Tristan

I sat behind my desk, staring at the mountain of paperwork that seemed to mock me. Client files, contracts, reports—all of it blurred together as my thoughts drifted again. Sienna. I was supposed to be knee-deep in legal briefs, but her first day at that new hospital had taken over my mind, refusing to let me focus.

For what felt like the hundredth time, I glanced at my phone which sat tauntingly silent by my side. My fingers twitched, fighting the urge to call her. But what would I even say? "Hey, just checking in?" It sounded ridiculous, intrusive even. Sienna wasn't the type who needed hand-holding. I didn't need to crowd her or, worse, make it seem like I didn't trust her because I trusted her completely, and she deserved this—her moment, her chance to settle into a new chapter without my insecurities casting a shadow over her day.

I sighed and dragged a random file toward me, flipping it open, but the words might as well have been hieroglyphics. Every time I tried to concentrate, my brain rebelled, wandering back to Her. How was she settling in? Was she nervous? Was she already charming the socks off her new colleagues? Who was she meeting? And, damn it—was she thinking about me? Or was she too caught up in the whirlwind of a new environment?

I couldn't help imagining her mingling with new faces, exchanging those easy smiles of hers. What if someone there caught her attention, someone smooth, charismatic, maybe even... someone like me? The thought alone was enough to twist my gut in knots.

Unable to resist the impulse, I tossed the file back onto the desk and grabbed my phone. My thumb hovered over her contact. I needed to say something. I needed to feel connected to her, even if just for a moment.

But I couldn't be too forward.

A call from me could feel more like an intrusion than a support. I didn't want to impose on her first day, especially when she was likely trying to make a good impression.

Instead, I opted for a text, hoping it would convey my thoughts without overwhelming her.

I pulled up our message thread and tapped out a quick message:

Me: Do you miss me yet?

It was short, simple, and harmless with just a little nudge to remind her I was thinking about her without coming on too strong. I hit send and leaned back in my chair.

Now came the hardest part—the waiting.

I stared at my phone, waiting. Each second felt like a minute, each minute stretched into eternity. Looking away, I grabbed another random file and forced myself to concentrate on it, but concentration was elusive. My gaze kept darting back to the phone, as if willing it to vibrate with her reply.

Why hadn't she responded yet? Did she not see my message? I knew I was being ridiculous—it hadn't even been five minutes—but the anticipation gnawed at me, intensifying the tightness in my chest.

Maybe I overthinking this. Maybe she was busy and too caught up in her day to notice. Or maybe... I wasn't overthinking. Maybe she didn't miss me at all and was deliberately holding off on replying.

I glanced at my phone again. Still no response. I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. Maybe I should've called. Maybe this message was too laid back, too easy to ignore.

But no, I had to trust her. I had to trust that she would reach out when she could. She wouldn't leave me hanging like this without a reason.

Once more, I looked away and forced myself to focus on a client agreement, reading through it with an effort that felt increasingly strained.

Just then, the familiar buzz of my phone shattered the silence, and there it was—her name lighting up the screen like a beacon in the dark.

My heart skipped as I snatched it up.

Sienna: Of course I miss you. It's crazy here, but I'm thinking about you. Can't wait to tell you everything later. Do you miss me?

Her words were a balm to my anxious thoughts. I smiled, feeling a bit foolish for letting my nerves get the better of me. I typed back quickly, eager to keep the conversation going.

Me: Every second.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Sienna: That's hot and sweet.

My lips tugged up.

Me: Let me see you, send me a picture.

Sienna: One sec.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again, and there it was—a photo of her in those baggy blue scrubs, with a caption that read: "It's bad, I know :( "

But, it wasn't bad. Not even close.

Even in the exhaustion, she looked... breathtaking, and the way her beauty seemed to shine through, even with the strain of the day wearing on her, sent a sudden, visceral longing coursing through me, so intense it was almost painful.

God, I loved this woman so much. I missed her. I wanted to be there with her. I texted back:

Me: "Bad?" Baby, all I can think about now is how I'll have to rub one out at work because you just unlocked my sexy scrub nurse fantasy.

