Chapter 12

Kayna’s POV

Morning in Los Angeles didn’t feel like morning at all.

I hadn’t slept much the night before, tossing and turning under crisp hotel sheets that smelled faintly of citrus and starch. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind replayed the moment Damian stood outside my hotel door. The sight of him standing there looking composed, unreadable, and effortlessly charming had imprinted itself like a brand.

I’d lied to myself, thinking exhaustion would dull the memory. It hadn’t. It sharpened it. By three a.m., I was sitting up against the headboard, staring at the ceiling, whispering into the silence:

You’re here for work, Kayna. Just work.

By the time the sun began to shine into the horizon, I was dressed and sitting at the little desk in my suite, laptop open, coffee untouched. My eyes burned from lack of sleep, but my hands moved anyway, typing, scrolling, reviewing the Cosmo files again as if the answers might change overnight.

I had a mother two states away, sick and still calling to check if I’d eaten. I had a father who kept asking to see me from prison walls I refused to visit. I had no business losing focus now.

But the truth was, Damian Marshall unsettled me in a way no spreadsheet or client ever could.

A knock startled me. For a second, my heart hammered—I half-expected it to be him.

Instead, room service rolled in, a tray balanced with a neat silver dome, fresh juice, and coffee that smelled stronger than the one I’d abandoned.

“Courtesy of Mr. Marshall,” the waiter said with a polite smile.

My throat went dry.

I wanted to tell him to take it away, that I didn’t need another reminder of my boss intruding into my personal space. But instead, I nodded, thanked him, and shut the door softly.

The tray gleamed under the morning light. Toasted bread, scrambled eggs, avocado toast, perfectly arranged fruit.

Damian Marshall thought of everything.

And I hated that part of me warmed at the gesture.

By nine, Ava texted:

Meeting reconfirmed for tomorrow evening. Boss wants full deck updated with your overnight edits. We’re meeting at noon to run through it.

My fingers hovered over the phone. I typed back a simple Understood. Professional. Distant. Exactly how I needed to be.

Still, the thought of sharing a table with him at noon made my stomach twist.

……

The hotel lobby was buzzing when I came down late that morning. Executives in suits, vacationers in shorts, the faint clatter of luggage wheels scrambling across the marble floors.

Damian wasn’t there. Relief hit me before disappointment followed closely behind. I hated that I felt both.

Instead, I ran into Ava, poised as ever, her tablet hugged to her chest. “Kayna, good, you’re early. Damian’s finishing calls upstairs. We’ll review in one of the conference rooms here before heading out.”

I nodded, clutching my laptop bag a little tighter. “Of course.”

Her gaze lingered. “Rough night?”

I stiffened. “Just preparing the files.”

Ava smiled knowingly, though she said nothing.

The conference room was sleek, glass-walled, overlooking the hotel pool. I tried to focus on my notes as Ava walked me through tomorrow’s agenda. She was efficient, brisk, sharp in a way I admired. Working under her guidance was easier, cleaner.

Then Damian arrived.

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

He moved with purpose, every detail of him immaculate. He wore a dark suit, crisp blue tie that matched his eyes, the faint shadow of stubble that made him look dangerously human beneath all that control.

His gaze flicked to me briefly. Too brief.

“Let’s get started,” he said.

We went through numbers, projections, strategy. Ava presented, I supplemented, Damian questioned. His tone was clipped, precise, and yet he seemed… distracted. His pen tapped against the table at intervals, his gaze cutting away to the window more than once.

I told myself not to notice. I told myself to keep breathing evenly, to answer his questions like the professional I’d promised myself I was.

But then, halfway through, he addressed me directly.

“Kayna,” he said, voice low, deliberate.

I looked up too fast, pulse stuttering. “Yes, Mr. Marshall?”

His eyes locked with mine, unreadable. “The adjustments you made overnight. Explain the key points in cost allocation.”

I launched into an explanation, words steadier than the thrum in my chest. His gaze didn’t waver. It pinned me, measured me, and for one terrifying second, it felt less like a business review and more like something else entirely.

When I finished, silence stretched.

Then he nodded once. “Good work.”

Two simple words. Professional. But the warmth in his tone made me feel like I’d won something I hadn’t realized I’d been competing for.

The rest of the review passed in a blur. By the time noon sunlight sharpened across the table, Ava was wrapping things up.

Damian closed his folder. “That’s enough for today. We’ll refine again tomorrow morning.”

He stood, buttoned his jacket, and turned toward me. “Kayna, a word.”

My stomach dropped.

Ava raised her brows but said nothing, slipping out with her tablet. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with him.

The room suddenly felt too small.

Damian leaned against the edge of the table, arms folding loosely. His gaze found mine again, quieter now, less sharp.

“You did well last night,” he said.

My throat tightened. “Thank you, sir.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “I told Ava to send breakfast to your room. You barely touched anything yesterday.”

Heat rushed to my face. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I did,” he countered softly. “If you collapse in the middle of the Cosmo presentation, it won’t help either of us.”

Something in his tone—firm but almost protective—sent my pulse racing.

I swallowed. “I won’t collapse.”

His eyes held mine. “Good.”

The air between us thickened, heavy with something neither of us said.

Finally, he straightened, his expression shuttering back to neutral. “Go rest this afternoon. We’ll meet again in the morning.”

Dismissed.

But as I gathered my things and hurried out, my heart wouldn’t slow.

Back in my suite, I closed the door, dropped my laptop on the desk, and pressed a hand over my chest.

Professional. Just professional.

So why did it feel like a single look from Damian Marshall was unraveling me piece by piece?

That night, I tried again to sleep. But the city hummed outside my window, the clock ticked past midnight, and my thoughts replayed his voice, his gaze, his words.

You did well last night.

Good work.

Go rest.

Each sentence meant nothing. And somehow, everything.

When the knock came again—softer this time—I froze, staring at the door.

My pulse thudded in my ears.

I didn’t move.