JAY POV — THE NEXT DAY
WATSON × MARIANO × WILSON×FER CORP | BOARDROOM
The office smelled like polished wood and restraint.
Glass walls. Neutral colors. A skyline that reminded everyone inside the room how much money lived above ground and how much power lived behind smiles.
I walked in with Cole on my right and Celeste on my left.
Centered. Calm. Unreadable.
If anyone expected me to walk in shaken, soft, newly reunited—
They were about to be disappointed.
The Watson delegation was already seated.
So was Fernandez.
Executives. Legal teams. Assistants tapping on tablets like their lives depended on it.
And then—
Keifer.
He stood when I entered.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to be respectful.
Our eyes met for exactly half a second.
No smile. No softness.
Pure professionalism.
Good.
We took our seats.
Across from him.
Directly.
The meeting began.
Numbers. Timelines. Contracts. Risk mitigation.
I spoke clearly. Precisely. Confidently.
Cole handled strategy. Celeste handled negotiation.
I handled authority.
Keifer watched me like I was rewriting gravity.
I ignored it.
Until—
Something brushed my ankle.
I froze.
Not outwardly. Not visibly.
Internally.
I didn't look down. Didn't react. Didn't breathe differently.
The brush came again.
Deliberate this time.
Not accidental.
Slow.
I shot him a warning look.
He didn't look away.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair slightly — casual, composed — and crossed his arms.
His leg moved again.
Just enough.
My pen paused mid-sentence.
Don't you dare, I thought.
His mouth twitched.
Not a smile.
A challenge.
I finished my point flawlessly, voice steady even as my pulse spiked.
The movement continued intermittently — subtle, teasing, designed to distract without giving anything away.
I kicked his shin lightly under the table.
A warning.
He winced — just a fraction — then recovered immediately.
Worth it.
Celeste glanced at me, suspicious.
I gave her nothing.
The meeting wrapped smoothly.
Agreements reached. Hands shaken. Smiles exchanged.
Professional success.
As people began to file out, assistants gathering files and executives murmuring logistics, I stood and turned toward the exit.
I made it exactly three steps.
Then—
A hand caught my wrist.
Firm. Certain.
I was pulled back gently but decisively.
The door closed behind us.
And suddenly—
I was pressed against the wall.
Not roughly.
Not aggressively.
But undeniably.
Keifer stood close enough that I could feel the warmth of him — steady, familiar, impossible to ignore.
His hand braced against the wall beside my head.
The other still held my wrist.
"Unprofessional," I said calmly, even as my heartbeat betrayed me.
"You kicked me first," he replied softly.
I lifted my chin.
"You deserved it."
A smile finally broke through — real this time.
God, I'd missed that smile.
"You were terrifying in there," he said quietly. "I don't think they know what hit them."
"Good," I replied. "Neither do you."
He leaned closer — not touching, not crossing the line — just enough that the air between us tightened.
"I do," he murmured. "You're the same woman who forgave a room full of idiots and still showed up to run an international meeting the next day."
I swallowed.
"This doesn't mean we forget boundaries," I warned.
"I know," he said instantly. "I respect them."
Then, softer—
"But I'm allowed to admire you."
My breath caught despite myself.
I slipped my wrist free and placed my palm flat against his chest — not pushing him away, not pulling him closer.
Just grounding us both.
"Tease me in a boardroom again," I said quietly, "and I will destroy you."
He laughed under his breath.
"Worth it," he replied.
I stepped out from between him and the wall.
Straightened my blazer.
Professional again.
But as I reached for the door, I paused.
Turned back just slightly.
"And Keifer?"
"Yes?"
I let myself smile.
"See you soon....."
His expression softened completely.
And for the first time since everything broke—
So did he.
---
WATSON OFFICE |
By the time my last call ended, my head felt like it had been stuffed with static.
Dane had talked in circles.
The clients had opinions.
Everyone wanted certainty wrapped in perfect timing.
I closed my laptop and leaned back in the chair, rubbing my temple.
I hadn't eaten.
I hadn't noticed.
The door clicked softly.
I looked up.
Keifer walked in carrying a tray.
Not catering.
Not something fancy.
Real food.
Warm.
Something that smelled like comfort instead of efficiency.
"You're past lunch time," he said, voice low. Not scolding. Observant.
"I was busy," I replied automatically.
He set the tray down on my table anyway. Unbothered. Unimpressed by my excuse.
"You're allowed to be busy and human," he said. "don't forget that.Now eat. "
I smiled despite myself. "You are still that arrogant and bossy around me huh?"
"Only you," he said easily.
He pulled the chair closer—too close for professionalism, just close enough to feel deliberate—and lifted a fork.
I stared at it.
"You're not serious."
"I am," he said. "Open."
I laughed. "Keifer—"
"Jay," he interrupted softly.
That did it.
I opened my mouth.
He fed me like it was the most natural thing in the world—slow, careful, watching my face like this was the part that mattered.
I chewed. Swallowed.
The tension in my shoulders eased without my permission.
"Better?" he asked.
"Annoyingly," I admitted.
He fed me another bite.
