27. Orion

27

ORION

“ W ow,” Ember said as she watched me slide a key into the elevator control panel. The key allowed me to lift a small metal latch that covered a button at the top labeled with a “P”. “That’s fancy.”

“Is it?” I asked, grinning. I had never really thought too hard about it.

The elevator smoothly began its ascent.

“I’m guessing that means this elevator opens directly to your apartment? Yeah. That’s fancy. What do you do if somebody is in here when you want to go home? What if they refuse to get off on their floor and ride right to your place?”

“I would glare them into submission.”

Ember shot me a surprised look. “Was that a joke, Mr. Foster?”

“A poor attempt, yes.”

“I liked it,” she said, smiling and leaning in as she wrapped her arms around my bicep, laying her head on my shoulder. “I like it when you’re not so serious all the time.”

I cleared my throat, looking for a way to change the subject as the elevator seemed to crawl toward my apartment. “I should warn you about my cat,” I said slowly. “He’s… unique. And don’t be offended if he only glares at you from the shadows. He likes to do that to intimidate people.”

“You have a cat? Somehow I can’t picture that.”

“Yeah,” I said, stepping forward when the elevator doors opened to my apartment. “It was Remmy’s fault. She gifted him to me, giving me no choice.”

“Ah,” she said, glancing around my penthouse apartment. I found myself seeing it through her eyes—stark, modern, everything in its place. Almost sterile, really. The only signs of actual life were Goblin's cat tower by the window and his water fountain near the kitchen.

"Very you," she said with a small smile. "Though I expected more spreadsheets on the walls."

“Not in the living room,” I said. “I hang those in my home office.”

She looked at me over her shoulder, lips curving into another smile as her eyes searched me. “Another joke?”

“Yes…” I said slowly. That one hadn’t actually been a joke. I really did like to post certain documents to the wall in my home office for easy access and reminders of goals.

I shouldn't have invited her up. The smart thing would have been to say goodnight after dinner. But something about the way she'd looked in the soft restaurant lighting, her cheeks flushed from wine and laughter, had made me want to stretch the evening longer.

Now she was wandering my living room, running her fingers along my bookshelves, and I couldn't stop staring at her. The sapphire blue dress she'd worn to dinner hugged every curve, and her dark hair fell in soft waves down her back. But it was more than that. There was something almost luminous about her tonight, as if getting to know the real me had made her shine brighter somehow.

Or was it that this new me was better able to see and appreciate her for what she was?

"Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, and I turned to find Goblin had materialized on the back of my sofa, studying her with his usual disdain. "He looks like Catman's evil twin."

"Goblin is many things, but evil twin implies there's a good twin somewhere."

She laughed, holding out her hand for Goblin to sniff. To my shock, he immediately headbutted her palm, purring.

"Traitor," I muttered in disbelief.

"He knows I speak cat," she said, scratching under his chin. "Don't you, handsome boy?"

"He's hardly handsome.”

"Hey now," she protested. "Some of us appreciate unique beauty. Look at those extra toes! And those wrinkles! He's perfect."

I watched her coo over my supposedly terrifying cat, something warm and dangerous expanding in my chest. "You're the first person besides me he's ever liked."

"Really?" She looked pleased. "Maybe he can sense I have an ancient, possibly immortal cat of my own. Maybe that’s why Catman was nice to you, too. He sensed you had your own little beast at home."

"About that… How old is Catman exactly?"

"Nobody knows," she said seriously. "He might have witnessed the birth of civilization. He might be older than time itself. Or he might just be a really old regular cat who likes to act mysterious."

I found myself smiling. "You're ridiculous."

"Says the man who organizes stranger's garages when drunk."

"That was one time."

"That we know of,” she said with a smirk. She wandered over to my window, looking out at the city lights. "With a view like this, I don’t know if I’d ever leave home."

I moved to stand beside her, close enough to smell her perfume. The now-familiar scent made me want to bury my face in her neck, kissing her and basking in that scent that was so uniquely her.

“Yeah,” she said. “I can see how a place like this would almost make up for your odd personality traits.”

"Almost?" I asked.

She turned to face me, and suddenly we were inches apart. "Well," she said softly, "you'd have to do something pretty spectacular to make up for alphabetizing your ties."

"They're organized by color value and occasion," I corrected automatically, earning another of those laughs that seemed to light her up from within.

"Of course they are." She bit her lip, studying me. "You know, you're different tonight. More... real."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good," she said quickly. "Definitely good. I like seeing this side of you."

"You seem to bring it out of me, whether I like it or not," I admitted. “It’s concerning.”

"Concerning because I'm your employee?" she asked, turning back to the window.

"That's part of it." I watched her reflection in the glass, the way the city lights played across her face. "Though I'm starting to think that's the least complicated aspect of whatever this is between us."

She tensed slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Just that there are things..." I trailed off, thinking about Davenport's properties, about the legal loophole that would give us ownership when he died. About how attached she was growing to the old man's vision. "Things that make this inadvisable."

"Oh." She wrapped her arms around herself. “I understand.”

Something in her tone made me look at her sharply. "Ember?—"

"I should probably go," she said quickly. "It's late, and we both have work tomorrow."

I had said something wrong, though I couldn’t guess what. The way she withdrew so suddenly made me feel as though I had accidentally pressed a sensitive button within her, something that couldn’t be easily undone. But how the hell had so few, seemingly innocent words done so much damage?

It was frustrating, and I found myself retreating to my own professionalism. Work and business were shields I could put up. They were tools to separate myself from all these messy fucking emotions and landmines I never saw coming.

“You’re right,” I said. “It’s very late. Let me call you a car.”

"No need. I can walk. It's a nice night."

"It's almost midnight. I'm calling you a car."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, Sir, Mr. Foster."

The formality stung after the intimacy of the evening. I watched her say goodbye to Goblin, who actually meowed in protest when she stopped petting him.

"Told you he likes me," she said, but her usual playfulness felt forced.

"Ember," I said as she reached the door. "Tonight was..."

"Complicated?" she offered.

"I was going to say nice."

"That too." She hesitated, then added softly, "Thank you for letting me meet your friend. And Goblin. And... this version of you."

"Thank you for making me want to be this version."

Something flickered in her eyes—regret maybe, or longing. Then she was gone, leaving only the ghost of her perfume and the memory of how right she'd looked in my space.

Goblin jumped onto the kitchen counter and stared.

I sighed. “How did I manage to fuck that up so thoroughly?”

I loosened my tie and poured myself a drink - something I rarely did this late. But tonight had shaken something loose in me. Seeing Ember with Colton and Jessica, watching her charm my best friend and his date, had made me imagine possibilities I had no business considering.

I could picture her here, curled up on my couch with Goblin. Could see her adding touches of warmth to my stark apartment, drawing me out of my carefully constructed shell like she'd been doing since the day she walked into my life with her stack of hate notes.

But I also remembered her face when Davenport talked about preserving his legacy. How passionate she was about honoring the history of those buildings.

She would never forgive me when she learned the truth.

Better to keep my distance. Better to maintain professional boundaries and ignore the way she made me want to tear down every wall I'd built.

My phone buzzed with a text from Colton.

Colton: She's good for you, man. Don't fuck it up.

Too late, I thought, tossing back my drink.

I was already fucking it up by wanting things I couldn't have. By letting her make me feel things I had no business feeling.

Tomorrow, I decided, we would go back to normal. Back to boss and employee. Back to safe distance and professional boundaries.

It was better that way.