Her reply was almost immediate, followed by a burst of laughing emojis.

Sienna: Oh my God, Tristan, you better behave!

I chuckled, feeling a swell of happiness. I could picture her right now, blushing, maybe biting her lip the way she always did whenever I got in her head like this.

Me: Can't help it. You're making *it* really hard—literally.

Sienna: You're terrible! I'm at work!

I laughed.

Me: Speaking of work, how's it going?

There was a pause before she replied.

Sienna: Eh, works fine, hectic but mostly good. I'm settling in fine, though the Ward sister's been on me all day. I swear she's trying to make my life harder on purpose.

My smile wavered as I read that.

Me: I can make her disappear if you want. Just say the word.

Sienna: As tempting as that sounds, I can handle her.

Of course, she could. Sienna was as tough as they came, and I loved that about her. Grinning again, I responded:

Me: Want me to pick you up later? So we can finish off where we left things this morning?

There was a delay this time, and for a moment, I wondered if I'd pushed too far. But then her response came in, short but sweet.

Sienna: No, it's fine. I've gotta go, babe. On the clock! Love you!

Me: I love you too.

I set my phone down, a satisfied grin tugging at my lips. The longing still simmered beneath the surface, but for now, her words were enough to keep me grounded.

The door to my office creaked open at that moment and Stefan walked in, looking like he'd just finished a long shift as a wax statue at Madame Tussauds.

Great.

His posture was stiff as ever, mechanical too, like someone swapped out his soul for a corporate manual. It was a far cry from the usual lighthearted, quick with a joke, and always giving me grief about the little things man I was used to, but I guess I had no right to complain about it since I had pretty much engineered this mood shift by, well, being me. A.K.A. 'Manhattan's most famous asshole.'

He approached the desk, dropping a thick stack of papers in front of me without so much as glancing in my direction. "Here's your schedule for the rest of the day, sir," he informed in a tone that would've made Siri sound lively. "You have a meeting at 2, and your conference call at 4 has been moved to 5."

I stared at him for a long moment, willing him to just look at me—just once—but he didn't. So I exhaled and gave up, leaning back in my chair with the hopes that it could somehow distance me from the awkwardness. "Anything else?"

"No, sir."

There it was again—that loaded sir. He knew it drove me nuts, which was precisely why he used it like a finely honed weapon.

"Anything else you need before I leave, sir?" he droned on, sounding like he was auditioning for a role as a disgruntled cyborg.

I sighed. "When are you going to stop acting like a malfunctioning android, Stefan?"

He looked at me briefly. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

Oh, he knew exactly what I meant. The satisfaction in his eyes was almost imperceptible, but it was there, lurking beneath the stoic mask he'd perfected over the past few days. This was a cold war and he was punishing me in his own quiet, passive-aggressive way.

"What I mean is, enough with the sir nonsense. I know you're mad at me. You've made it pretty damn obvious."

His face stayed perfectly neutral, though I could see a slight twitch in his jaw. "I'm just doing my job, sir." The tiny bit of extra bite he'd added to those last words made me want to throw something, preferably at him.

"No, you're not," I shot. "You're doing a terrible impersonation of someone doing their job. And I know you're still pissed off, but that doesn't warrant you acting like R2-D2's grumpy cousin."

His posture stiffened even more, if that was possible. "If there's nothing else, I'll be on my way."

As he turned to leave, I panicked. I knew I couldn't let this go on any longer so I played my Ace.

"A trip to Ibiza." I blurted out.

He froze mid-stride, his back going rigid as if I'd just set off an alarm.

I reached into my desk drawer, pulling out a sleek, white envelope that had been tucked away for weeks. This was supposed to be his Christmas surprise, but I guess Christmas just came early. "It's a one-week, all-expense paid trip with a €1000 a day budget."

For a moment, Stefan didn't move. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he weighed his options.

"You can bring a partner," I added. "Or partners if you'd like, I'll cater for everything."

