Chapter 5 CHARLIE

One of my many-many-newly assigned duties was to be in charge of ordering and delivering Mr. Harts' lunch. You know, the same Mr. Harts who signed my pay checks and could crush my entire career with one stare? Yeah. Him. Apparently, that fell under "assisting the assistant," and Alex thought it would be a good way for me to "get comfortable with the executive floor." Spoiler alert: I was not comfortable.

I'd placed the order like I was told-orange juice, two club sandwiches, no tomatoes, no crust, like he was some overgrown five-year-old with a power complex and a personal chef. The restaurant downstairs knew the drill already, so I just had to pick it up, walk a few feet, and hand it over with a smile.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

I balanced the tray with all the delicacy of a new born deer on ice skates and made my way toward his office. My palms were sweaty, my glasses kept sliding down my nose, and I may or may not have rehearsed how to say "Good afternoon, sir," in my head like thirty-seven times. The hallway leading to his office felt like a goddamn runway of doom.

I stood outside the office door, my hand sweating against the tray I was holding. Lunch. Sandwiches. Orange juice. One of my tasks now.

My fingers tightened around the tray. Just knock, I told myself. Just knock and walk in. Say "here's your lunch, sir" and walk out. Easy.

Except this was Nathan Harts.

The CEO.

The man Alex said was...intense. And dominant. And had this way of looking at people that made them rethink every decision they ever made. No pressure.

I took a breath and knocked.

No response.

Then, faintly: "Come in."

Oh God.

I opened the door slowly, trying not to trip on the expensive rug or my own feet. I stepped inside, heart hammering, and made it a few steps before-

My foot caught the edge of nothing at all just thin air.

Everything tilted.

And then-slam.

Tray to the floor. Juice splattered. Sandwiches squashed. My pride? Obliterated.

I was on my knees. Staring at the mess. Hands hovering near it but not touching. My brain said move, get up, do something-anything-but my body refused to listen.

I just stayed there. Frozen. Humiliated.

And then I heard him stand.

Oh no.

No , no, no, no-

"Are you injured?"

His voice was deep. Calm. Too calm. I still couldn't move.

I heard his steps as he walked over. I wanted the floor to open up and eat me. My glasses had flown off in the fall and were lying somewhere off to the side, blurry and useless now.

Then-his voice again, softer this time. Closer.

"Hey."

A finger brushed under my chin.

I flinched.

He tilted my face up and-

Oh.

There he was.

Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Cold, piercing eyes that felt like they saw everything. Everything. And suddenly, I was way too aware of my pink cheeks, the sweat on my neck, the way my lips had parted without meaning to.

I didn't dare breathe.

My heart was about to beat out of my chest.

And then he stared.

He stared like he could see straight through me-like I was some shiny new toy he was deciding whether to keep or break.

He was...he was hot.

Unreasonably hot.

And terrifying.

I could feel the heat crawling all the way up to my ears. My eyes widened. I didn't know where to look. I just wanted to disappear.

"You must be Charlie Moore."

I swallowed. Hard.

"Y-Yes s-sir... I– I–I brought y-y-your l-lu–lunch."

Kill me. Someone please kill me now.

I hated how small my voice sounded.

He reached down and picked up my glasses, holding them out to me.

Our fingers brushed when I took them.

I nearly combusted on the spot.

I adjusted them quickly, blinking up at him-but only for a second. His eyes felt like fire. I dropped mine again immediately.

"Stand up," he said, voice low. "You're not going to stay on the floor all day, are you?"

Nope. No, sir. Definitely not.

I scrambled up, hands wiping against my slacks like that would somehow erase the fact that I had just humiliated myself in front of my boss's boss.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry, sir. I-I didn't mean to- I-"

I stopped.

He was smirking.

Was that... amusement?

"You always this jumpy, or is it just me?"

My brain short-circuited.

"I-I-I–n-no s-s-sir... I m-mean, y-yes-I–I mean I-I'm not-"

Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP.

Why couldn't I be normal for five seconds?

I adjusted my glasses again, nearly knocking them off in the process. Smooth.

"You know, it's okay to breathe. I don't bite."

I choked on my own air.

His lips twitched like he was holding back a laugh.

"Well... not unless I'm asked nicely."

My entire body went rigid.

What?

What?!

Was that a joke?

Was I supposed to laugh?

I did not laugh.

Instead, I turned redder-if that was even possible. I could feel the heat crawling down my neck, into my chest.

"You work under Alex, right?" he asked, watching me like I was some puzzle he was figuring out for fun.

I nodded. Rapidly.

Too scared to speak.

Nathan Harts. In the flesh.

He took a step back, giving me space.

Which was ridiculous, because I needed the earth to open and swallow me whole-not space. I was still standing like an idiot, surrounded by soggy sandwiches and the remnants of my career.

I bent down again, fumbling with the wrappers, fingers shaking as I tried to collect what little dignity I had left. My hand reached for the juice cup and-of course-it slipped again, hitting the floor with a pathetic thud.

God, just kill me.

"I-I'm s-so sorry. I c-can-I can g-go get a new-"

"It's fine."

