Chapter 2 - It was such a dominant answer that Liv almost laughed.
“Of course you don’t. Regret requires reflection, and you’re allergic to introspection.”
“Harsh, but fair,” he admitted. “Though, for the record, I’ve been plenty introspective tonight.”
Something in his tone made her stomach flip in a way she did not want to examine.
“About what?”
Silence stretched between them. Liv thought maybe he had fallen asleep or decided not to answer.
Then he spoke.
“About why I’ve never actually pursued this thing between us.”
Her heart stopped.
“There’s nothing between us.”
“Liv,” he said, and something almost gentle lived in the way he said her name. “We’ve been dancing around this for 3 years. You know it. I know it. Probably everyone in the office knows it.”
“That’s just our dynamic,” she protested. “We banter. We flirt. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” he asked. She heard him sit up. “Because from where I’m lying, literally on the floor to avoid being in the same bed as you, it feels like it means quite a lot.”
Liv should have shut the conversation down. She should have reminded him about professional boundaries and appropriate workplace behavior.
Something stopped her.
Maybe the darkness made honesty easier. Maybe exhaustion had lowered her defenses. Maybe 3 years of pretending had finally caught up to her.
“Why didn’t you?” she asked quietly. “Pursue it, I mean.”
He was quiet for so long she thought he would not answer.
“Because you’re the first woman in my entire adult life who made me want to be better,” he said finally. “And I was terrified that if I tried and failed, if I reverted to my usual pattern of casual and temporary, I’d lose the one person who actually sees me as more than just a good time.”
The honesty in his voice made her chest ache.
“That’s surprisingly self-aware for someone who claims to avoid introspection.”
“I contain multitudes,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Most of them deeply flawed, but occasionally insightful.”
“Dominic—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted. “I’m not asking for anything. I just thought maybe after 3 years of pretending, 1 honest conversation wouldn’t kill us.”
He was wrong, because the conversation was killing her. It was killing every carefully constructed wall she had built, every logical reason she had given herself for keeping distance, every excuse she had made about why Dominic Cain was exactly the wrong type of man for her.
“You’re right,” she admitted into the darkness.
“About everything?”
“About the thing between us. The dancing around it. All of it.” She swallowed. “And you’re also right that it terrifies me, because you’re not wrong about your patterns, and I can’t be another woman who thought she could be the exception.”
“I know,” he said softly. “Which is why I’m sleeping on the floor instead of doing what I actually want to do, which is prove to you that some patterns are worth breaking.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with possibility and danger in equal measure.
Liv knew they had crossed an invisible line. Maybe not physically, but emotionally. There was no going back to whatever careful balance they had maintained before.
“Good night, Dominic,” she said finally, because continuing the conversation felt like standing at the edge of a cliff.
“Good night, Liv,” he replied. “Sweet dreams about appropriate workplace boundaries and professional distance.”
She smiled despite everything.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re perfect,” he said so quietly she almost missed it. “Which is exactly the problem.”
Liv must have fallen asleep eventually because she woke to the sound of the bathroom door opening and light spilling across the dark room.
Dominic emerged in a cloud of steam, hair wet and skin flushed from what was apparently a very hot shower. Liv had exactly 3 seconds to register that he was wearing nothing but a towel before the universe decided to test her entire moral framework.
The towel slipped.
Not a little slip. Not a subtle suggestion of movement. A full catastrophic failure of terry cloth and gravity left him completely exposed in the doorway while Liv’s brain short-circuited trying to process what was happening.
“Oh my God,” she yelped, covering her eyes with both hands like a Victorian maiden confronting impropriety.
“Liv,” Dominic said, followed by scrambling sounds that suggested he was trying to recover the traitorous towel. “Sorry. I thought you were asleep.”
“I was asleep,” she said, her voice higher than normal. “And now I’m awake and traumatized.”
“Traumatized is a strong word.”
“You’re naked in my vicinity. Traumatized is the appropriate word.”
“Technically, I’m naked in my vicinity,” he corrected. “You’re just collaterally exposed to the situation.”
Liv kept her hands firmly over her eyes, though her traitorous brain was already cataloging details she absolutely did not need to remember.
“Are you decent yet?”
“Define decent,” he said, amusement in his voice, which was infuriating given the circumstances.
“Covered. Clothed. No longer assaulting my retinas with your naked body.”
“Your retinas seemed pretty enthusiastic about the assault for those first few seconds.”
“I was in shock,” she protested. “It’s a natural human response to unexpected nudity.”
“Unexpected nudity,” he repeated, clearly enjoying this far too much. “That’s going in my autobiography.”
“Your autobiography is going to be very short if I murder you for this.”
She heard him moving around, the rustle of fabric hopefully meaning he was putting on actual clothes and not just rearranging the treacherous towel.