Finally, he turned around, his eyes flickering toward the envelope in my hand. His face was as blank as a poker player's, but I knew better. Stefan had been obsessed with Ibiza since forever. He just needed a little push.

"What about €2000 a day?" I offered.

He remained rooted in place but I could see the internal battle playing out behind his eyes—his pride versus his love for sun-drenched beaches and overpriced cocktails.

"€3000 a day?" I pressed. "Plus exclusive access to my private jet. And my yacht You love yachts."

Stefan's poker face faltered. His eyes widened slightly before he quickly reined it in, but not before I caught it. "You're... offering me your yacht?"

His voice was low, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

I nodded. "The yacht, the jet, the whole deal. Just take the trip."

His lips pressed into a thin line. "If this is an attempt to buy my—"

"It's not," I said quickly. "It's an apology. A genuine one."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. He stood there, staring at the envelope like it was some cursed treasure chest. His pride was holding him back, but I could see the cracks forming. The idea of Ibiza, of freedom, of not having to stare at my face for a whole week—it was tempting.

Then, finally, he took slow, deliberate steps forward. He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the envelope before pulling back, as if the mere act of accepting would mean admitting defeat. "No, I won't accept." He turned away and started to walk off. "I'll be at my desk if you need—"

Fuck this. I shot up. "€3000 a day with access to the yacht and jet, and I'll set you up on a date with that Lebanese model you've been obsessing over."

Stefan spun around so fast that I thought he might get whiplash. "Yasmina Zaytoun?"

I nodded, knowing I had him now.

His pupils dilated. "Stop playin', man, ain't no way."

Yeah, I definitely had him. "I'm serious, Stefan. And if that's still not enough—"

"Not enough?!" He was practically vibrating now as he walked back to the desk and snatched the envelope from my hand with surprising speed. "Tristan, you do realize this is—" He choked, looking down at the envelope, then back at me. "What are your thoughts on gay marriage? Because right now, I'm thinking of marching us both down to the courthouse and saying I do, because I fucking do!"

Before I could process what he said or let alone react, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug.

A hug.

I stiffened instantly. What the— Stefan, hugging me?

It was like watching a cat try to cuddle a cactus. My arms just hung there, useless at my sides, while my entire body went stiff as a plank.

This had never happened. We didn't do this. We barely shook hands. And yet, here he was, holding onto me like we were the last two people on a sinking ship.

It was new. Very new, and it felt weird, too weird. But, disturbingly, it also felt kind of... comforting.

Hell.

"Stefan," I called, trying to shift in his grasp without actually hugging him back. "Stef—Stefan, you can... you can let go now."

Stefan pulled back, laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. I didn't get it, what was so funny? "Sorry, sorry," he said between chuckles. "Didn't know you'd be so... stiff."

"Yeah, well," I muttered, straightening my suit. "Maybe that's because I wasn't expecting to be ambushed."

He snickered. "What, you don't like hugs?"

"Not from you."

He laughed again, staring down at the envelope. "I just...didn't know you cared about me this much."

"I do."

"Hell, I'm touched. But for the record, you could've just apologized like a normal person."

I rolled my eyes, finally able to relax a bit. "Fine, I'm sorry, alright? For everything. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. That's not an excuse, but... I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that. And also, of course, I care about you, you're not just my employee, Stef, you're my friend."

Stefan's expression softened. "I appreciate that. And I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have acted like that. I was out of line. Those issues were personal, and I had no right pushing you the way I did."

I nodded, relieved. "It's all good, then."

"Yeah, it is."

"Now can you stop with the polite nonsense and go back to being the idiotic know-it-all I can't stand?"

He chuckled, waving the envelope. "For €21,000, I'll be anything you want."

I smiled, just about to say something else when his phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. "That's weird," he muttered. "It's from security."

His expression shifted as he answered the call, and I could tell something was wrong from the moment his eyes widened.

"What is it?" I asked, instantly on edge.

But before he could answer, there was a loud crash from somewhere down the hall, followed by a string of furious shouting that could only belong to one person.

My stomach twisted.

Stefan lowered the phone. "It's Shelly,"