It's a new day, and Hayley Monroe stands in front of her mirror, brushing down her navy-blue V-neck sweater with practiced precision. The tailored black suit pants hug her frame just enough to feel sharp but not overdone. She slips on a matching blazer and checks her wristwatch.
     "Perfect," she murmurs, a small smile creeping onto her face. "I have time to buy another plant. Maybe a flower this time?"

Twenty minutes later, she's leaving her favorite flower shop with a bounce in her step. In her arms, she cradles a grey ceramic pot housing a delicate orchidaceae. The flower leans with soft elegance, its creamy-white petals already brightening her morning.
     She glances down at her watch again.
     9:00 AM.
     "Shit. Not again!" she curses, and breaks into a jog. Her first staff meeting is this morning, and she can't be late. Not again. Not today. "I'm a disaster," she mutters.

There's no time to drop the orchid at her office, so she carries it awkwardly into the meeting room. Only two people are seated inside, chatting casually. They look up as she enters.
     "Hello, you're Hayley, right?" says a tall, blonde woman with an easy smile.
     "Yes, yes I am," Hayley replies quickly, carefully placing the orchid on the table before shaking her hand.
     "I'm Olivia, and this is John," the woman says, gesturing to the man beside her.
     "Nice to meet you both," Hayley says with a polite nod.
     "Where's everyone else?" she asks, scanning the empty chairs.
     "Probably lining up at the coffee machine," Olivia says with a grin.
     Hayley chuckles lightly. "Of course."
     Moments later, Alysa bursts into the room with her signature energy.
     "Ahh, hello dear!" she beams at Hayley. Her eyes immediately catch on the plant. "Is that another one for your office?"
     Hayley grins. "Yeah. Orchidaceae! Isn't it beautiful?"
     "Gorgeous," Alysa says warmly.

People start trickling into the room, each carrying a coffee mug, laughter and small talk echoing around the long table. Hayley finds herself enjoying the atmosphere, chatting with Alysa until Mr. Ambrose, the head of their department, enters and takes his place at the far end of the table.
     He clears his throat, and the room begins to settle into silence—until the door swings open again.
     Two security guards enter, tall and unmistakable in their dark uniforms. Hayley's breath catches in her throat.
     "Shit," she whispers under her breath, ducking instinctively behind the orchid. Alysa catches her reaction immediately.
     "Ohh... that security guy," she teases with a smug smirk.
     "Shhhhh," Hayley hisses.
     "Sorry sir, we were on a call," says Jaxon—the security guard.
     That voice.
     That smooth, deep voice.
     She doesn't hear Mr. Ambrose reply. She doesn't hear the next five sentences. All Hayley can do is try not to stare at the man sitting directly across from her.
     Jaxon Sloan.
     He leans back in his chair, relaxed but attentive, his short beard tracing the curve of his jawline. Normally, Hayley wasn't into beards—but on him? It worked. Way too well. It made his already well-defined features look even more sharp, mature. His dark hair is swept back neatly, eyes bright but unreadable.
     He has this... calm energy. Confident, but unbothered. Every movement he makes is smooth, unhurried. He nods at something Liam—the other guard—says, lips twitching into the smallest smile. Hayley feels a heat rise up her neck.
     He's just... frustratingly good-looking. In that quiet, confident way that makes you want to know what he's thinking. He looks like he could charm your mom, fix your sink, and ruin your entire sense of professionalism all in one afternoon.

Then suddenly—
     "Huh?" Hayley blinks as Alysa nudges her sharply.
     "Mr. Ambrose is talking to you," Alysa whispers with a laugh.
     Hayley sits up straight. "Oh! Yes, sir."
     People chuckle around the table.
     "Please, stand up and introduce yourself, Hayley," Mr. Ambrose says, nodding at her encouragingly.
     She rises stiffly, her cheeks flushed.
     "I... I'm Hayley Monroe," she says, her voice a little shaky. "I'm the new digital design and marketing manager. I'm really happy to be here and I look forward to working with all of you."
     She sits back down immediately. She doesn't even try to glance at Jaxon, but she sees it in her peripheral vision—he's smiling, and Liam is nudging him with a smirk.

