Noah's breath stuttered.
Atlas either didn't notice or didn't care.
Stayed there.
Close.
"Here," Atlas said. "Add projections for year two."
"Okay."
Atlas straightened up, walked back to his chair.
Noah exhaled.
Tried to slow his pulse.
Failed.
They ran through the presentation twice.
Full rehearsal—timing, slides, Q&A prep.
Atlas was sharp, precise. Every question calculated.
Nothing about Friday night showed.
Like it never happened.
Professional.
Cold.
But every time he moved—handed Noah a pen, reached for a paper, gestured at the screen—his hand found a reason to get close.
A brush against Noah's wrist.
Fingers grazing his when taking back a document.
Shoulder bumping his when they both leaned toward the laptop.
Small things.
Constant.
Noah kept his expression blank.
But his body betrayed him.
Pulse racing. Skin too hot. Breath uneven.
By the third hour, his jaw ached from clenching.
Atlas stood up. Stretched.
"We're good for tomorrow," he said.
"Yeah."
"Two PM. Conference room, main floor."
"I know."
Atlas walked to his desk, poured himself water from a pitcher.
Didn't offer Noah any.
Drank.
Set the glass down.
Looked at Noah.
"You seem tense."
Noah's stomach dropped.
"I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
Atlas studied him.
Walked over.
Stopped right in front of Noah's chair.
Close.
Noah tilted his head back. Looked up.
Atlas's expression was unreadable.
"Tomorrow's critical," Atlas said. "I need you focused."
"I am focused."
"Are you."
Not a question.
Noah's hands curled into fists on his thighs.
"Yes."
Silence.
Atlas's jaw tightened.
For a second, something flickered in his eyes.
Then gone.
He stepped back.
"Good. See you tomorrow."
Dismissal.
Noah stood up. Grabbed his stuff.
Walked out.
---
THURSDAY
1:45 PM
The conference room was huge.
Twenty-seat table. Projector screen at one end. Windows along one wall showing the city spread out below.
People were already filtering in.
Noah recognized some faces.
Sterling Holdings executives. CFO. VP of operations.
His father's team from Wells Corporation. Three senior managers.
Investors in suits he didn't know.
And the fathers.
Richard Sterling stood near the head of the table—gray hair, expensive suit, presence that commanded the room.
Talking to someone Noah couldn't see.
Then his own father appeared.
Thomas Wells. Same build as Noah but older, sharper, colder.
Shook Richard's hand.
Both men sat at opposite ends of the table.
Noah found a seat in the middle and set up his laptop.
Atlas walked in.
Different suit—navy, tie perfectly knotted.
Hair styled. Clean-shaven.
Every inch the executive.
He scanned the room. Eyes landed on Noah.
Brief. Then moved on.
Sat at the head of the table next to his father.
The room settled.
Richard cleared his throat.
"Let's begin."
Atlas stood.
Noah's chest tightened.
Here we go.
---
Atlas started the presentation.
Smooth. Confident. Voice carrying through the room.
Slides appeared behind him.
Market analysis. Revenue projections. Implementation timeline.
Investors leaned forward.
Noah tracked every word, every slide.
Waiting for his part.
Twenty minutes in, Atlas paused.
"Noah will walk you through the risk assessment."
All eyes turned.
Noah stood.
Walked to the front.
Felt every gaze.
Especially his father's.
Especially Atlas's.
He pulled up his slides.
Started talking.
His voice steady, clear.
Walked them through each risk factor, mitigation strategies, contingencies.
Someone asked a question.
He answered.
Another question.
Another answer.
Atlas stood to his right, arms crossed. Watching.
Silent.
But present.
Noah finished.
Nodded.
Sat back down.
Atlas took over again.
Wrapped up the financials.
Fielded questions from investors.
Confident. Controlled.
His father asked something technical.
Atlas answered without hesitation.
Thomas Wells spoke up.
"The timeline seems aggressive."
All eyes shifted.
Atlas didn't flinch.
"It's ambitious," he said. "But achievable. Noah's team has built in buffers."
Thomas looked at Noah.
"Your assessment?"
Noah met his father's eyes.
"It's solid. We can deliver."
"You're certain."
"Yes."
Thomas held his gaze.
Then nodded.
Looked back at Atlas.
"Proceed."
The presentation continued.
Another hour.
Questions, answers, debate.
Finally, Richard stood.
"I think we have what we need. We'll reconvene next week for final approval."
People started standing, gathering papers.
Conversations broke out.
Noah closed his laptop.
Relief flooded through him.
Done.
