Chapter 7
981words
When his eyes fluttered open, I watched the transformation happen in real time: confusion, recognition, then the walls slamming back into place.
"You stayed," he said, voice rough with sleep as he pulled away.
"I said I would."
He stood, straightening his rumpled clothes. "Last night was... a momentary weakness. It won't happen again."
"Good morning to you too, sunshine."
"We should maintain professional boundaries, Kingsley."
I stretched lazily. "Bit late for that, don't you think?"
His jaw tightened. "Last night doesn't leave this room. We have breakfast with the board in thirty minutes."
"Yes, sir," I mock-saluted. "Whatever you say, sir."
He glared at me before disappearing into the bathroom. I heard the shower start.
Breakfast was excruciating. Morris was back to being the Ice King—all clipped sentences and perfect posture. I played my part, the charming new marketing director, while stealing glances at the man who'd fallen asleep in my arms.
The morning session dragged on—strategic planning, market projections, mind-numbing PowerPoints. When we finally broke for lunch, I headed back to my room for a moment of peace.
A knock at my door surprised me. Morris stood there, looking both ways down the hall before pushing past me into the room.
"Please, come in," I said to the empty hallway before closing the door.
Morris paced my room like a caged animal. "This is a disaster."
"The retreat? I thought the Q3 projections were quite—"
"Not the fucking retreat," he snapped. "This. Us. Whatever happened last night."
Why is my boss suddenly so angry? Is his heat not fully subsided yet, making him irritable? Or maybe he’s embarrassed about last night’s vulnerability. Either way, I’ve never seen the always-composed Morris Lawson this rattled.
I leaned against the wall. "What exactly happened last night? You fell asleep. I held you. Scandalous."
"Don't be obtuse. You know what I mean."
"Actually, I don't. Care to enlighten me?"
He stopped pacing, running a hand through his perfect hair. "I don't... I don't let people see me like that."
"Like what? Human?"
"Vulnerable," he said quietly.
I softened. "Morris—"
"And now you're looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm something to be protected." His voice turned bitter. "Poor little Omega CEO."
I crossed the room, stopping just short of touching him. "Is that what you think this is?"
"Isn't it?"
"No, you idiot. I'm looking at you like someone who's impressed you've carried this weight alone for so long."
That caught him off guard. His carefully constructed mask slipped, just for a moment.
"The board wants to do trust falls this afternoon," he said suddenly. "Fucking trust falls."
I blinked at the subject change. "Okay?"
"If Henderson puts his hands on my waist, I might actually commit murder." A hint of a smile played at his lips. "Think that would be bad for company morale?"
I stared at him. This was new—Morris making jokes?
"Probably," I played along. "Though it might improve efficiency in the short term."
He actually laughed—a short, rusty sound like he wasn't used to making it. "God, these retreats are bullshit. Team building exercises designed by sadists."
"Tell me how you really feel."
"You couldn't handle how I really feel." There was something in his eyes now—a spark I hadn't seen before. "These corporate drones would shit themselves if they knew what I actually think during their presentations."
I grinned. "Now that I'd pay to hear."
"Johnson's proposal? Complete garbage. He just repackaged last year's failure with new buzzwords."
"I noticed that."
"And Michaels? She's been gunning for my job since day one. That whole 'just asking questions' routine is her trying to make me look incompetent."
I watched, fascinated, as Morris Lawson—the man known for his emotional restraint—unleashed a torrent of pent-up observations. It was like watching a different person emerge from behind the mask.
"You should eat something," I said when he finally paused for breath. "You barely touched breakfast."
He waved dismissively. "I'll grab something later."
"No, you won't." I picked up the room phone. "I'm ordering room service. Preferences?"
"You don't need to—"
"Preferences," I repeated firmly.
He stared at me, that strange look back in his eyes. "Omelette. Mushroom and cheese. And coffee. Black."
While we waited for the food, Morris continued his commentary on our colleagues, each observation sharper and funnier than the last. This was a side of him no one at Lawson Enterprises had ever seen—quick-witted, sarcastic, surprisingly hilarious.
When the food arrived, I set it up on the small table by the window. Morris watched me with an unreadable expression.
"What?" I asked, handing him a fork.
"Nothing." He took the fork, our fingers brushing. "Just... no one does this."
"Does what? Orders food?"
"Takes care of..." He trailed off, focusing intently on cutting his omelette.
I didn't push. We ate in comfortable silence, Morris occasionally making acerbic observations about passing colleagues visible through the window.
As he was leaving to prepare for the afternoon session, he paused at the door. "This stays between us."
"What does?"
"Me. The real me." His eyes met mine. "I can't be... this... out there."
"Your secret's safe with me," I promised. "Though for the record, I like this version of you."
Something flickered across his face—vulnerability, longing, I couldn't quite name it.
"See you at trust falls, Kingsley," he said finally. "Try not to drop me."
"Wouldn't dream of it, boss."
After he left, I sat on the edge of my bed, replaying the last hour in my mind. Morris Lawson contained multitudes—the cold CEO, the struggling Omega, and now this sharp-tongued, witty man who'd been hiding behind the facade.
I was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.
