I tried to tell myself I could, but I know I would be lying. She closes her eyes for a second like she is fighting tears. When she opens them again, they are clear and focused. Then we have two choices, she says. We ignore this and try to go back to the way things were. Or we try to find a way forward that does not destroy us both.

And if there is no way, I ask, then at least we were honest, she says. At least we tried. I can live with heartbreak. I cannot live with what if forever. Her words sink into me. I think of my small apartment, my old coffee maker, my safe routines. I also think of the way my heart moved when she said I was the only one who treated her like a person.

I need time, I say finally. I cannot decide something like this in a conference room. Not when everything is still upside down. She nods. Take the time you need, she says. I will not push you. I promise. She gathers her papers and heads for the door. My chest tightens at the idea of just letting her walk away like this.

Victoria, I say. She stops and looks back. For what it is worth, I say, I wish I was braver. The corner of her mouth lifts just a little. I see more courage in you than you see in yourself, she says. I see someone who knows what he values and lives by that. That is rare. She opens the door. When she is almost out, she looks back one more time.

I am not asking you to change who you are, she says. I am asking you to think about whether there is space in that life for me. The door closes behind her. I stand alone in the empty room, my heart pounding, my head spinning, feeling like the floor under me has shifted. Bag at my desk, the day crawls by. I stare at my screen, but the numbers blur.

My phone sits face up beside the keyboard. Every buzz makes my pulse jump, but it is never her. By the time I walk home through the light rain that night, my shoes are wet and my thoughts are louder than the traffic. I shower. I heat up leftovers. I try to watch a show but do not follow a single scene.

I pick up my phone twice to text someone. Then remember, I do not have her number. Around 900 p.m., my phone buzzes. Unknown number. I open the message. It is Victoria. I got your number from HR. I know that is probably wrong, but honesty is kind of our thing now. Can we talk? Not at the office. Somewhere neutral. I stand in the middle of my living room with my phone in my hand and my heart in my throat.

This is it. The moment where I either step back into safety or take a step toward her. I stare at her message like it might change if I blink enough times. It does not. It is Victoria. I got your number from HR. I know that is probably wrong, but honesty is kind of our thing now. Can we talk? Not at the office. Somewhere neutral.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard. I could say no. I could tell her we should keep things professional. I could choose the easy way out. Instead, my fingers move before my fear catches up. When? The reply comes fast. Friday night 7. There is a coffee shop on Pine Street, Brew Haven. Do you know it? Quote. I do. It is small, quiet, the kind of place where you can actually hear the person across from you. I know it. I text back.

I will be there. Thank you, Nathan. She writes. Really? All week, time stops making sense. Hours at work feel longer. My days blur into meetings, reports, and small talk that means nothing. Every sound in the hallway makes me look up, wondering if it is her. At the office, we are careful. She does not seek me out.

I do not look for reasons to be near her. We nod in passing like always. To anyone watching, we are just CEO and data analyst. Inside, I am counting down to Friday. When the day finally comes, I leave my apartment at 6:30. The air is cool and smells like rain. My hands will not stop shaking, so I shove them in my jacket pockets.

Brew Haven glows warm through its front windows. When I look inside, she is already there. Of course, she is. Victoria is early to everything. She sits at a small table in the back corner. Her blazer is draped over the chair beside her. She is wearing a simple blouse, her hair down around her shoulders. There are two cups on the table.

My heart kicks hard against my ribs as I push the door open. The bell above it gives a soft ring. She looks up for a second. The CEO mask I know so well slips. I see pure nerves on her face. Hope. Fear. Hi, she says softly. Hi, I answer and my voice sounds rougher than I expect. I walk over and sit across from her. She pushes one of the cups toward me.

Black with one sugar, she says. I remembered. I take a sip. It is perfect. For a moment, we just sit there. The low hum of the coffee shop feels too normal for what this is. I have been thinking about what you said, she begins about being careful. My chest tightens. I brace myself for the words that will end this. It was a mistake.

You were right. We should forget it. You were right, she says. We do need to be careful. I nod and look down at my cup. But, she adds, and the word pulls my eyes back to her. I have also been thinking about how I have lived my life so far. I take risks in business all the time.

I bet everything on companies and deals and numbers. But when it comes to my own heart, I hide. I choose work every time because it feels safe. She lets out a slow breath. I am tired of that, she says. I am tired of going home to a perfect apartment I hate. I am tired of smiling through bad dates with men who only see my job. I am tired of running my life like another company to manage. Her eyes meet mine.

I cannot stop thinking about that night, she says. Not just because I was upset, but because you saw me, the real me. You did not treat me like a boss who broke down. You treated me like a person who was hurting. I do not get that often, if ever. I cannot stop thinking about it either. I admit every time I try to focus at work, my brain just throws your face in front of me.

A small shaky smile touches her mouth. So, she says, “I need to know. Is this something you actually want to explore or were you just being kind that night?” “I was being kind,” I say, but not only kind. I set my cup down. My hands are not steady. Victoria, I like you, I say. Not the title, not the power. you.

The woman who sat on my couch and said she felt like she was too much. The woman who admits she is lonely even when everyone thinks she has everything. Her eyes shine, but she does not look away. I like you too, she says quietly. More than I planned to, more than I probably should. There it is.

The thing we have been dancing around finally spoken out loud. I am still scared, I say. I am scared of losing my job. I am scared of people finding out. I am scared I will not be enough for you. And I am scared. She says, I am scared of hurting you. I am scared of the power imbalance. I am scared of being selfish.

But I am more scared of walking away and wondering for the rest of my life what might have happened if we had tried. We sit there, fear and hope sitting between us like a third person. What if we do try? She asks. What would that even look like? I think about it for a long moment. We start with this, I say, talking in a coffee shop.

Nothing secretive, nothing shady, just two people getting to know each other. Outside of work, we take it slow and honest. Inside the office, we stay professional. No flirting, no sneaking around. If at any point it feels wrong, we stop and we talk about it. Her shoulders loosen a little. I can do that, she says. Slow and honest. I like that. And one more thing, I add.
No big physical moves until we both feel ready. No doing something in the heat of the moment and then regretting it. Her cheeks flush, but she nods. Agreed, she says. So, we are doing this, I say. I think we are, she answers. We both laugh then. It is soft and surprised like we did not expect to feel this light.We stay there for over an hour. We talk about small things at first. her coffee order. My favorite takeout place. The best time to walk by the waterfront when the crowds are low. Then we move into bigger things. She tells me she grew up in a small town in Oregon, raised by a single mom who worked two jobs. She talks about how she pushed herself through school and business and every promotion because she was scared of ending up with nothing.