Later hours, long stares

The first thing I learned at Statham Enterprise: you don’t leave before Erik Statham does.

The second: Erik Statham never leaves.

It was just past 9 p.m. when I finally closed my laptop. The office floor was a ghost town. Most of the glass cubicles were dark, emptied hours ago. Only a few lights remained: cleaning crew in the corner, Natalie still typing at her desk like she was afraid the silence might swallow her whole, and one door at the end of the hall with a soft, constant glow bleeding through the frosted glass.

His.

The light in Erik’s office never went off. Vince had warned me. “He doesn’t sleep. He just powers down like a machine and then boots back up.”

I believed him now.

I stood, rolled the tension out of my shoulders, and walked to the break room. I needed caffeine, water—something. My head was swimming with numbers, names, risk assessments for the Ridley acquisition. I was good at this. But even the best systems start to overheat.

As I poured myself a cup of tea—no coffee this late—I heard a voice behind me.

“I didn’t take you for a tea drinker.”

I didn’t flinch. But I did pause, fingers still around the handle of the kettle. “And I didn’t take you for the type to leave your office.”

I turned. Erik leaned against the frame of the door like he hadn’t just worked a fifteen-hour day. Sleeves rolled up. Tie gone. The first two buttons of his shirt undone. No mask, no pretense—just Erik Statham, raw and watching.

“There are exceptions to every rule,” he said.

I met his gaze. “Even yours?”

He said nothing. Just studied me like I was a formula he hadn’t cracked yet.

I took a sip of tea, letting the heat distract me. “Long day?”

“Long week.”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“Exactly.”

A silence settled between us. Not awkward. Not comfortable either. Just charged.

“You’re doing well,” he said, voice low. “Better than expected.”

“Thank you.” I didn’t smile. I didn’t need to. I wasn’t here for praise.

He pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room. Not close enough to threaten. But close enough to change the air.

“Rob’s worried.”

“Good.” I sipped again. “Means I’m doing something right.”

“I like watching people under pressure,” he said. “It shows who they really are.”

“And what do you think I am?”

He looked at me for a long moment. “A threat.”

My pulse stuttered. Not from fear. From something else. Something sharp and thrilling.

“Are you afraid of me, Mr. Statham?”

His eyes didn’t flinch. “No. But I respect fire. Especially when it’s still learning how to burn without burning out.”

I should’ve said something clever. Should’ve thrown the moment back at him. But for the first time, words failed me.

He stepped past me and took a bottle of water from the fridge. As he turned to leave, he paused.

“Get some sleep, Lane. Tomorrow gets worse.”

Then he was gone.

I barely slept.

I tossed and turned in bed, tea forgotten on the nightstand. Erik’s voice echoed in my head. I respect fire.

He wasn’t complimenting me. Not exactly. He was warning me. Admiration in his world was a double-edged sword.

I was getting under his skin. The question was—what would he do once I got too deep?

The next morning, I was in the office at 7:30. Vince was already there, naturally, and he grinned when I walked in.

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks. You always this charming before coffee?”

“I’m charming before and after. It’s a curse.” He handed me a file. “Ridley’s CEO just hired outside legal counsel. Defensive move. We’re going to exploit it.”

“Let me guess… Erik’s idea?”

“No, yours.” Vince gave me a knowing look. “The memo you sent last night? He actually read it. Called me at 1 a.m. and said, and I quote, ‘She might be useful after all.’”

I raised an eyebrow. “‘Useful.’ I’m flattered.”

“In Erik-speak, that’s practically a love letter.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Not because I craved his approval—but because I’d earned it. Through strategy. Through work. Through war.

Let Julia flirt and Rob conspire. I’d win the only way I knew how: by being smarter.

Later that day, I caught him watching me during a meeting. Just once. Just long enough to feel it. His stare was like a flame—controlled, deliberate, consuming. But he looked away before I could meet it fully.

We were both pretending we didn’t feel the shift. Pretending we were still just boss and employee. Pretending the late nights, the locked eyes, the tension wasn’t building into something impossible to ignore.

But it was there.

It was always there.

And one of us was going to crack.

Eventually.