Arabella sat at her desk, fingers gliding over the keyboard as the screen filled with neatly stacked lines of code. She wore her usual quiet focus like a second skin—eyes trained, posture straight, not a trace of distraction on her face.
It had been a few days since she officially joined Kingsley Tech Group. And so far, she'd managed to keep her interactions minimal, her head low, and her tasks neatly completed. The company buzzed around her, filled with confident voices and fast-shifting teams, but she liked staying tucked in her corner—efficient, invisible.
That morning, her manager, Mr. Caldwell, stepped out of his glass cabin, adjusting his watch with a furrowed brow.
"Team, there's been a glitch in the integration," he announced, his voice calm but tight. "Quick meeting in Conference Room B. Ten minutes."
Arabella blinked up from her monitor, heart already skipping a beat.
Meetings were never her strong suit. Speaking up? Presenting her part in front of seniors?
Still, she gathered her notes, pressed her lips together, and joined the team heading down the hall.
The conference room wasn't too big—enough for about a dozen people. A large oval table sat in the middle, and everyone filed in, murmuring softly. Arabella slid into a seat near the left side at the end of the table, not too far but far enough to avoid drawing attention.
The seat to her right was still empty.
Mr. Caldwell stood at the head of the table. "Let's move quickly—we'll walk through the issue, starting with the logic layer implementation."
She was flipping through her notebook when the door opened.
Footsteps. A pause.
She didn't need to look up, She felt it in the air, the shift in the room.
"Mr. Kingsley," someone whispered.
She turned her head slightly—and there he was. Damon Kingsley, their CEO, entering the room in his crisp black suit, confidence in every step.
Mr. Caldwell paused. "Mr. Kingsley," he acknowledged with a nod. "We weren't expecting—"
"I was nearby," Damon said, voice calm and smooth. "Continue, I'll join."
Without a glance around, he walked forward—and pulled the chair beside Arabella.
Arabella's breath caught as he sat.
Right beside her.
He hadn't looked at her. Not directly. But the air between them tightened. Her senses spiked. She kept her head down, eyes on her pages, pulse thrumming somewhere near her throat.
The meeting resumed. Mr. Reeve laid out the issue with the logic integration, explaining what they'd traced so far and what remained unclear.
After a few minutes, he said, "Arabella, you worked on the logic layer. Could you walk us through your part?"
She didn't expect to be called so early. Not with him beside her.
Her chair scraped softly as she stood. "Yes… I handled the parameter mapping and the fallback sequence."
Her voice shook. Barely.
She cleared her throat, kept going.
"The dynamic branches were structured to auto-insulate. I believe the problem is not in the logic itself but in how it's being integrated—especially across the non-standard inputs."
She went on—halting at first, then finding her rhythm. Her hands moved slightly as she explained the flow, the fallback sequence, the constraints. Her points were sharp, her logic clean.
By the time she returned to her seat, the tension in her shoulders had lessened. But just as she sat—
Damon leaned forward to speak—and his arm lifted, stretching across the back of her chair.
Not touching her. But close. So close.
She didn't dare move.
He spoke to Mr. Caldwell about optimization points, perfectly composed—but the weight of his arm, the ease with which he took up space beside her, made Arabella feel as though she were holding her breath underwater.
She focused on her notes. Or pretended to.
The conversation shifted to next point and as Damon sat back, his arm remained where it was.
Then, during a lull in the conversation, his head tilted slightly toward her.
"You alright, Pearls?" he whispered, voice barely brushing the space between them.
Arabella's eyes snapped to him for a heartbeat, startled.
He didn't smile. Not quite. But there was a flicker—just at the corner of his mouth. A flicker of amusement. Of something sharper.
She turned away quickly, cheeks warming, hoping no one noticed.
He said again,"Hmm?"
She rurned around and nodded meekly and turned her face away, her cheeks warm.
And for some reason, watching her flustered like that—the subtle shift in her composure, the way she tried to hide it—he found it far too distracting.
As the last slides were discussed and the key takeaways listed, Mr. Caldwell stood again.
"Thanks, everyone. We'll begin implementation starting next week. Final task allocation will be circulated tomorrow."
Chairs shifted. People stood.
Arabella rose too, carefully stepping away from the chair as Damon's arm slipped back without a word.
He stood beside her now, and for a moment, it felt like he might say something again. But he didn't. Instead, he gave a short nod to Caldwell, then turned to walk out. His arm subtly touched hers as he walked past her and left the room first.
Arabella froze for a moment, feeling her skin hot where the contact happened. Then exhaled slowly watching him walk ouy, collecting her notebook with slightly trembling fingers.
But as she walked back to her floor, she couldn't stop hearing the way he'd said it.
"You alright, Pearls?"
The name lingered in her head far longer than it should have.