Then another.
Quiet settled between us—not awkward, not heavy. Intimate in that way that sneaks up on you.
When I was done, he set the fork down but didn't move away.
Instead, he rested his hands on the edge of the table.
And looked at me.
Really looked.
The way someone does when they've already decided something and are just waiting for the courage to say it out loud.
My breath slowed.
"Jay," he said, voice steady but eyes unguarded, "I've asked myself this a hundred times and avoided it every single one."
My heart thumped.
"I don't want to avoid it anymore."
He took a breath.
"Will you be my girlfriend?"
No drama.
No grand speech.
No pressure.
Just honesty.
I didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
The word came out warm. Certain. Easy.
His face changed instantly.
Like something tight finally loosened.
He stood, walked around the table, and before I could say anything—
He pulled me gently but firmly toward him.
The chair rolled back.
The table pressed into my hips.
His hands came to my waist.
The door clicked locked behind him.
Not rushed.
Intentional.
He leaned down, forehead touching mine first.
"Six years," he murmured. "I've wanted to do this without hurting you."
"You won't," I whispered.
That was all it took.
His lips met mine.
Slow.
Deep.
Not desperate—but loaded with everything we'd held back.
I kissed him back just as deliberately, fingers sliding into his hair like muscle memory never left.
He tasted like restraint breaking.
His lips traced from my mouth to my jaw, lingering, reverent.
Then lower.
Along my neck.
My breath hitched—not because it was too much, but because it was him.
A kiss pressed just below my ear.
Another along my collarbone.
Warm. Lingering. Possessive without being forceful.
I tilted my head instinctively, giving him space, hands tightening in his shirt.
"Tell me if it's too much," he whispered against my skin.
"It's not," I said honestly.
He kissed me again—mouth this time—deeper, slower, like he was memorizing the fact that this was real.
That I was choosing him.
When we finally pulled back, foreheads touching, breaths uneven—
He smiled.
Not the dangerous one.
The soft one.
The one that said I'm here and I'm staying.
"You're mine?" he asked quietly.
"I'm choosing you," I corrected gently. "Every day. That's better."
His hands tightened at my waist.
"God," he murmured, "I love you."
I smiled.
"So… boyfriend," I teased.
He laughed against my lips.
"Yeah," he said. "Boyfriend."
And for the first time in six years—
Nothing was holding us apart anymore...
When his lips finally left mine, the space between us felt louder than the kiss itself.
Keifer's hands were still at my waist, steady, like he was anchoring himself there.
His breathing hadn't fully evened out.
Neither had mine.
I smiled before he could say anything.
The kind of smile that wasn't innocent.
"Sit," I said softly.
He blinked. "What?"
I placed my hands on his chest and gently—but unmistakably—pushed.
Keifer laughed under his breath, more startled than resistant, and let himself fall back into his chair.
"You're dangerous," he murmured.
"I learned from the best," I replied.
Before he could regroup, I stepped forward and climbed onto his lap like it was the most natural place in the world.
His hands froze mid-air.
"Jay—" he started.
I rested my hands on his shoulders. Leaned in just enough that our noses brushed.
"You kissed me," I reminded him quietly. "I'm allowed to kiss you back."
That did something to him.
I felt it in the way his hands finally came to my waist again—careful, reverent, like he was afraid of breaking the moment.
I kissed him.
Slower this time.
Not hungry.
Intentional.
When I pulled back, his eyes were darker, stunned in that way that made my chest warm.
I reached for the buttons of his shirt.
He watched me do it.
Didn't stop me.
Didn't breathe.
I opened one.
Then another.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing reckless.
I leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss just below his collarbone.
Not claiming.
Acknowledging.
Keifer sucked in a breath like it surprised him.
"Jay," he said, voice low and unsteady now, "you're going to ruin me."
I smiled against his skin. "Good."
He laughed quietly, disbelief threaded through it.
"You realize," he said, fingers tightening slightly at my waist, "I spent six years teaching myself not to touch you."
I lifted my head, eyes meeting his.
"And I spent six years pretending I didn't want you to."
Silence stretched.
Charged.
Alive.
He brushed his thumb along my jaw, gentle now, grounding.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "Really."
I nodded. "More than okay."
That was when—
Knock. Knock.
Sharp. Loud. Unforgiving.
We both froze.
I pulled back instantly, heart racing, lips tingling.
Keifer swore under his breath.
"Sir?" a voice called from outside the door. "The legal team's ready when you are."
I slid off his lap reluctantly, smoothing my jacket like nothing had happened.
Keifer cleared his throat, straightening his shirt—rebuttoning slower than necessary.
"Give us a minute," he called evenly.
Footsteps retreated.
The door fell quiet again.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
And then we both laughed — soft, breathless, relieved.
"That," he said, standing and brushing a thumb over my cheek, "was extremely unfair timing."
I smiled. "Get used to it, boyfriend."
His eyes softened immediately.
"Oh," he said quietly. "I already am."
And just before unlocking the door—
He leaned in and pressed one last kiss to my forehead.
Steady.
Certain.
Like a promise he fully intended to keep...