“Okay,” he said finally. “You can look now. I’m fully clothed in pajama pants and nothing else because apparently I packed for a romantic getaway instead of a professional trip.”
Liv peeked through her fingers like a child watching a scary movie, confirming he was indeed wearing pants, even if his chest was still very much on display.
“You own shirts,” she pointed out, trying to look anywhere except at the defined muscles she absolutely had not noticed. “I’ve seen you wear them multiple times. It’s kind of your signature look.”
“It’s hot,” he said, settling back onto his floor arrangement. “The storm knocked out the air conditioning. I’m not sleeping in a full outfit just to protect your delicate sensibilities.”
“My sensibilities aren’t delicate. They’re appropriately calibrated for normal professional boundaries.”
“Professional boundaries,” he said, and something darker entered his voice. “Is that what we’re still pretending this is?”
Her heart was racing. She told herself it was from the shock of the towel incident, not from the way he looked at her in the dim light.
“What else would it be?”
“I don’t know, Liv,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure coworkers don’t usually have the kind of tension we have. The kind where an accidentally dropped towel feels like the most significant thing that’s happened all week.”
“It’s significant because it’s inappropriate,” she said, trying to inject conviction into her voice. “Tomorrow we’re going back to normal and pretending this entire night never happened.”
“Are we?” he asked, sitting up properly. “Because I don’t think I can do that anymore. Pretend that seeing you every day doesn’t make me question every casual relationship I’ve ever had. Pretend that the reason I never pursue anything serious isn’t because no one measures up to the woman who sits outside my office and tolerates my nonsense.”
She should have shut this down. She should have reminded him about the rules they had established.
But the honesty in his voice demolished her defenses faster than she could rebuild them.
“Dominic—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “I know I’m exactly the wrong type of guy for you. I know my track record is terrible. I know you have every reason not to trust this. But Liv, that towel dropping was maybe the least awkward thing about tonight because at least nakedness is honest.”
“That’s a terrible metaphor.”
“It’s 3:00 in the morning, and I’m sleeping on a floor to avoid touching you,” he said. “My metaphor skills are compromised.”
Despite everything, Liv laughed. The tension broke just enough to let her breathe.
“This is insane,” she said.
“I agree. But I’ve been insane about you for 3 years, and tonight just made it impossible to pretend otherwise.”
The rain had softened to a gentle rhythm against the windows. In the quiet that followed, Liv realized they had crossed another line. Maybe not the physical one they had been so careful about, but something just as significant.
“Go to sleep, Dominic,” she said finally. “Before 1 of us says something we can’t take back.”
“Pretty sure we already did,” he replied, but he lay back down. “Good night, Liv.”
“Good night,” she whispered. “And for the record, you should probably invest in a better towel.”
His laugh was warm and genuine in the darkness.
“Noted.”
Neither of them slept after that.
The towel incident had shattered whatever pretense of normalcy they had been clinging to. They lay in the dark, the rain a constant soundtrack to their mutual insomnia.
“Can I ask you something?” Dominic said after what felt like hours of loaded silence.
“You’re going to regardless of my answer.”
“Why do you work for me?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. Not the playful teasing she was used to. “You’re brilliant. You could work anywhere, do anything. But you’ve stayed for 3 years organizing my chaos.”
Liv stared at the ceiling, considering how honest to be.
“Because you’re the first boss who never underestimated me,” she said finally. “You’re infuriating and inappropriate, and you have the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel, but you’ve never once treated me like I was less capable than I am.”
“That’s a low bar,” he said quietly.
“You’d be surprised how many men can’t clear it.”
The rain intensified again. Liv heard him shift on the floor.
“I’m tired, Liv,” he said, and something raw lived in his voice. “Not physically. I mean existentially. I’m tired of being the guy everyone expects me to be. The charming playboy who doesn’t take anything seriously, who treats relationships like temporary entertainment.”
“Then stop being that guy.”
“It’s not that simple,” he said. “That guy is safe. He doesn’t get hurt because he doesn’t let anyone close enough to matter. He doesn’t fail at relationships because he never really tries.”
Her chest ached at the vulnerability in his admission.
“When did you become so scared of trying?” she asked.
He was quiet for a long moment, and she thought perhaps she had pushed too far.
“My parents had the kind of marriage that looked perfect from the outside,” he said eventually. “Country club events. Charity galas. All the right appearances. Behind closed doors, they barely spoke to each other. They stayed together for image, convenience, and the absolute terror of being alone.”
“Dominic.”
“I watched them for years,” he continued. “Watched my father have discreet affairs. Watched my mother pretend not to notice. Watched them both perform happiness while being completely miserable. I decided I’d rather be honest about being casual than dishonest about being committed.”
The pieces clicked into place, the pattern of behavior everyone judged but no one really understood.