His voice cut through my panic, calm and steady.

I froze.

Did he mean it? Or was this the kind of "It's fine" someone says before they blacklist you from the entire company?

I stayed crouched, unsure if moving would make it worse.

"I said it's fine," he repeated, sounding a little exasperated. "Just stand up and breathe before you pass out, yeah?"

I nodded quickly and rose to my feet, still stiff, still useless. My eyes stayed anywhere but on him-his desk, the wall, the floor, the same floor I wanted to melt into. I adjusted my glasses again, heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest.

Why was I like this?

Why couldn't I be cool?

"I'm not a monster, Moore," he said, walking back to his desk like none of this bothered him at all. "You didn't crash a plane. You dropped lunch. You'll survive."

I gave a weird, wheezy laugh that sounded more like a dying goose than an actual person. My hands were still clenched in front of me, my shirt rumpled, tie crooked, and-oh god-my sleeve was stained pink.

Perfect. Just perfect.

"So," he said, settling back into his chair, "You're Victoria's nephew."

My head snapped up so fast I nearly dislocated something. "Y-Yes, sir."

"She didn't mention you were this..." He paused, and I could feel his eyes trailing down my body. "...shy."

I felt the heat explode in my ears.

Dead. I was dead.

"How long have you been working under Alex?" he asked.

I swallowed hard. "A-a-a week, sir. T-this is my sixth day at the office."

"Right. I've been out of town."

I nodded, afraid to speak. My tongue didn't trust me anymore.

"You like it so far?"

Another pause. "Y-yes, sir. Everyone's been r-really kind. And Mr. Ford is-he's great."

"Alex," he said. "He prefers just Alex."

"R-right." I pushed up my glasses again, wishing they'd act like a shield.

"And what about me?" he asked, his voice dipping lower-dangerous. "You terrified of me already?"

I blinked at him, heart lurching. "I-I n-no! I mean, y-you're-" I stopped, no clue how to finish that sentence. "I-I haven't... I d-don't know y-you yet sir ."

Nice save, idiot.

He smirked.

Oh no.

He leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. "Tell me something, Charlie."

My breath hitched. "Y-yes, sir?"

"You always this flustered, or do I just have that effect on you?"

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

I closed it.

Then opened it again.

Still nothing coherent.

"I-I d-don't know w-what you m-mean-"

"Mmhm," he hummed, resting his chin on his hand, looking at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve slowly. "I think you do."

I could feel the blush now. Not just on my face-my neck, my chest. If I looked down, I was pretty sure I'd be glowing.

"I-I should g-go. T-to c-clean up the m-mess."

I made a move to turn, desperate to escape, but he stood up before I could. My breath caught again as he came around the desk and stopped right in front of me.

Too close. Way too close.

"Relax," he said softly. "You'll do just fine here, Charlie. Just... try not to spill anything next time."

I nodded. Probably too fast. My eyes were fixed on the floor again. I couldn't look at him, not without combusting on the spot.

"And breathe."

Right. Breathing.

I sucked in air like I'd been underwater for the last hour.

"Good boy."

Oh.

Oh no.

Did I just squeak?

Yep. That was definitely a squeak.

I backed up so fast I nearly tripped again, my shoes slipping slightly on the floor as I bolted for the door.

I didn't stop until I was out of the office, down the hall, and far enough away that I could finally collapse against the wall and shove my glasses up one more time.

What just happened?

Charlie Moore, welcome to hell.

I don't stop walking.

In fact, I don't think I can. My feet have taken full control of the situation-thank God-because my brain? Yeah, that thing short-circuited somewhere between dropping an entire lunch tray and Nathan freaking Harts touching my arm.

I make it to the hallway and then to the elevator, jabbing the down button with way too much force. It takes forever, of course. Of course it does. I'm standing there, eyes stinging, palms sweaty, glasses sliding down my nose like they're trying to escape the embarrassment with me

As soon as the elevator dings, I dive in like it's a lifeboat on the Titanic.

The second the doors open on the next floor, I dart out and look for the bathroom like I'm on some kind of emergency mission-which, let's be honest, I am. I push open the door, stumble into the first stall, and lock it behind me.

And then I break.

I sink down onto the toilet lid, bury my face in my hands, and just... fall apart.

Tears hit fast. Hot, messy, shameful. My chest tightens so hard it feels like I'm being squeezed from the inside. I don't even know what I'm crying about more-falling like an idiot, making a fool of myself in front of the CEO, or the fact that I now officially hate every inch of my own body for existing in space and time.

God, what if he fires me? What if he calls my aunt and tells her I'm incompetent? What if she regrets helping me?

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stop the waterfall. Doesn't help.

I can't stop hearing the thud I made when I hit the floor. Or feel the weight of his eyes on me. He looked at me like... like he saw something. Not just the mess on the floor. Something else.

And that's almost worse.

I sniff hard and mutter under my breath, "Get it together, Bambi."

Of course that nickname pops into my head now. I can practically hear Mia's voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You tripped on air again, sweetheart? Gonna need to start padding your knees at this rate."

