Million Dollar Devil

15.

I exit the elevator, Mr. Hayes following behind me. His keys jingling in his hand. "Do you need a ride," he says politely before clearing his throat and looking at me expectantly.

I hesitate, then shake my head. "Thank you, but I'm going to walk."

"It's raining," he cocks his head and looks at me blankly.

"I know." I shrug, managing a small smile. "I like the rain."

His eyes stay trained on me, curiously. His eyebrows knitted together as I give him a curt nod before turning towards the exit.

I push on the giant rotating glass doors, stepping into the crisp winter air. The cement glistens, drops of rain forming ripples in the puddles below. I hold my arms close to my chest, engulfing myself in the warmth of my coat as I side-step a puddle. Cars zoom by, sending waves of water over the edge of the sidewalk.

Pulling my hood over my head I take in the the muffled sound of droplets hitting the fabric on the crown of my head. Reaching my hands out, I feel the raindrops dancing on the palms of my hands.

"Stand there too long and we'll be late," his voice cuts through the hum of the city. I look back to see him standing behind me in the rain, no umbrella, no coat like the water wouldn't dare touch him if he didn't allow it. His suit jacket is soaked through, hair darkened and starting to curl where it falls over his forehead. He doesn't seem to notice or care. His hair is damp, his expression unreadable. 

"I thought you were driving," I say in surprise.

"I changed my mind." He says before stepping in front of me nonchalantly.

His shirt is soaked. White, clinging, semi-translucent. It sticks to his chest and reveals just enough ink on his ribs to confirm a suspicion I'd been too cowardly to fully entertain. The sight makes heat rise to my face before I can stop it.

He catches me looking.

Doesn't comment.

Doesn't smirk.

Just watches me, eyes unreadable.

"Do you usually stalk your employees on foot?" I ask, trying to summon some version of control.

"I don't usually have employees who wander into traffic in heels and a dress because they 'like the rain.'"

A soft chuckle escapes my lips.

The rain falls in rhythm with the tension strung between us, a quiet beat building toward something I can't quite name.

"You always this chatty?" I ask sacasticaly, biting back the heat rising in my throat. "C'mon don't hold back on me."

He glances at me then, not stopping, not slowing. Just looking.

"If I stopped holding back," he says evenly, "you'll be the first to know."

I laugh, quiet and breathy, like maybe it was a joke. Like maybe I didn't just feel that in the base of my spine.

I don't look at him again. Just keep walking. One foot in front of the other, eyes on the pavement like it's going to save me.

We walk in silence. Not awkward, not tense. Just thick. Weighted. The kind of quiet that hums under your skin and says things neither of you are going to say out loud. I don't notice the numbness of my fingers anymore, nor do I feel the cold air turning my nose Rudolph red.

"You're drenched," I say finally, the words escaping with a small laugh as I glance over at him.

His hair is a tousled mess, plastered to his forehead in a way that should be comical, but somehow... isn't. It's disarming. Like the rain stripped away whatever steel armor he usually wears and I'm seeing him for the first time.