“So you chose never to try at all?” Liv said softly.
“I chose never to lie about what I could offer,” he corrected. “Which seemed kinder than promising forever and delivering nothing.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s realistic.”
There was no conviction in his voice.
“It’s terrified,” she countered. “You’re so scared of becoming your parents that you’ve made sure you’ll never have what they didn’t. Actual connection. Real intimacy. Someone who knows all your flaws and chooses you anyway.”
“And you’re any different?” he asked, not cruelly, but with that sharp observation that cut through pretense. “You go on dates with men you know won’t work out. You find excuses to avoid anything that might actually matter. You’re just as scared as I am. You just hide it better.”
He was not wrong, and she hated that.
“Maybe I am,” Liv admitted. “Maybe we’re both completely broken and using each other as an excuse not to actually try with anyone else.”
“Is that what you think this is?”
“I don’t know what this is,” she said honestly. “But I know it’s not safe anymore. Pretending we’re just coworkers who banter, acting like there’s nothing here when clearly there’s everything here.”
The silence that followed was dense with everything they were not saying, with 3 years of denied attraction and careful distance that had evaporated in a single rain-soaked night.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Dominic said quietly. “I don’t know how to be the person you deserve. The one who commits and stays and doesn’t run when things get complicated.”
“I don’t know how to trust that anyone would stay,” Liv replied, matching his honesty. “Every relationship I’ve had has ended with someone deciding I was too much or not enough, too independent or too needy. I learned it was easier to leave first than wait to be left.”
“So we’re both disasters,” he said, and she heard the ghost of a smile in his voice.
“Completely.”
“Good,” he said. “At least we’re honest about it.”
The rain continued its gentle assault on the windows. Somewhere in the darkness between them, something fundamental shifted. Not into romance or resolution, but into understanding: raw, uncomfortable, and absolutely terrifying.
They were seeing each other clearly for the first time.
Neither of them knew what to do with that.
The storm had other plans for them.
Around 4:00 in the morning, the power went out with a finality that plunged the room into absolute darkness, the kind where a person could not see their hand in front of their face, the kind where every sound became amplified and slightly threatening.
“Dominic,” Liv said, hating how small her voice sounded.
“I’m here,” he replied immediately. “Just the power. Nothing to worry about.”
Then there was a crash from somewhere in the building, loud, jarring, and completely unexplained. Liv’s body moved before her brain could override it. She was out of bed and across the room in seconds, heart hammering as she fumbled in the darkness trying to find him.
“Liv.” His voice came from directly in front of her. “It’s okay. Probably just something falling in the storm.”
Her hand found his arm, and she gripped it harder than necessary, embarrassed by her reaction but unable to let go.
“I know,” she said. “I know it’s nothing. I just—”
“I know,” he interrupted gently.
She felt him shift, his other hand coming up to steady her.
“You hate not being in control. Darkness takes that away.”
The fact that he knew that, that he had paid attention to enough small moments over 3 years to understand this about her, made something crack in Liv’s chest.
They stood in absolute darkness, his hand on her arm, hers gripping him, both of them breathing too fast for a situation that did not warrant this level of panic.
“I should go back to the bed,” Liv whispered.
She did not move.
“You should,” he agreed, but his grip tightened slightly.
Another crash came, closer this time, and Liv stepped forward instinctively, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat of him, until the darkness felt less suffocating because she was no longer alone in it.
“Liv,” he said, and there was something strained in his voice. “You need to step back.”
“Why?”
“Because if I touch you right now,” he said, his voice dropping to something rough and honest, “it won’t be as your boss or your friend or the guy who keeps things safely casual. If I touch you now, it won’t be a game anymore.”
Her breath caught because that was exactly what she wanted and exactly what terrified her.
“Dominic—”
“I mean it,” he interrupted. She felt him physically pulling away, even though every instinct in her body screamed to move closer. “I’ve spent 3 years keeping this line between us because crossing it would change everything. Tonight, in this darkness, with you scared and me barely holding on to the last shred of self-control I have, that line is so thin I can barely see it anymore.”
“Maybe I don’t want the line,” she whispered, the darkness making honesty easier.
He made a sound that was half laugh, half groan.
“Yes, you do,” he said. “Because tomorrow, when the sun comes up and reality returns, you’ll remember all the reasons why I’m wrong for you. Why my track record is terrible. Why getting involved with your boss is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he said. “Because I know you, Liv. I know you think things through. Weigh consequences. Protect yourself from making impulsive decisions you’ll regret. And right now, in the dark, scared and vulnerable, you’re not thinking clearly.”
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The frustrating thing was that he was right. He was being more rational than she was, more protective of her best interests than she was being, and she both loved and hated him for it.
“So what do we do?” she asked.
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