Chapter 1: Engagement Rings and Office Shadows
The fluorescent light above flickered once, a nervous stutter that made Rain pause mid-reach. Her fingertips grazed the cardboard edge of the file box, and she stretched further onto her toes, the hem of her cream blouse pulling taut across her chest. The archive vault smelled of cold metal and old paper, a sterile chill that seeped through her thin stockings and settled into her bones.
She dropped her heel and cursed under her breath, soft and colorfully enough that no one would hear. Dario had promised to help her locate the acquisition files this morning. He had promised, and then he had vanished to a client lunch she had not been invited to, leaving her a clipped text message about being needed elsewhere.
Needed elsewhere. Always needed elsewhere.
Rain shoved her reading glasses up her nose and tried again, hopping this time. The box was too far back on the shelf, wedged between a binder and a stack of manila folders that had surrendered to entropy years ago. She was going to have to climb the shelving unit or fetch a step stool, and she was already too warm in this silk blouse to consider that kind of effort worth it.
The sound of footsteps reached her from the far end of the aisle.
She did not turn. She recognized the rhythm, the deliberate weight of each step, the unhurried patience of a man who never had to rush anywhere. Joaquin. The vault was his territory, a place he occasionally prowled when he wanted silence, or when he wanted something else entirely.
The footsteps stopped.
"Leave it."
His voice was low, quiet, with the sort of calm authority that made her spine stiffen. Rain let her arm drop and turned.
He stood at the mouth of the aisle, blocking out the dim light from the main corridor. Dark hair slicked back, white shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms bare and lean under the charcoal wool vest. His watch glinted as he folded his arms, and she caught the heavy matte weight of his signet ring.
She swallowed. "The files. Dario said they were here."
"Dario is not here."
Her fingers twitched against her hip. "I noticed."
"He's at a lunch." Joaquin took a step into the aisle, and the space between them shrank. "With the Otero group. You weren't invited."
"Thank you for the update." Her voice came out thinner than she intended, and she hated it. "I'll just get the files and go."
She turned back to the shelf, reaching again, and this time she heard him move before she felt him. His body pressed against her from behind, a solid wall of heat that trapped her against the cold steel shelving, and his hand landed on the metal above her shoulder, boxing her in. She went very still.
"You're reaching wrong." His breath was warm against her ear. "You'll throw your shoulder out."
"I'm fine."
"You're not." His hand slid down, fingers brushing the small of her back, and she felt the fabric of her blouse bunch under his grip. "You've been avoiding me for two weeks."
"I've been busy."
"You've been hiding."
She tried to turn, but he did not let her. His palm flattened against the curve of her hip, pressing her more firmly into the cold shelf, and he hiked the hem of her dress up over her thighs. The air hit her skin, and she inhaled sharply.
He did not ask. He never asked.
"Joaquin." His name came out shaky.