Chapter 92 Chapter 92
Chapter 92
Ethan came awake in stages, the way you do when sleep doesn’t want to let go completely. First he noticed the quiet—no traffic, no phones buzzing. Then the low steady hum of the office AC still running even though everyone else had left hours ago. Then the warmth under his cheek. Soft. Steady. Human.
He opened his eyes.
Celine.
His head was in her lap.
She sat perfectly straight on the small couch in the corner of his office, hands clasped so tight her knuckles showed white. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead on nothing in particular, like she was trying not to exist too loudly. Breathing shallow. Careful.
Ethan’s brain caught up in one sharp second.
“Shit ” He jerked upright, nearly tipping the chair he’d been slumped in. “Celine I’m sorry. I didn’t I fell asleep. I didn’t mean ”
He stood too fast. The room tilted for a heartbeat. He grabbed the back of the chair to steady himself, face burning.
She shook her head fast. “It’s okay. Really. You were exhausted. You didn’t do anything.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck hard, like he could scrub the embarrassment away. “That was completely unprofessional. I should’ve set an alarm or… something. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been here since six this morning,” she said quietly. “Anyone would crash. It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. Not really. The air between them had changed in the time he’d been asleep. The office didn’t feel like an office anymore. It felt smaller. Closer. Like the walls had moved in while he wasn’t looking.
Ethan cleared his throat. Twice. “It’s late,” he said. “I can drive you home. If that’s okay. I mean
if you want.”
He sounded like he was asking permission to exist in the same space as her.
Celine looked at him for a long second, then gave a small nod. “Okay. Thank you.”
They didn’t talk much while they locked up. She grabbed her bag. He grabbed his keys and coat. The hallway lights were off on most floors; only the emergency strips glowed along the baseboards. The elevator ride down was silent except for the soft ding at every level that didn’t open.
Outside, Monterey night air hit them—cool, salty, carrying that Pacific smell that never quite leaves the town. Ethan’s car was the only one left in the executive lot.
He opened the passenger door for her out of habit, then realized how formal it looked and felt stupid. She slid in anyway. He got behind the wheel, started the engine, pulled out.
The drive started quiet.
Not awkward, exactly. Just… aware. Every small thing stood out more than it should have. The way the dashboard lights lit the side of her face. The soft click when she buckled her seatbelt. The low murmur of the radio he hadn’t bothered to turn up.
At the first red light, Ethan reached to shift into neutral out of old habit. His knuckles brushed the back of her hand where it rested on the center console.
They both flinched.
“Sorry,” he said instantly, yanking his hand back like he’d touched fire. “I didn’t—”
“It’s okay,” she said, voice softer than before. Almost a whisper.
Their eyes met in the glow of the stoplight. Just a second. Maybe two. Long enough for something to register—surprise, then recognition, then something neither of them named. Ethan looked away first. Swallowed. Focused on the road even though the light was still red.
“I’m really sorry,” he said again.
She let out a small, nervous laugh. “You’ve said that already.”
“Yeah. I know.”
The light changed. He eased forward.
The rest of the drive happened in pieces like that—small touches of sound and movement that felt bigger than they were. A song came on the radio neither of them recognized. She didn’t reach to change it. Neither did he. Streetlights slid across the windshield one after another. Her hands stayed folded in her lap. His stayed at ten and two on the wheel.
When they reached her building—a modest three-story walk-up a few blocks from the water—he pulled up to the curb and put the car in park. Engine idling. Neither of them moved right away.
Celine turned to him. “Thank you,” she said. “For the ride. For… today. For staying late with me.”
He nodded once. “Anytime.”
She reached for the door handle, then stopped. Looked back at him. “Good night, Mr. Castellan.”
The formality hit different now. Softer. Almost careful.
“Good night, Celine.”
She got out, closed the door with a quiet click, and walked up the short path to the entrance. He waited until the lobby light came on and she disappeared inside.
Only then did he let out the breath he’d been holding.
He drove home on autopilot. Streets empty. Mind full.
The penthouse was lit when he walked in. Not bright—just the living-room lamps Sam always left on when he was up late.
Sam was sprawled on the sectional, phone in one hand, beer in the other. He glanced at the wall clock, then at Ethan.
“Eleven-twenty,” Sam said, eyebrows raised. “Office hours getting longer these days?”
Ethan dropped his keys on the console table. “Long day.”
Ethan shrugged, “Busy day.”
“Uh-huh.” Sam grinned. “You look like someone who just realized he’s in trouble.”
“I’m not in trouble.”
“Sure you’re not.”
Ethan didn’t bite. He loosened his tie the rest of the way, pulled it off, and headed for the hallway. “Night, Sam.”
“Night, lover boy.”
Ethan flipped him off without looking back.
In his room he didn’t bother with the overhead light. Just the bedside lamp. He sat on the edge of the mattress, elbows on his knees, staring at the carpet for a minute. Replayed the whole evening. The way her lap had felt under his head. The way she hadn’t pushed him away. The brush of hands in the car. The look at the red light.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Unknown number. Local area code.
He answered anyway.
“Hello?”
A small pause. Then her voice, hesitant. “Mr castellan? It’s Celine.”
He sat up straighter even though she couldn’t see him. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just…” She let out a breath. “I wanted to make sure you got home all right.”
The corner of his mouth lifted before he could stop it. “I did. Thanks for checking.”
“Oh. Good.”
Another small silence. Not heavy. Just there.
“Good night, Celine,” he said quietly.
“Good night… sir.”
She hung up first.
Ethan set the phone down
and stared at it for a second. Then he smiled small, private and real.
He kicked off his shoes, lay back on top of the covers without bothering to change, and closed his eyes.