Chapter 8: Rain Delay

“Come in.”

The command came the moment her knuckles brushed the door.

Liza stepped inside, her heels clicking softly against the dark oak flooring. Outside, the storm hadn’t let up, and her soaked blouse clung to her skin in a way that made her acutely aware of every move she made.

Wyatt sat behind his desk, the glow of dual monitors reflecting against his crisp white shirt. A stack of papers lay in front of him.

“You’re…” His words stalled as he glanced up. His eyes moved over her slowly, catching on the damp sheen of her blouse. “Late.”

She approached the desk and set down the iPad. “The reports from Marketing and UX,” she said, voice steady. “Already sent you your copy.”

“I see you also brought the weather.” His eyes flicked to her shirt again, then away.

“And you’ve already made coffee.” She motioned to the untouched cup near his laptop.

“Well, Ms. McNamara, you were late,” he said, tone clipped as he turned back to the screen in front of him.

“It’s…raining. My car’s still at the shop, and I spent twenty minutes trying to book a driver and…well…”

A small flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Well, it’s not an excuse. Not even a good one. I should dock your pay. What do you think?”

She blinked. “You could also consider hazard compensation. I nearly died crossing Fifth.”

That earned her a low chuckle. It was rare, but when he laughed, it felt like the tension in the room paused to listen.

“Sit,” he said finally, gesturing to the chair across from him.

She hesitated. “I’m still damp.”

“I noticed,” he said, eyes sweeping her again before he leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure the upholstery will survive.”

Liza sat, determined to ignore the way her blouse clung to her skin or how aware she was of the outline of her bra.

Six months as his assistant and he still unnerved her.

Six months of trying to guess what was going on behind those unreadable expressions.

Most days she couldn't tell if he respected her. Or forgot she was standing there.

He reached for the iPad. “Marketing’s still overpromising. The projections are inflated.”

“They’re compensating for last quarter’s drop. But I flagged the actuals. Tab four.”

He found it, brows lifting slightly, then another flicker of that almost-smile. Her pulse was already racing.

Don't read into it.

He's your boss.

He probably says things like this to everyone.

He stepped around the desk and came to stand in front of her. She glanced briefly around the room. His office was the only one on the floor with frosted glass, the kind that turned opaque under certain lighting. No one could see in.

“Is there anything else you need from me, Mr. Parson?” she asked.

Wyatt breathed in slowly. He didn’t move closer. “I had a dream about you last night.”

Silence.

Liza blinked. “Excuse me?”

“It wasn’t professional,” he added, as if clarifying would make it less inappropriate.

Her posture stiffened.

“Stand up.”

She did. “Mr. Parson…” Her voice faltered when his hand slid across her waist, settling over the curve of her hip.

Wyatt let out a quiet chuckle behind her. “I tried, you know. You have no idea how hard I tried…”

“Tried what?” she asked.

“To keep my hands off you.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

So that was it. That’s why he always kept their conversations clipped. Why he barely looked her in the eye. For months, she thought he barely tolerated her. That he avoided her because he didn’t like her, not because he was trying not to want her.

“But after what you did in my dream last night…”

He pulled her closer, until there was no space left between them. His hands moved, fingertips trailing along the dip above her hips, stroking slow patterns that had her clenching her jaw to keep a sound from escaping. But then she gasped when his hands skimmed higher, brushing along her ribs, grazing the edge of her bra beneath the fabric of her shirt.

“Mr. Parson, what are you doing?”

His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Come on, Liza. You’re smart. You already know the answer.”

She did. And it terrified her how much she wanted him to keep going.

His fingers found the hem of her shirt, tugging it gently. She froze. Her mind screamed at her to step back, but her body refused to move.

Then a knock.

“I’m busy,” Wyatt called out.

“It’s Oliver, Mr. Parson,” came the reply through the door. “Skanner just called—”

The spell shattered.

Liza took a step back before she even realized she'd moved.

“Give me a second,” Wyatt said, already heading to his desk. “Just wrapping up a call.”

Liza straightened, tugging her shirt down and brushing her palms along the sides of her skirt as she regained composure. Just like that, Oliver’s voice had thrown a bucket of cold water on her skin.

“Skanner?” she whispered, almost to herself.

That call wasn’t something either of them could ignore. Skanner was the second major client Pixel Ledger was trying to secure—one that could position them side by side with industry giants. Wyatt had poured weeks of strategy into preparing for next month’s pitch, and she’d been there for nearly all of it—scheduling, adjusting the deck, researching Skanner’s shifting tech roadmap.

And Oliver… Oliver had been the one to spearhead the UI design Skanner favored. As lead developer, he’d reimagined the interface for Pixel Ledger’s collaborative platform to work seamlessly with Skanner’s upcoming VR hardware. If they closed this deal, it wouldn’t just be a win—it would mark their official reentry into the competitive tier.

Wyatt glanced at her. “Open the door for him.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, “Tell him you accidentally locked it when you came in.”

Liza gave a small nod and moved to the door. She took a steadying breath before pulling it open.

“Sorry,” she said smoothly. “I must’ve locked it by accident when I walked in.”

Oliver’s brows lifted slightly, eyes scanning her face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, managing a quick smile. “Just starting to feel a little off. Maybe the rain caught up with me.”

Oliver frowned. “Winston and I are grabbing lunch in a bit. I’ll bring you back some soup.”

Her smile warmed slightly. “Thanks, Oliver.”

“You got it.”

Liza closed the door behind her and sat back at her desk.

Her phone buzzed.

WYATT PARSON

She took a deep breath.

He was twenty feet away.

She opened the message.

Don't come back into my office today.

A second message appeared almost immediately.

I don't trust myself with you.