Chapter 1 After Hours 1

Claire's POV By eight forty-five, the office cleaner had finished the twenty-third floor, the reception lights were dimmed, and I was still sitting at my desk with a spreadsheet that should have been someone else's problem. I checked the balance on my banking app for the third time that evening. My landlord had given me until Friday to settle the rent arrears, and the final payment on my mother's hospital loan was due next month. Between the two, I had enough reasons to stay employed and accept every hour of overtime Mercer Holdings offered. I closed the app when the intercom buzzed. "Claire, are you still here?" I looked through the glass wall of Daniel Mercer's office. He was standing beside his desk, phone in hand, watching me as if he hadn't passed my workstation twice in the last ten minutes. "Unless you've hired someone else to finish the quarterly schedules, yes." "Bring me the revised copy before you go." "I sent it to you twenty minutes ago." "I know. I'd like to go through one section with you." I stared at the intercom after he disconnected. Daniel had a talent for making perfectly ordinary requests sound like invitations, and lately I had begun to suspect he knew exactly what he was doing. I printed the schedule, collected my notebook, and walked into his office without knocking. His jacket hung over the back of his chair. The sleeves of his white shirt were folded to his forearms, and his tie lay beside an untouched cup of coffee. "Which section needs changing?" I asked. "Sit down first." "If this takes another hour, I'm charging you for dinner." "That's reasonable. What would you like?" I stopped beside the visitor's chair. "I was joking." "I wasn't." Daniel took the papers from me and placed them on his desk. I had worked for him for eleven months. He could be impatient with suppliers, ruthless about missed deadlines, and surprisingly considerate when someone on his staff had a genuine problem. I knew his habits well enough to recognize when he was avoiding the subject he actually wanted to discuss. "You didn't call me in here for the schedule," I said. "No. The schedule is fine." "Then you could have let me go home." "I could have." He pulled out the chair opposite his desk. "Will you sit down?" I sat, mostly because my feet hurt. I'd worn new heels that morning, an expensive mistake I intended to return if the shop would take them back. Daniel remained standing for a moment before settling into his chair. "You've been leaving the room whenever I walk into the staff kitchen," he said. "Because I usually have work to do." "Yesterday you abandoned a full cup of tea." "It was terrible tea." "You made it yourself." I laughed despite myself. "Are you keeping records of my tea now?" "Only when you run away before drinking it." I crossed my legs and opened my notebook, though there was nothing to write. Over the past month, his attention had become harder to dismiss. He remembered how I took my coffee, noticed when I changed my hair, and sometimes looked at me for a second longer than a conversation required. I had caught myself watching him too, which was precisely why I'd started finding reasons to leave the kitchen. "You're my boss," I reminded him. "I'm aware." "Then you should know why I've been careful." His expression changed. "Have I made you uncomfortable?" The question deserved a proper answer. Daniel had never touched me, suggested that my job depended on pleasing him, or made a remark I couldn't challenge. Whatever was happening between us had developed in small conversations neither of us seemed willing to end. "Not uncomfortable," I said. "Distracted. There's a difference." He leaned back. "I've been distracted too." I glanced at the clock above his bookcase. Nine seventeen. The last train I usually took would be crowded, and I would still need to walk from the station. I should have picked up my bag and left. Instead, I stayed where I was. "Daniel, what are you hoping I'll say?" "That you've noticed this isn't entirely one-sided." "I've noticed." "There is something else," I said. "You're married." "Vanessa and I separated eight months ago. We live apart, and the divorce is in progress." "I've heard that explanation before, from men who went home to their wives afterward." "Then you have every reason to question it." "Do you still want to be with her?" "No." His answer was immediate, but I wasn't foolish enough to believe one word settled a complicated marriage. I had seen Vanessa twice at company events. Both times she'd been polite to me and cold to Daniel, though neither encounter told me what happened when they were alone. "I don't want to become somebody's office gossip," I told him. "I need this job, and I worked hard to get it." "I wouldn't ask you to risk your position." "You might not mean to. People would still talk." "I know." I appreciated that he didn't pretend the problem would disappear because he was the person signing my salary. For once, he seemed uncertain about how to proceed. He glanced at the schedule between us, then pushed it aside. "I'd like to take you to dinner," he said. "Not as your employer. If you'd rather forget this conversation, nothing changes at work." "Where?" "Anywhere you choose." I looked at him carefully. I could say no and leave with my dignity intact. I could also admit that, on more than one evening, I'd wondered what it would be like to talk to him without a desk between us. "Dinner doesn't mean I'm agreeing to anything else," I said. "Of course not." "And I won't sneak around the office for you." "Understood." I stood and gathered my notebook. Daniel rose too, but stayed on his side of the desk. "Send me the details tomorrow," I said. "I'll decide whether I like the restaurant." "Claire?" I turned at the door. "Are you saying yes?" "I'm saying you have one chance to impress me outside this building." He smiled then, openly enough that I almost smiled back. "And if I do?" he asked. I held his gaze. "Then we'll have to decide what happens after dinner."