When the meeting ends, Hayley all but bolts to her office, mumbling a quick goodbye to Alysa.
     She drops into her chair and breathes deeply, trying to ground herself in her work. The homepage layout. The new palette. Focus.
     But then there's a knock.
     "Come in," she says, not looking up.
     Silence.
     She lifts her head.
     Jaxon.
     Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. Casual. Confident. Effortlessly, annoyingly perfect. Her heart skips and her face heats up instantly.
     He raises an eyebrow. "Have you cleaned those hands yet?"
     It takes her a second to process the words.
     "Uh... no," she mumbles.
     "Didn't I tell you to clean and put on new bandages yesterday?"
     There it is again—his voice. Soft but grounded, with a warmth she hadn't expected. And his eyes... there's something in them. Gentle, maybe even concerned.
     "Yes... I think?"
     He steps closer, tilting his head slightly. "May I?"
     "Huh?"
     He gestures toward her hands. "May I take a look?"
     She swallows hard. Her brain, for the third time today, decides to stop functioning.
     "I'm working," she says, lamely.
     "Alright. I'll come by during your break. I'll bring bandages."
     His smile is soft but laced with something unreadable. It makes her stomach twist in ways she does not approve of.
     "Okay... yeah, in an hour or so."
    He gives her a nod, "Beautiful orchidaceae you have there by the way", and then he's gone.
     Hayley stares at the empty doorway.
     God help me, she thinks. I'm in so much trouble.

Hayley stared at the door long after Jaxon had left, her thoughts scrambling to make sense of what had just happened.
     Why did he come by? she wondered. Why would he even do that? Was it just about the bandages... or something else?
     She shook her head, pushing the idea away before it could form into anything more. No. Don't go there, Hayley. He's just... being nice. Doing his job. That's all.
     But the quiet of her office only seemed to amplify everything she was trying not to feel. Her eyes drifted to the spot where he had stood, and a traitorous smile tugged at the corner of her lips. His voice, the way he tilted his head just slightly when he looked at her, his warm presence—it lingered like a scent she couldn't shake.
     She turned back to her screen, determined to work. But her fingers hovered uselessly above the keyboard.
     All she could think about was the way his eyes had softened when he looked at her hands. The warmth of his voice. The quiet steadiness in the way he moved. And most of all—his touch. That brief moment when his fingers had brushed hers. Gentle. Confident. Warm. Her skin still tingled from it.
     She groaned and leaned back in her chair, covering her face with her hands. "What is wrong with me..." she muttered, her voice muffled.
     An hour passed in a blur of unproductive attempts at focus. She'd barely typed a sentence, her thoughts pulled over and over again to Jaxon. When she finally shut down her computer, she let out an exaggerated sigh and crossed her arms, trying to appear annoyed—even if no one was around to see it.
     But beneath that mock frustration, something stirred inside her. A flutter. A warmth low in her stomach that she didn't want to acknowledge.
     Butterflies.
     She scoffed quietly to herself. Seriously? Over a security guy?
     But no matter how much she tried to deny it, the butterflies didn't go away.

Hayley sat in silence, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular, but her mind racing—spinning in endless loops around one single thing.
     Jaxon.
     His name alone stirred something in her chest. She hated it. Or... she pretended to.
     Get a grip, she told herself.
     "Hello," came a soft, familiar voice from the door.
     Her heart stuttered. Speak of the devil.
     Jaxon.
     She snapped her gaze toward him but quickly masked the flicker of surprise with a forced frown. "Hey," she said flatly, arms crossing over her chest in a poor attempt at seeming annoyed.
     He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a teasing smirk. "Why so grumpy all of a sudden?" His tone was light, but his eyes studied her carefully—like he was trying to figure her out.
     "You," she muttered, barely meeting his gaze. "I didn't get anything done after you left."
     "Oh, so I should've stayed?" he quipped, that smirk now fully formed.
     "What? No!" she said quickly, face heating. "You interrupted my flow."
     He chuckled, stepping farther into the room. "Well, sorry for that. Now—may I take a look at your hands? Or are you planning to do it yourself this time?"
     Hayley hesitated. "Uhm..."
     "Exactly what I thought," he said, now standing directly in front of her.

