POV – Elena
I paced around my apartment, phone pressed to my ear, heart hammering in a way that made my head spin. "Claire… I can't believe this is happening," I confessed, voice trembling slightly. "He… he's picking me up tonight. James Ashford. My boss. And… and I don't know what to do!"
There was a laugh on the other end. "Elena, breathe! You're acting like a teenager going to prom. He asked you because he wants you. Not some flawless model, not some polished office robot. Just you."
"I know, I know…" I said, sinking onto the couch. "But what do I wear? How do I even behave?"
"Relax," Claire replied. "You always look amazing. Just don't overthink it. Casual, elegant… something that says 'confident' without screaming 'look at me!'"
I hung up, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I opened my wardrobe and stared at the options, fingers grazing fabrics. After a few minutes, a rich, chocolate-brown ensemble caught my eye — a silk blouse with subtle draping, paired with tailored trousers that hugged in all the right places without being provocative. The color was in style, elegant, warm… comforting.
Next, the shoes. I chose a pair of high heels, a soft suede in the same chocolate hue, sleek and classic. They would give me the height and poise I wanted without feeling overdone. The bag followed — small, structured, with just enough polish to be practical but stylish, also chocolate-brown.
Standing in front of the mirror, I ran my hands over the fabric, taking a deep breath. Confident. Elegant. Not desperate. Not offering. Just… me.
Then came the hair. I brushed out the waves, letting them fall naturally, but created soft curls to frame my face. A few touches of makeup followed: light foundation, subtle contouring, a hint of blush, neutral eyeshadow to enhance my eyes, and a soft berry lip — alluring but not flashy. Every stroke, every adjustment, was deliberate.
I stepped back and examined myself, straightening slightly. There was a tension in my chest, a fluttering in my stomach, but I also felt… powerful. In control. Elegant. And ready — ready to face him, ready to see what the evening would bring.
Finally, I checked the time. Seven o'clock. Any minute now. My pulse quickened. I glanced at the mirror again, smoothing the folds of the blouse, adjusting the trousers, and inhaling deeply.
I am Elena Dorne, I reminded myself. Not someone else. Not a model. Not a prize. Just… me.
And with that thought, I felt a strange calm. Desire, anticipation, and fear mingled together, but underneath it all was a clear determination: tonight, I would be myself. Confident, elegant, and utterly incapable of ignoring the pull he had on me — whether I wanted to or not.
The doorbell rang, sharp and deliberate, making my heart skip. I took one last deep breath, smoothed my hair, picked up my bag, and walked to the door.
And there he was. James Ashford. More impossibly perfect than I remembered, the evening light catching his dark hair, his tailored suit fitting him like a second skin, and those eyes — dark, intense, alive — fixed on me.
"Shall we?" His voice was low, teasing, deliberate.
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Yes… let's."
I took a deep breath as I approached his car, the sleek black vehicle gleaming under the streetlights. My heels clicked against the pavement, each step echoing in my chest like a drum. James stepped forward, opening the passenger door for me.
"After you," he said, his voice low and smooth, the tiniest smile playing at his lips.
I slid into the seat, heart hammering. The leather smelled faintly of cedar and something uniquely him — a mix of subtle cologne and… warmth. My fingers gripped the edge of the seat for a moment, then I forced myself to relax.
He closed the door and walked around to the driver's side, the movement fluid and effortless. I couldn't help but notice the way the light caught his jawline, the calm confidence in his posture, the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at me.
"Are you nervous?" he asked casually, though I could hear the teasing undercurrent.
"A little," I admitted, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's… not every day your boss asks you out to dinner."
He chuckled softly, glancing at me briefly before focusing on the road. "Not every day I meet someone who makes me want to ignore every rule I've ever followed."
My breath caught. Did he just…? I looked away, pretending to adjust my bag, trying to steady the fluttering in my chest.
The car purred to life, smooth and commanding. As we drove through the quiet streets, the city lights reflecting off the polished surfaces, a comfortable tension filled the space between us. We spoke in small bursts — casual conversation about work, about the city, about the weekend — but every word, every glance, every subtle brush of our hands when passing a folder or adjusting the mirror felt charged.
At one point, he reached briefly to adjust the rearview mirror, his fingers brushing mine. I felt a shiver travel up my arm. "Careful," I murmured, though the warning was half-hearted.
"Or what?" he asked, voice teasing.
I looked at him, heat rising to my cheeks, and found myself smiling despite my racing heart. "Or I might get distracted."
He laughed softly, eyes glinting with mischief. "Distracted, huh? That sounds… dangerous."
And as the car glided through the streets, I realized — more vividly than ever — that this evening was only the beginning. The pull between us was impossible to resist, and I didn't want to.