I hiccup a laugh through the tears. It sounds like a dying animal.

Okay. Deep breath. In. Out. I can't cry here all day. I already look like a disaster. I'd rather not smell like one too. I wipe at my face with a tissue from my pocket, check my reflection-yikes-and do my best to fix my glasses, which now sit slightly crooked. Typical.

By the time I ride the elevator back up to the 21st floor, I've decided I'm just going to say I feel unwell and go home before I cause any more damage. It's not a lie. I feel like I've been emotionally hit by a train.

Alex is seated at his desk when I step out. He's typing something, earbud in, posture relaxed. He looks like he's having a productive, normal day. Meanwhile, I look like I've been emotionally water boarded.

I clear my throat softly to get his attention.

He looks up, pulls out an earbud, and gives a polite nod. "Hey, Charlie. Everything alright?"

I swallow hard, then shake my head. "I... I'm not feeling well. I think it's best if I head home for the day."

His brows knit together slightly. Concern, but not alarmed. "Do you need medical assistance? Or someone to accompany you downstairs?"

I shake my head quickly. "No, no-I just need to rest. It's probably nothing serious. I just... I don't want to push it and make it worse."

Alex watches me for a second, eyes scanning my face like he's reading between the lines. But if he suspects anything more, he doesn't say it.

"Alright," he says finally. "Thank you for letting me know. Take the rest of the day, and keep me updated tomorrow. If it gets worse, don't hesitate to reach out."

I nod, eyes glued to the floor. "Thank you, Mr-uh, Alex. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome. Hope you feel better soon."

I murmur something close to a "Thanks" and turn toward the elevators again, trying to walk steadily even though my legs still feel like noodles.

As soon as I step inside and the doors close, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

Today officially goes on my list of Top 3 Worst Days Ever. Possibly claiming the number one spot.

And now all I want is to go home, curl up in something oversized and soft, and forget Nathan Harts ever looked at me.

The train ride home is a blur. I keep my head down the whole way, arms wrapped tight around my chest like I'm trying to hold the pieces of myself together. Every sound is too loud. Every jolt of the train feels like it might shatter me completely. I don't even notice the city outside the window-I'm too busy replaying my humiliation on loop.

By the time I reach the apartment, my limbs feel heavy and numb.

I unlock the door quietly and step inside. The living room is dim, lit only by the flicker of the TV, but Mia's already home, curled up on the couch in sweats and a scowl.

She glances up as I close the door behind me, and I barely get a "Hey-" out before she cuts in with a sharp, "Don't talk to me. I'm not in the mood."

Oh. Okay then.

I nod quickly and slip out of my shoes, keeping my voice low. "R-Rough day?"

She groans and throws her head back. "Don't even get me started. I swear, if one more guy at that god forsaking bar makes a comment about my ass, I'm going to superglue their mouths shut."

I offer a tiny, uncertain smile, but she doesn't notice. She's already turning back to the TV, clearly done for the day. Which, honestly, works out just fine.

I don't really want to talk either.

I mumble something about going to my room and she barely hums a response. The moment my door clicks shut behind me, I sag against it, finally letting the exhaustion wash over me.

Everything hurts.

My brain won't shut up. My chest won't stop aching. And even though all I want is to sleep and pretend today never happened, I know it won't be that easy.

I change into sweats and curl up on my bed, headphones around my neck, lo-fi music playing softly. It's my usual routine to calm down. But tonight, nothing's working. The second I close my eyes, I see his face.

Nathan.

Tall. Commanding. Those dark eyes that looked at me like... like he could see right through me.

I remember the fall. The crash. The heat rushing up my face. The way his hand touched my arm, firm and grounding like I might float away. And then-

"Good boy."

My eyes fly open.

I sit up too fast, heart pounding.

Why is that the part I keep coming back to? Not the embarrassment. Not the tray. Not the fact that I made an absolute fool of myself in front of the CEO.

No.

It's the way he said it.

Like... he meant it.

I pull the headphones off and toss them onto the bed, suddenly too warm. My hands are clammy, and my stomach's doing somersaults.

What is wrong with me?

I've never... I mean-never felt like this before. About anyone. Not girls. Not boys. Not anyone.

I've always just kind of assumed I was... I don't know. Nothing. Or maybe a late bloomer. Or maybe broken in some way.

But that moment-when he looked at me like I was something precious and fragile and his-something in me reacted.

Like a switch flipped.

I press my fingers to my lips, as if that'll stop the thoughts.

It doesn't.

Am I... gay?

Bi?

What even am I?

I've never even kissed anyone, let alone felt like... that. That weird, squirmy, hot-in-the-face, knees-weak kind of feeling. That happened today. For the first time. And I don't even know what it means.

I just know that it was him.

Nathan Harts.

And now he's probably going to fire me.

I bury my face in my pillow and groan.

This can't be happening. Not now. Not when I'm finally getting my life together.

But all I can think about is how it felt to be touched. To be seen. To be called " a good boy" in that deep, commanding voice like I belonged to someone.

And that... terrifies me.