Before she could say another word, he dropped down to one knee and—without asking—gently turned her chair so she was facing him. Her breath caught in her throat, her entire body going rigid with shock.
     Her cheeks flushed instantly, the heat rising so fast it almost made her dizzy. Her heart pounded in her ears. Why was he so... close?

     Run, her brain screamed. But she didn't move. Couldn't move. Not even a finger.
     Jaxon didn't seem to notice—or maybe he did and just pretended not to. He simply opened his small medical bag beside him, slipped on a fresh pair of gloves, his movements practiced, swift, and almost mesmerizing.
     "Give me your hands," he said, his voice soft, but firm—calm, commanding.
     Hayley reluctantly extended them, unable to meet his eyes. This was humiliating. She wasn't some helpless girl who needed saving. She could take care of herself. But still... she let him.
     No words passed between them for a while as he gently unwrapped the old bandages, careful not to tug too harshly. When he peeled back the gauze, a jolt of pain shot up her arm and she flinched.
     "Sorry," he murmured, glancing up. "I know it hurts. But I need to clean them again. I'll use a breathable patch this time—it'll help them heal faster."
     His focus was entirely on her hands now, eyes narrowed in concentration. Like she was a puzzle he needed to solve.
     "How do you know all this...?" Hayley asked, trying to mask the nerves in her voice, but it still came out quiet. Vulnerable.
     "I used to be a nurse," he said with a small smile.
     "Oh," she mumbled. Something in her chest tightened. Hospitals, wounds, white rooms—it all made her uncomfortable. Too sterile. Too... exposed.
     Jaxon must've noticed her shift. "What?" he asked, gently preparing the gauze.
     "Nothing," she replied quickly, retreating back into her guarded shell.
     "I'm going to clean your palms now," he warned gently. "It'll sting, but I'll be quick."
     Hayley nodded stiffly, bracing herself. The sting came sharp, more intense than yesterday, and her body reacted before she could stop it—she tried to pull her hand back. But his grip held steady.
     "Stay still," he said, not unkindly. His voice was calm, grounding—like he'd done this a thousand times before.
     She clenched her jaw and endured it, biting back a wince. He worked quickly, cleaning the wounds, then wrapping them carefully in soft, thinner bandages that let the skin breathe.
     When he finished, he rested her hands gently on her lap.
     "See?" he said, offering her that signature head tilt and a grin. "Not so bad."
     She stared at him, unable to speak, struck again by just... him. His calm presence. The way he moved, the way he looked at her without flinching. There was something deeply steadying about him—and that scared her more than she'd ever admit.
     He peeled off his gloves and tossed them in the bin, standing up.

Jaxon stood tall again, brushing his palms on his pants like the visit had been nothing more than a favor. To him, maybe it was. But to Hayley, it felt like everything had shifted slightly off-axis.
     He looked down at her one last time, and for a split second, their eyes met. There was something unspoken in his gaze—warmth, curiosity... maybe something else. She couldn't tell. Before she could make sense of it, he turned toward the door.
     As he passed her, a wave of his cologne drifted with him—clean, subtle, but so undeniably... him. It was like cedar and something faintly citrus, mixed with heat. She breathed it in before she could stop herself—and instantly regretted it.
     Stop it, she scolded herself. It's just a smell. Just... expensive deodorant or something.
     But her body didn't listen. That scent was already filed away somewhere in her brain—tied to him, to this moment, to the feeling of his steady hands on hers.
     "I'll check in again tomorrow," he said, casually, as if he hadn't just knocked the wind out of her lungs. "Try not to injure yourself again until then."
     She rolled her eyes, more for her own defense than anything else. "No promises," she muttered.
     He chuckled under his breath, then disappeared out the door.

The silence he left behind felt heavier than before.
     Hayley stayed frozen, her heart still thumping with the rhythm of everything unsaid. The scent of him lingered faintly in the air, subtle but impossible to ignore. She tried to wave it away, literally waving her hand as if that would help clear her head.
     "What is wrong with me..." she muttered, dropping back into her chair like the fight with herself had worn her out.
     She faced her screen but didn't see it. All she could see was his face. All she could feel was the ghost of his touch. And that stupid, warm, woodsy cologne...
     She groaned and dropped her forehead to the desk.
     This could not be happening.