He stood up.
Started packing his stuff.
Someone clapped him on the shoulder.
One of Wells' managers.
"Good work."
"Thanks."
Atlas appeared next to him.
Suddenly.
Close.
Noah's breath caught.
Atlas was talking to someone across the table—one of the investors.
But his hand—
His hand landed on Noah's lower back.
Just above his hip.
Warm. Firm. Possessive.
Noah froze.
Atlas kept talking. Casual.
Like his hand wasn't burning a hole through Noah's shirt.
The investor laughed at something Atlas said.
Atlas's hand pressed slightly. Just a fraction.
Then he spoke.
Still to the investor.
But his head turned.
Just enough.
Voice dropping lower.
"Excellent work today."
The investor nodded and walked away.
Atlas's hand stayed.
He turned fully to Noah now.
Leaned in.
Just slightly.
Close enough that only Noah could hear.
"You were very... focused."
His breath brushed Noah's ear.
The emphasis on "focused."
Intentional.
The air between them went still.
Noah couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Heat radiated from where Atlas's hand rested.
His whole body locked up.
Atlas's fingers flexed once.
Then gone.
He pulled his hand away.
Stepped back.
Turned to someone else, seamless.
Started another conversation.
Like nothing happened.
Noah stood there.
Heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Skin on fire where Atlas had touched.
Everything too loud, too bright.
*What the fuck just happened.*
He grabbed his laptop.
Shoved it in his bag.
Walked out.
Fast.
Down the hall. Elevator. Ground floor.
Outside.
Cold air hit his face.
He kept walking.
Didn't stop until he was three blocks away.
Leaned against a building.
Breathed.
His hand shook when he pulled out his phone.
No messages.
Nothing.
He closed his eyes.
Saw Atlas standing there—hand on his back, that voice.
Very focused.
"Fuck," Noah whispered.
Pushed off the wall.
Started walking again.
Away from Sterling Holdings.
Away from Atlas.
Away from whatever the hell that was.
But even blocks away—
He could still feel it.
Atlas's hand on his back.
That voice in his ear.
The heat.
The certainty in Atlas's touch.
Like he knew.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
And exactly what it did to Noah.
---
Noah got home.
Threw his bag on the couch.
Stood in his living room.
Stared at nothing.
His phone went off.
He looked.
Marcus:drinks tomorrow night? alex, sam, jared's in
Noah stared at the message.
Tomorrow night.
Friday.
The Wells Group staff party — he'd gotten the reminder email last week.
HR had sent it.
Casual thing. Open bar, music, everyone from the office could bring a guest.
He'd planned to stop by for an hour, have a drink, leave.
But now—
His thumb moved.
Can't do drinks. Company party tomorrow at 8. You guys want to come? I can add you to the list.
He stared at what he'd typed.
It wasn't some formal executive thing.
Just a mid-size event — employees, team leads, managers.
The kind of night where people tried to forget deadlines for a while.
Atlas wouldn't be there.
He was Sterling Holdings' senior director — practically CEO-level.
Way above something like this.
He had no reason to show up.
For once, a night without him.
A weekend without thinking about him.
Finally.
His finger hit send before he could overthink it.
Marcus:HELL YES. free booze? we're in
Marcus:dress code?
Casual. Whatever.
Marcus:perfect. see you at 8
Noah locked his phone.
Set it on the coffee table.
Walked to the bedroom.
His phone buzzed again.
He grabbed it.
Emma
Missed Call (6)
Shit.
He'd been ignoring her all week.
Her last message sat there, unanswered.
I love you.
Noah stared at it.
Guilt twisted in his stomach.
He couldn't keep avoiding this.
Avoiding her.
He typed: Can we meet tonight? 7pm at the cafe?
Stared at the message.
His thumb hovered.
What was this, damage control?
Pretending things were fine?
He didn't know.
Just knew he owed her a conversation.
Sent it.
The reply came immediately.
Emma:Yes! I'll be there
Emma:I've really missed you
Noah's chest tightened.
He didn't respond.
Just locked his phone.
Set it on the nightstand.
Fell onto the bed.
Closed his eyes.
Tonight — Emma.
Tomorrow — the company party.
His friends.
No Atlas.
A normal night.
A weekend that might finally feel like breathing again.
He exhaled.
Atlas's hand on his back flashed in his mind.
That voice in his ear.
Very focused.
He shook it off.
Enough.
Tomorrow would be different.
He'd make sure of it.
Atlas wouldn't be there.
He couldn't be.
For once, Noah told himself,
he actually believed it.