Tessa Dean sipped her champagne slowly, feeling the bubbles tickle the back of her throat. The city sprawled below the rooftop terrace, lights glittering like a field of stars that refused to obey gravity. The wind tugged at her hair, and she tucked a strand behind her ear, pretending it was the only thing she noticed.
The celebration was for her. Finally, after months of long nights and endless client meetings, she had closed the Kalmont account, the largest the firm had seen in years. Her promotion to Senior Brand Strategist was official. She should have felt lighter, triumphant. Instead, the victory sat heavy in her chest.
Her friends had left hours ago. Most were tired, or had early mornings, or simply didn't understand the way work could consume every thought until it demanded recognition. She stayed, clutching her flute, not ready to let go of the night.
That's when she saw him.
He stood at the edge of the terrace, hands resting lightly on the railing. The city lights reflected in his dark hair, and his sharp features were almost impossible to look away from. There was something deliberate about the way he held himself, calm and detached. Yet there was intensity in the way he scanned the horizon, like he was searching for something.
Tessa knew she should look away. She should retreat into the safety of her solitude. But curiosity nudged her forward. She tilted her head, letting her gaze linger longer than she intended.
"Beautiful night," he said, voice low and smooth.
Tessa started slightly, then smiled politely. "It is. Clear skies. Not a cloud in sight."
He turned to face her. His eyes were piercing, blue like the ocean just before a storm. He gave a small nod. "I don't usually come up to these events. Too crowded. Too loud."
"Then you picked the right moment to be alone," she said, gesturing to the edge of the terrace.
He laughed softly, a sound that made her stomach clench in a way she didn't like admitting. "Maybe. Or maybe I was waiting for someone worth talking to."
Something inside her shifted. She raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was teasing or serious. "And did you find her?"
His lips quirked into a half-smile. "I might have."
Tessa felt warmth creep up her neck. She had no idea why. She didn't even know his name. And yet, she wanted to stay. Not just for the conversation, but for the way he moved, confident and unhurried, like the world had bent itself around him and nothing could touch him.
"Care to join me?" she asked impulsively.
He accepted without hesitation. They stood side by side, overlooking the city, the lights a blur beneath them. Neither spoke for a long time. The quiet was comfortable, almost dangerous in its intimacy.
Finally, he broke the silence. "You're celebrating something."
Tessa shrugged. "Promotion. Big client. Finally, some recognition for the work I've been doing."
He nodded. "You earned it. I can tell."
The way he looked at her made her pulse quicken. It was not intrusive, but it carried weight. Like he was noticing details most people missed. The curve of her lips when she smiled, the tension in her shoulders, the way she tilted her head when she was unsure.
"You do that a lot," she said quietly. "Notice things."
"Observing is part of my job," he said simply. "And part of my nature."
A shiver ran down her spine. She looked away, focusing on the city lights, telling herself to stay rational. But her body had its own plans. Her pulse drummed in her ears, the warmth in her chest growing. She had spent years keeping herself composed, keeping her ambition at the forefront, keeping men at a distance. And yet here he was, effortlessly breaking through.
She turned back to him. He had stepped closer, the space between them shrinking by inches she didn't notice passing. His gaze held hers. There was no pretense. No casual flirting. Just a silent acknowledgment of the pull between them.
Tessa swallowed. "I don't even know your name."
"Ian," he said. His voice was low, deliberate. "Ian Hart."
"Tessa Dean," she replied. Their hands brushed lightly when she reached for her glass. The touch sent an electric current through her.
The city continued below them, oblivious. The wind caught her hair again, and this time she let it fall freely. Ian leaned slightly, his presence close, comforting and infuriating all at once.
"You have a way of keeping control," he said, almost as a statement rather than a question. "Even now, in this moment, you're still very aware."
"I've had to be," she replied. Her voice was steady, though her heart betrayed her. "Work doesn't wait for hesitation."
He tilted his head, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I can tell. But maybe, tonight, you could let go. Just a little."
Tessa laughed softly, the sound trembling. "You make it sound easy."
"I'm not saying it will be," he said, stepping closer. "But I'm saying it could be worth the risk."
Her breath caught. She should have walked away. Every rational part of her brain screamed to step back, to leave before she made a mistake she would regret. And yet, she didn't. She couldn't.
The moment stretched. Time narrowed. And then, before she could second guess herself, Ian's hand brushed hers again, firmer this time. His fingers traced the line of her knuckles. She didn't pull away. She wanted to. But she didn't.
Their eyes locked, and the world seemed to tilt, silent except for the hum of the city below. Then, carefully, he leaned in. She rose to meet him halfway. The first touch of lips was gentle, testing, exploring.
It hit her like fire. Sharp, hot, intoxicating. She felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the rooftop or the champagne. It had everything to do with him.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathing a little faster, she tried to regain composure. Her mind raced. She had just kissed a stranger. A stranger she didn't even know, but whose presence left her shaking.
"I should go," she said finally, her voice firm despite the lingering warmth in her chest.
He gave a small nod, his eyes unreadable. "I think that might be wise. For now."
Tessa turned, walking toward the elevator, the city lights blurring past her. Every rational instinct told her she had made a mistake, that this was fleeting, meaningless. And yet, part of her hoped it wasn't.
She didn't know then that fate had other plans.
The next morning, she would step into the office, confident and polished, ready to face the day. She would greet clients, lead presentations, and navigate the politics of the firm with precision.
And she would meet Ian Hart. The same man from the rooftop.
The new investor. Sitting across the conference table, calm and authoritative, scanning the reports she had prepared.
And just like that, the risk she thought she had controlled became something far more dangerous.